Page 38 of Pretty Poisoned

She bursts into tears. "No," she says. "I'm not okay. I just…I love him so much. I don't know what to do."

"Well, what happened?" I ask. "You can tell me; I won't tell anyone."

"I'm not supposed to talk about it," she says.

"Well, it seems like you need to talk about it," I tell her. "It's killing you; I can see it."

"Itiskilling me," she cries. "I think I'm actually dying. I've never felt like this before."

"Why don't you leave then?" I ask. "Why don't you just go home?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"He's torturing you—you're torturing yourself, too. Why wouldn't you?"

"Do you think that's what he wants? Do you think he wants me to leave? Oh my god…no. This is my family. I…no, I can't—"

"No," I stop her. "I'm sure that's not what he wants, okay? I don't even know him. Don't listen to me."

Layla slides down the wall onto the bathroom floor and drops her head in her hands. "I cut him," she says, her voice barely a whisper.

"What do you mean?" I ask, sitting beside her.

"I made him bleed. That's why he hates me."

"But…isn't that like…just a thing you all do?" I ask.

"Not Declan," she says. "He only takes. He even bathes in it, you know? But he won't spill his own blood; that's why he doesn't have any tattoos. But…I thought it would be okay because…he loved me."

Hearing her say it aloud…it's clear that she really believed it—with her whole heart. It makes my own ache. I doubt Declan is capable of loving anyone or anything. I don't tell the broken girl in front of me that.

"He did," she insists, perhaps seeing the disbelief on my face. "You weren't there.Iwas there, and he loved me."

"Layla, I'm so sorry."

"So, when he gave me the knife, I just…did it. He threw me off the bed. He was so mad, I actually thought he was going to kill me. In a way, I guess he did. You know I'd never even had a boyfriend before? I was homeschooled; my family was super religious, and…they hurt me. I can't go back to them, Teagan. I think maybe they'd kill me now, too."

"It'll be okay," I tell her. "We'll figure something out. I can help you."

"How canyouhelp me?" she asks.

"I don't know, but I'd try," I say. But my mind circles back, latching onto something else she said earlier. "What do you mean byhe bathes in it?"

"Exactly what you think I mean."

"Where does he get that much blood?" I ask.

"Nowhere good," Layla says.

"Layla, let me help. I'd hate to see something happen to you. I've heard some things."

"What kind of things?"

"About a girl named Bridget. Did you know her?"

Something flashes in her eyes and her demeanor changes. She scowls and pulls herself off of the floor.

Fuck.I fucked up.

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