Page 48 of Wicked Little Secret

He simply rolls his eyes and moves onto the next tipsy college girl willing to entertain him.

I’m able to slip away through a crack in the crowd, grateful for the opening as I make my escape into another hall. The earthy musk of marijuana tickles my nose, a light haze of smoke lingering in the cramped space, but I plunge on ’til I’m able to make it far enough away that the party feels like an afterthought.

Only thirty minutes and I already feel like I’m drowning.

It’s just another reminder why I’ve never been big on the college party scene.

I’ve always felt… out of place. Too cognizant of what goes on, like I’m witnessing people who aren’t my peers but people I know better than.

Maybe I do.

Maybe I am the old soul Heather and Macey always jokingly say I am. I’m the one who’s here from the past to hold them accountable. I’m the one who’s going to make them pay for what they’ve done to me.

Us.

I set off through the noisy, humid frat house, on a mission. My vision tunnels ’til the finish line is all I see. Everything else in the vicinity becomes a blurred non-factor.

None of it matters so long as I haven’t held them accountable.

A shot of adrenaline flows through me as I stop by a drunken Lucas Cummings on the foot of the stairs. He’s swaying in place, clutching a red plastic cup, barely able to keep his hazy eyes open. He clearly gave up on his costume a long time ago, his ghost face mask shoved up over his head of unruly curls.

“Have you seen Samson?”

“Hey, Nyssa,” he slurs. “Wazzup?”

“Samson? Where is he?”

“Up… bur-burrpp…” he belches, reeking of beer and weed, then tries again. “Upstairs.”

I don’t bother with athank you, rushing past him on my way up the stairs. Lucas shouts more garbled words after me. None of which I bother trying to decipher.

The second floor landing is more chaotic than the first. People in all sorts of costumes press themselves against the wall in the middle of heavy groping and making out, like they have no concept of privacy, or simply don’t care for any.

Others loiter in the space, chatting, smoking, even on the verge of a fistfight as two guys shove at each other.

I start twisting doorknobs, one door after the other in a long line that stretches on down the hall. Some are locked while others open to reveal more partying, more indiscretions going on. In the bathroom, a girl I recognize as Hannah Fochte kneels before a toilet puking her guts out. A threesome’s happening in the bedroom on the left.

I keep going until I come up on the last door and push it open to find exactly what I’m looking for.

Heather and Samson jump apart as soon as the door flings open and they realize they’re no longer alone. Samson scrubs a hand over his face, squinting in the same kind of inebriated confusion as Lucas. Heather shrieks and turns away to fix the top portion of her sparkly dress.

She’s dressed up as Barbie.

Something that makes me laugh in the moment. The dark sound comes out of me with a shake of my head and curl of my lip.

“Just as I thought,” I say. “So how long has this been going on? How long have you been fucking my best friend, Samson? How long have you been fucking him, Heather? Did you really think I wouldn’t put two and two together? All the texting you’ve been doing? All the times you said you were meeting someone special? The secrecy and weird behavior?”

Heather’s strawberry blonde locks hang more disheveled than usual. She swats hair out of her face as she says, “Nyssie, you’ve got no idea what you’re?—”

“Shut up,” I snap. “I don’t want to hear shit from you. Either of you. It’s all over. For real this time.”

“Nyssie!”

“Hang on!”

I rush out of the room as abruptly as I arrived. Their voices fade among the dozens of others, drowned out by the laughter, chatter, and most of all, the blaring music. I’ve never regretted a pair of heels more as I strut down the hall and then the stairs.

“Nyssa, slow the fuck down!”

---