Page 20 of Ramsay

At times, I hate my sister with a visceral clenching of my gut that’s so painful it reminds me to back off. Whatever her reasons, she walked away, leaving my parents a shell of their former selves and me to pick up the pieces, except I’m missing the last few to make us whole.

In my saner moments, when I’m not resentful as all hell, I wonder if she isn’t dead. My parents have had no word from her in five years and even at rock bottom, when she was shaking with need and skin and bones, she’d call home or show up unexpectedly.

But not after the last time, when my parents decided to draw the line, and give ultimatums which devolved into an ugly, messy screaming match I hid from. The ferocity on my sister’s face, the girl who used to brush my hair and snuggle with me at night, was replaced by a shell.

I was too young to understand the specifics, but even at twelve years old, I recognized that drugs were most definitely bad if her sickly, scary visage was anything to go by.

Unfortunately, I knew all too well the appeal after a time, because escaping the pain that rides your soul like the fucking devil was preferable to the alternative.

Once I’m in my room, I collapse on my bed and plug in my earbuds before turning the music up high. It’s my only escape from reality and I ignore the tiny voice in my head that reminds me it’s not the only means of escape.

∞∞∞

I spend the weekend sweating through my need and damning myself for my stupidity. My fingers itch to reach out to my old friends who I know would be all too happy to see me again, but they’re no better for me than my current group.

Although the irony isn’t lost on me because we moved to escape the specter of my mistakes only to drop into an equally savage group hidden behind perfect makeup and pretty lies.

Through it all, Ramsay’s lips pressed to mine is what I focus on, especially when my need for oblivion crawls through my system. It burns like an acid I can't wash off my skin, but the remembrance of his taste, that brief caress of his tongue, serves to distract me as much as anything can.

On Monday, I’m forced to walk to school since my car is still in the lot, which I left there Friday night when Oliver took me to Ramsay’s home. I’m not sure what I should say when or if someone questions me about it, but I guess I’ll worry about that when the time comes. I’ve got enough on my plate now.

I heard nothing over the weekend, and I assume Sabrina still thinks I got what was coming to me. Bitch.

I’ve no notion if this means her vendetta is over and if she expects me to fall back into the fold. Perhaps this was her final fuck you but the jokes on her because I can’t find it in me to care.

Truthfully, the popularity meant little, it was the safety of being normal I craved, but normal flew out the window when I met up with the dark side of the Sinners and her petty actions in comparison are child’s play.

I managed to cover the bruise on my forehead. I’m no stranger to hiding things I don’t want seen and makeup can create all sorts of illusions—look what it's done to hide Sabrina’s brand of ugly.

At least the mark is one less thing to worry about as I approach the school. I’ve been left entirely in the dark, and while I recognize it as a gift, it still rankles. What if someone saw us together? What is Ramsay hiding? How can I protect myself if I don’t know what’s coming my way?

It’s evident when I enter the front doors that something is off because students immediately pair off and back away when I walk down the hall, forming groups and whispering behind their hands as they look me up and down curiously.

Avoiding the alcove where Sabrina and her lemmings gather, I make my way slowly to my first-period class. Clearly, I’m the topic of conversation, and I’m dreading what this means. I can only hope the news has nothing to do with the Sinners or anything else that happened that night. This could be very bad, depending on how Ramsay planned for this to play out.

I have the urgent need to seek him out and warn him, but he’s nowhere to be found, and I have no way of contacting him. Ramsay dropped me without so much as a goodbye, and the others were distinctly absent when we left.

With sweat sliding down my back, I duck into the bathroom and take a few shaky breaths. I didn’t do anything wrong, but I worry about the consequences to me if whatever they were doing gets out.

All I can do is play it cool until someone approaches me.

I’m glaring at my reflection in the mirror when a gaggle of girls enter. Halfheartedly, I look up to find them laser focused on me.

The leader stops abruptly, and the others follow suit, staring wide-eyed. Fuck this shit.

Impatiently I turn to them and snarl, “What?”

They’re a pack of lower classmen, juniors perhaps, dressed in the latest fashions with shiny hair and perfect skin. One of them steps forward, and I recognize the sparkle in her eyes, for she’ll be the next Sabrina when we graduate—vicious and dead inside.

She’s cute, with dark hair and perfect posture, but her cruelty makes her ugly.

Running her eyes over me avidly, she asks, “Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

Her head pops up to mine at my harsh tone, and a broad smile spreads across her face. Crossing her arms, she cocks her head to the side, hesitating for dramatic effect before saying. “Did you fuck not one but all of the Sinners?”

“At the same time?” A timid voice chimes from the back.

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