Page 50 of Into Ruin

The out-of-body experience only worsens when I tighten my hold and yank his head back. His eyes are glazed, his lips wet, mouth parted.

I move fast, the skate heavy in my hand, but I can’t think. Can’t process what I’m about to do. I drive it forward, across his neck. The blade catches on his skin, and it’s not smooth enough to be easy.

Itrips.

The spurt of blood is shockingly violent. It hits my face and chest, splattering across my neck.Pause. Then again. His eyes widen in horror, mirroring mine.

I just did that.

I shove him away, and he goes, stumbling, trying to figure out what happened. He cups his neck, trying to stop the flow of blood. But it rushes through his fingers, dripping to the floor between us, while he gapes and gurgles.

He can’t save himself, can he?

“I will not live in fear of you,” I whisper.

His expression morphs into anger, and he suddenly stumbles back toward me. He releases his throat and grasps at me. His blood makes his hold slick, unstable, but he’s strong enough that it doesn’t matter. He pulls me with him, down on top of him, and fear floods through me that he’s going to use his last breath to kill me, too. His hands go around my throat, even as the blood gushes from his.

I scream and thrash, my lungs burning. I just need to last longer than him. And finally, his grip goes slack. I fall away from him and skitter backward, dragging my knees up to my chest. I wheeze, inhaling as deep as I can.

It doesn’t seem like enough. My head swims.

Suddenly, someone moves in front of me. My view of Max is blocked. Hands grab my shoulders and shake me, and I flinch. I keep going, trying to evade, but the hands are too strong.

“Stop. It’s me.”

Camden.

My gaze finally lifts and locks on to his face.

Oh, God. My eyes fill with tears, but he shakes me.Hard.

“No,” he snaps. “Don’t go into shock. Don’t freak out on me, little Lawson.” He glances over his shoulder, then meets my gaze. “What’re the odds this is the stalker you talked about before?”

My throat works, and it takes a long moment for a rasping answer to come out. “Hundred percent.”

He seems to consider.

“Okay,” he finally says. “Get in the shower.”

“W-what?”

“Shower. Through that door over there. You’re covered in blood.”

When I don’t move, he propels me out of the locker room and into the showers. Unlike all the girls’ locker rooms I’ve seen in the past, this one just has open stalls without curtains. He guides me into one, clothes and all, and turns on the water.

A minute later, there’s a bar of soap in my hand.

When I don’t move, he grimaces and goes for my shirt. I raise my arms for him to remove it, my resistance gone. He has me brace a hand on his shoulder while he kneels down and helps me out of my pants.

In my underwear, I step under the now-hot stream. It brings some of my mind back, and I rotate to find Camden still standing in front of me.

There’s a bloody handprint on his shirt. On the shoulder where I gripped him.

My stomach rolls.

“Is he dead?” I lick my lips.

The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, and I gag. I rotate around and brace my hand on the wall, my stomach cramping. The vomit sears my throat. I get a glimpse of the blood staining my hands.

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