Page 162 of Ruthless Savage

My legs are as heavy as bricks, shivers running up my spine as I grow nearer. One more step and…

A sob breaks free, and I cup my mouth when I’m in front of her door.

The photos and ribbons are still here. So many, I’m overwhelmed by it all. But through the tears, I somehow smile, tracing a photo of her, me, and someone else making silly faces.

“I miss you,” I whisper as my fingers reach for another photo, my vision murky from the overwhelming emotions pounding within me.

I went past Professor Montgomery’s old office too, now with someone new working there. I didn’t take the class, though. I couldn’t. Maybe next semester, I’ll be ready for that again.

My hand reaches for another photo, and as it does, I push the door open on accident.

“Hi there,” a woman in black pants and a red blouse says, collecting Karen’s things in a simple brown box. “Are you the next of kin?”

“Ugh, what?” I stride in, and a swell of painful emotions wage war inside my heart.

Memories flood my mind like a stampede of wild horses, endlessly galloping while I lie there on the ground.

It’s her I see. Her smile. Us getting ready for the club. Her doing my makeup. Studying together. It’s all there, weighing me down.

I swallow down the lump in my throat and face this woman, whoever she is.

“Did you hear me?” She smiles kindly, narrowing her brows. “I’m Stella from admissions. We’ve been trying to reach Karen’s family to collect her belongings, but no one has gotten back to us. I’m hoping you’re related and that’s why you’re here?”

“Uh, yes.” I nod. “I’m her cousin. Her mom died, and her dad… He, uh, passed away a while ago.”

“Oh, wow. How tragic.” She blows a breath. “I’m truly sorry for your loss. I’m so glad we didn’t have to throw her things away. Now that you’re here, you can go through it all and see what you want to keep. I’ll give you some time alone, okay? I’ll be back in twenty. Does that work?”

She places a pink journal in the box and starts toward me.

“That’s good. Thanks.”

She purses her lips and brushes past me, closing the door behind her.

I stay rooted in place, afraid to advance forward, like something in that box will hurt me more. But I can’t fear the memories any longer. I have to cling to the good ones, or what happened, her betrayal, will eat away at me until I rot.

Taking a long, deep breath, I gather the strength to reach the box and peek inside. Picture frames, books, notebooks lie there abandoned.

I glance at the closet, wondering if her clothes are still inside it. They must be. I should take them, or the school will just throw them out.

Grabbing the box, I settle on the bare mattress, picking up the journal, wanting to see the photos of us.

But as I place the journal on my lap, it opens, and my heart almost stops when I see the first two words.

Dear Eriu,

I slam the journal shut, my inhales and exhales battling for space. There’s no way I can read whatever she wrote. No way I can make it through without crying. Without my heart completely breaking.

Why would she write something to me in a journal I’ve never seen before? Why wouldn’t she just show it to me when she was alive?

It makes no sense.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I find myself opening it back up, and when I read her words, I wish I hadn’t. Because it hurts more than I even imagined.

Dear Eriu,

If you found this, it means I’m probably gone. Hopefully not dead, because that would be a complete bummer. I’m hoping I’m on a beach somewhere, sipping a margarita, missing you, wishing I was able to tell you everything.

I don’t even know why I’m writing this. The chances of you even reading this letter, in my private journal that I hide behind my bed, are very slim. I’m clever, I know. But on the off chance that you are reading it, I just need you to know that I’m sorry.

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