Page 80 of Our Secrets and Scars

“Kinsley,” he pleads, but I shake my head frantically. The sound of his voice, that gorgeous, smooth, caramel lilt I’ve loved since the first time I heard it, does nothing now but repel me. “It’s not what you think—”

“Did you know?” I cut him off.

“What?”

“Did you know who I was?”

The look of complete and total panic that convulses his features tells me everything I need to know.

He knew who I was all along.

And somehow, that hurts even more than him being responsible for the accident that killed my sister and left me with life-long marks on my face.

Because I thought that we were kindred. That the universe had matched us together in the pen pal program because it recognized a likeness between our souls. I thought that we were fated. And that our hearts were meant for the other.

How wrong I was.

How stupid I was to believe the words he wrote in his letters and the ones he whispered to me in the dark as we lay together in bed after making love to each other.

It’s all been a lie.

Everything has been a fucking lie.

The world around me blurs as my brain rejects the idea of any of this being real. It can’t compute it. It’s too much. It’s too soul-destroying to possibly be happening right now.

But it is.

Holden, the man I thought I was in love with, killed my sister and gave me the scars he begged me to show him just weeks ago. It’s a sick joke, a betrayal of the darkest kind. And one I know for certainty that I will never recover from.

My heart is broken beyond repair.

I trusted him more than anyone, and he destroyed me.

Small hands tug at my arms, and I look dazedly up at Isla as she tries to pull me to stand.

“Come on, honey,” she whispers. “Let’s get you out of here.”

I nod, leaning my weight on her as she begins to shuffle us through the hordes of people still staring at the spectacle that’s unfolded in the last few minutes.

Holden calls out to me, begging me to hear him out, to listen to him, to forgive him. That last one makes me snap.

I turn around, finding him only a few steps behind me.

“I fucking hate you,” I spit. “And I willneverforgive you for this.”

Isla tugs on my arm, and together, we stumble down the steps leading out of the house. I’m grateful for it too. I wouldn’t be able to stand looking at Holden’s crestfallen face for another minute.

“You okay?” she asks, and even though I know she knows I’m not, I nod anyway. “You might not feel it right now, but you’re still a queen. We just need to find your crown again.”

The further we get from the frat house, the harder it gets to keep the tears at bay. One teardrop falls, followed by another, until they rain freely down my face. And just like that, hand in hand with my best friend and sobbing hysterically, I pretend not to hear Holden’s anguished cry tearing into the night as I somehow find the strength to walk home.

Twenty-Two

Kinsley

Fourteen years old

Thewindowsintheback of the car are rolled down as Bex and I lie stretched across the seats as Mom yells at Papa for running a red light.

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