Page 47 of Study Games

He did the same thing to my mother until the day she died.

And then he fed them to me. Her face became my fears and my fears kept me alive until the day that I walked out of the house and onto Rippton’s campus.

And everyone of those gym sessions with Crush at three in the morning gave me another reason to exist. To be something more than a skinny kid who barely existed here.

In this house of nightmares with all its collections of ruined creatures and abuse.

And here was Waverly in thick of it.

The hand I held back to Crush twitched at waist level. “It's okay,” I murmured, willing my voice not to shake.

It didn't buy me the miracle I needed. Waverly smiled at me, one hand extended, wrist facing up. My heart leapt in my chest as she gave me the lightest touch right before she went for the solid silver blade inside the dress.

I watched the action in slow motion as she moved in a graceful arc while I stood still, half a step too far away when that blade came down across her upturned wrist and parted the skin in a hideous slash.

Blood bloomed over the wound in less than a second, pouring out the contents of her life in a show that left me staggering on my feet while she smiled at me the same way she smiled at my father.

I don't know who screamed louder–me, Crush, or the boys behind us. Maybe one of the other girls seated around my father at his table. In my periphery I registered that he, alone, didn’t react.

That told me everything.

The cacophony reverberated inside my skull, pressure pulsing outwards as I collapsed with Waverly to the checkerboard flooring when she fell.

Propping a hand to her elbow to hold her, I tried to prevent her head from hitting the hard tiles. My hand closed around her wrist to stem the scarlet river flowing from her pale skin as she sank beneath the weight of gravity and my father’s sins. Her other hand worked against her, and I fought the blade that slashed repeatedly as she tried to do it again.

I screamed horsley at my father through my eyes locked only on her. “Fuck you, you old bastard. The fuck have you done to her?”

My voice faded the entire time as I screamed and screamed and screamed, barely registering Crush’s hands wrapping around me and pushing mine away as he wrapped strips of his shirt around Waverly’s wrist.

“An ambulance. Get me a fucking ambulance,” he shouted, his captain’s voice startling silence and then action into the panicked hoards gathered around my father’s table.

Volume and activity swirled around me as I remembered my prediction to Crush before we walked into this hellhole. I wanted to smile but I couldn't, looking down into the eyes of the beautiful girl so ruined and broken she might never get to see the drawings in my portfolio I made for her.

If she didn't…

I squeezed her other hand gently, talking to her about inane things and stroking my thumb along her palm, so ice cold as people rushed about, screaming about things that didn't actually matter. None of it would ever matter if she didn't open her eyes again.

Blood drenched my hands and my clothes, but I wasn't sure if it was hers or mine. With the sour tang of vodka in my mouth, I helped her onto a stretcher, but I couldn't bear to let go of her wrist for a second, just in case one more drop fell out of her pale, still body, making it one drop too many.

So I held on as the ambulance rocked beneath us, held her in my arms and cried unashamedly for the still girl who had so much life I’d broken. Eventually, the people pestering and pandering at me stopped trying and focused on her, instead.

The black and white tiled floor changed to a steady red, and after a while that changed back to blinding white again, reminiscent of death though it smelled far more sterile.

After all I got to was a regular bleep. That was when my screaming finally stopped, and I waited for her to take one more breath.

17

WAVERLY

Bright white light assaulted me through dreams drenched in blood and shrouded in muted screams. I couldn't escape no matter how far I ran. When my legs gave out, I crawled endless, pale halls that glowed from the floor up. When those finally receded to give me a slice of peace I couldn't quite grasp, they were replaced by a deep, harsh sound that emanated right beside my ear, like the breathing of a rhythmic beast.

Or an exhausted artist.

I combed my fingers through Jax’s dark, mussed hair, frowning when I realized the black flakes that flecked my fingers were dried blood, and that it came from him. But that wasn’t where my struggle ended as I tried to sit up and tangled my tubes and cords attached to the back of my hand around his head.

Jax jerked, his reddened eyes slitted and crusted with sleep. “Bee girl?” His voice came out raspy, like he’d been at a Xoan Kennedy concert, screaming all night.

That reminded me of my endless running dream, and I pushed the memory away. But unlike my usual nightmares, this one refused to fade.

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