Page 19 of Raise Hell

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Beep. Beep. BEEP.

The alarm blares, waking me up way too early in the morning. My hand gropes along the top for the snooze button. I think I’ve hit it, but the sound doesn’t stop. It’s like an ambulance siren is literally going off inside my skull.

When I press the button again, I swear the noise just gets louder.

Giving up, I pick the thing up and throw it at the brick wall. The plastic shatters into dozens of satisfying pieces, and I hear one last sad beep before the sound finally dies.

Guess I’ll have to put getting a new clock on my to-do list.

That was a dumb move. Money is going to be tight soon. I have no funds of my own since my father cut me off, and I can’t exactly grift my way through St. Bart’s. Eventually, he’s going to notice my sister’s credit cards are being used, and he’ll cancel them. He might even put together that I took them, but I sincerely doubt he’ll guess I’m here pretending to be her. He’ll just chalk it up to me being the greatest disappointment of his life, like I’ve always been.

When that happens, I’ll be a poor girl pretending to be a rich one, and I won’t be able to keep that up for long. Olivia’s tuition was already paid for this semester, so that’s how long I have to make things right.

If my parents weren’t monsters, then I might be worried that what I’m doing will get back to them. But my father travels so much for work that it’s impossible to get a hold of him most of the time. My mother spends so much time blitzed out of her mind that I sincerely doubt she’ll connect any dots on her own.

I helped myself to as much of my sister’s clothing as I could find that wasn’t terrible. All the labels might be designer, but she and I definitely do not have the same taste. She has way too many floral prints and pastel colors in her wardrobe.

I’d like to think I’ll get the chance to take her shopping one day.

She has to wake up.

She has to.

And when she does, I’ll be right there to tell her that I gave her attacker something worse than she got.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had to be the one who stood up for both of us — I just wasn’t very good at it when we were kids.

It doesn’t take Freud to figure out that I’m as angry at myself as I am at whoever did this. We grew apart, and I let it happen by staying away. If I’d swallowed my pride and reached out to her sooner, this might have never happened.

If I’d been the daughter my father wanted me to be, then I would have been here with her.

There aren’t enough Hail Marys in the universe to make up for all the things I’ve done wrong.

The things I have to do to take down Havoc House are going to hurt. That pain will be my absolution. I will pay penance for the mistakes I’ve made.

And so will they.

I’m doing this for Olivia, even if she never gets the chance to know.

The first step is forcing myself out of bed.

Anya is in our shared bathroom, judging from the pop music blaring from that direction.

I have a sinking suspicion she’s a morning person.

I’ve always been the sleep until noon type, so this early morning crap is an adjustment. If I have to be up before ten, it feels like I’m fighting off the worst hangover imaginable. I have mad respect for any girl who can have her hair and makeup done by 7am.

That shit might as well be magic.

It’s a Jack-and-Jill bathroom, so we each have a door on either side that opens into our bedrooms. My side will have to stay locked at all times, because Anya seems like the curious type.

I’m just crawling out of bed when there’s a loud knock on the bathroom door.

“Want to walk to class with me?” Anya calls when I don’t respond to the knocking. “I’m leaving in ten minutes.”

Just enough time to brush my teeth and throw on some eyeliner. Awesome.

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