Page 57 of Drowning Her

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She opened her mouth to protest, but I put a hand on her shoulder, begging her to see me. To understand.

I let go.

“This is our only choice,” I said.

Chapter 21

Maisie

I watcheduntil I couldn’t see his car anymore. Then I faced the trail that led to the Pierce Park Tunnel. I had walked this path hundreds of times, but right then, it seemed daunting. A path I was afraid to take. Afraid to see that there was nothing on the other side.

I let my feet take me there anyway. Down the empty tunnel. When I was a teenager, I had learned the schedule, as if that would have prevented my sister from dying. But I had forgotten all of that.

I laid down on the tracks, staring into the darkness. When would the next train come?

A surge of adrenaline tightened my stomach, thinking of lying on the tracks as Wilder fucked my mouth. It had been so intense, the wooden slats digging into the back of my head, his balls slapping my chin, his cock forcing down my throat. We had both been playing with fate. Even when he was restrained, Wilder had completely owned me. But I had never truly been afraid of him. I had this instinct inside of me that said he would save me if it camedown to it, even if that meant shoving me out of the way before the train took him too.

I pushed myself to my feet. I sat in the safety alcove. There were so many things that were out of my control, but I could control this.

I dialed Bambi, but the call went straight to voicemail. I waited a few minutes and tried her again, but there was still no answer. Maybe it was better this way. I had gotten Bambi into so much trouble before, and now I would probably do it again. Maybe it was better to leave her alone.

Like it was better to leave Wilder alone.

But that was stupid. Wilder had one objective: to kill. I shouldn’t have felt guilty for thwarting that plan.

I dialed Fiona, my older sister. The phone rang a few times, then went to voicemail too. I dialed again, hoping that she would realize it was important. This time, she picked up.

“Hello?” Fiona asked.

“Hey,” I said.

A breath escaped her lips. “Maisie?”

“Guilty,” I said. “By any chance, could you pick me up at the train tunnel?”

An hour later, Fiona pulled up in a red sedan, the hood dented in, the same car she had gotten when we were in high school. I put my bag in the trunk and took the seat next to her.

“What are you doing over here?” she asked. I lifted my shoulders. I couldn’t explain it to her, and yet I couldn’t stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. I wiped them away quickly. Fiona fidgeted in her seat, obviously uncomfortable with my display of emotion. But screw it. She was one of the few people I could be myself around. She knew my biggest fault. “Where are we going?” she asked.

A few seconds passed by. “I don’t know,” I finally said.

She kept driving anyway. I was grateful that she wasn’t making a fuss out of it. On the highway, the radio switched to a commercial, and she punched it off. I flicked the air vents; the air conditioning was sporadic in her car.

“Can I ask for your advice about something?” she asked. She must have been annoyed by my fidgeting. Better to make conversation than to let me stew.

But then it dawned on me: was Perfect Fiona actually askingmefor help?

“Shoot,” I said.

“What do I do about Mom and Dad?”

I wrinkled my nose. “What about them?”

“I’m failing.” She said the words so quickly I almost didn’t understand them. My jaw dropped. I blinked at her.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

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