Page 67 of Dare To Fall

Unknown number: Go to the art department.

I frown at the message. Why are they short? Usually, the instructions are more detailed. Why the change?

I do as I’m told and head for art.

My phone chimes again.

Unknown number: Take a can of spray paint from one of the storage closets.

It takes me a couple of minutes to find the right one. Once I do, I rummage through the equipment until I find a can of red spray paint. I hide it in my shoulder bag.

Unknown number: Go through the gym and find room C5. You have the key to unlock the door. Eli’s sculpture for his art project is inside. Ruin it.

My breathing turns shaky. I’m not sure what to do. Ruining more of Eli’s art is not something I want to do.

Me: But he’s been working on it for months.

Unknown number: Don’t fucking care. Destroy it. Send a photograph as proof or pay the price.

Terror lodges in my throat.

Eli will kill me if I do this.

Months ago, when it had just been me and Sin, I’d enjoyed the danger, the risk. It feels like forever ago. This twisted game is out of control. But if I’m to survive, I need to play.

I leave the art department and head for the gym, and room C5. When I enter, the first thing I catch sight of is the dust sheet covering the sculpture in the center of the room. I circle around until I’m in front of the statue, and pull off the sheet.

All I can do is stare.

The monster’s face is grotesque, its body just as disturbing, but what it’s holding has my heart pounding in my chest. A woman is in the beast’s arms. One clawed hand around her waist, the other gently cradles her head. She’s naked, hair spilling down her shoulders, and the tail of the creature is wrapped around one of her legs. Chin tipped up; she’s staring at the monster with a look of absolute adoration.

Me.

I’m gazing at the monster in worship.

My features are captured and immortalized in marble.

Eli made this?

Did he carve it with his own two hands?

Has he made me his art piece to display at the end of school?

Why?

The questions echo inside my head with no answers to be found.

My lips tremble.

It’s beautiful, haunting, and macabre. I’ve never seen anything like it before.

I can’t defile it.

Tears flow down my cheeks. I cannot destroy it. I just can’t. As much as I hate my stepbrother, destroying this work of art would be like ripping out a piece of his soul. The attention to detail, the hours he’s poured into it, would be for nothing.

I’m not a bully. I’m not heartless. I’m not the monster they’re trying to mold me into.

Why did he use me as his muse? Is this another cruel joke?

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