Page 5 of Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

Evelyn hooked her arm through my elbow, our earlier argument forgotten. “Jumper’s knee.”

“It’s caused by the repeated jumping that they do,” Lily explained, letting her hair out of its ponytail before retying it.

“What else did she talk about?” I asked as we set off walking toward class.

Lily was a bundle of energy, always smiling, with curly amber hair and an adorable speckle of freckles on her face. She disliked them, but I thought they were cute. “Everything. What does that woman not talk about?”

“I can think of a few things,” Evelyn whispered to me, and I sucked my lips between my teeth to stop myself from laughing.

“So…” Lily nudged her shoulder with mine. “I heard Dustin wants to ask you to prom.”

I pulled a face, slowing to a halt. “That would be weird.”

“I think he wants to break this stalemate between you.”

“Stalemate?” I ignored Evelyn’s knowing snickers.

“Come on,” Lily said, walking backward. “Everyone knows he likes you. He knows you know.”

I failed to see the connection. Just because I knew, it didn’t mean anything. I didn’t have to like him that way to want to hang out with him. Besides, it would be stupid to ruin our friendship with sex and expectations.

Lily simply winked and walked ahead, pleased to stir a little trouble.

When I returned home that night, my dad was fast asleep and snoring in the armchair in the living room.

With the curtains drawn, the room reeked of cigarette smoke and alcohol. I wasn’t at all surprised to see the empty beer cans littering the coffee table.

I walked upstairs, dragging my feet, and tossed my bag onto the bed when I entered my room. Evelyn had basically forced me out after school for a visit to the local burger bar where the footballers liked to hang out. I guess now it was my spot, too.

Dustin had pulled me down onto his lap and kept me there for the entirety of the night while eating fries and discussing the upcoming game with Lewis and Max. I wasn’t in the mood to play friendly with people. Or to act as if I wasn’t responsible for their friend’s death. I guess I was in a funk as of late. The days seemed grayer, and I struggled to feel excited about anything. I just wanted to go back and change that night, more than anything.

Flopping onto my bed, I stared up at the ceiling and listened to the rain on my window.

It served as a trigger now every time it pattered on the glass and the sound made me visibly flinch, bringing back memories of the swishing wipers and the loud music.

I reached into my pocket for my phone and brought up Nate’s Insta profile. It was still there and people still commented on his posts to say that they missed him. I clicked on the first photograph—a picture of him after a win. He stood dressed in his football uniform on the pitch, with his helmet tucked beneath his arm. The wide smile that grazed his sensuous lips, which I’d fantasized about multiple times when he was alive, was brighter than the spotlights behind him. His dark hair lay plastered to the sheen of sweat on his forehead, curling around his ears. He was devastatingly good-looking.

My mind flashed with memories of him on the wet ground, broken and covered in blood. How the rain pelted his scratched-up face when I rolled him over.

I tossed the phone onto the bed like I’d been burned and scooted back against the headboard, breathing harshly. When would this nightmare end? I just wanted to forget. To stop being haunted by the memories. But I couldn’t. Not until I moved away from this forsaken town where everyone knew everyone.

While no one was wise to my secret, I couldn’t help but feel like everyone knew. Like they were watching me. Judging me.

Staring at the window across the room, at the raindrops racing down the glass, I bit down hard on my lip until my mouth flooded with warm, iron-rich blood. I needed something more to dull this ache inside.

Pulling open my bedside drawer, I rooted inside until my fingers closed around the cold, sharp metal. I removed it, then shut the drawer and rolled up my sleeve.

My arm was littered with healed white scars. One stood out amongst the rest, pink and angry looking. I pressed the blade down onto it, closed my eyes, and took a breath before digging it deep.

Hissing through my teeth, I dragged it down my arm, following the line of the fresh scar.

Blood rushed to the surface, stark red against my pale, marred skin and I instantly breathed out a sigh of relief, closing my hand into a fist.

Blood dripped onto the cheap, flowery bedspread below me.

I should have grabbed a towel before purging myself of my inner demons, but now it was a little too late. Never mind. I could finally breathe again, and with every red drop that slid down my arm in a race toward my elbow, I felt lighter. I felt as if maybe I could survive this nightmare I couldn’t escape.

CHAPTER

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