Page 165 of Intense
Song- Worst In Me, Bad Omens
By the time I take my last drag, my head feels clearer, but my chest is still tight.
I hurt her. Even if I didn’t mean to, that’s not the point. I could’ve killed her.
I knew the risk and still took it selfishly. And if anything ever happened to her because of me, I’d never be able to forgive myself.
I shake my head, lock the door, and down a glass of ice-cold water.
Falling asleep with her in my arms was the safest I’ve ever felt. The most at home.
Maybe I should talk to someone about my past. Omit the parts I can’t share. But what would it even achieve? I can’t undo what they did to me. Can’t change the fact I sacrificed everything to save a friend and failed.
She died anyway.
And I was ten years old.
Now I’m not even sure I can save myself. And it’s not Stephanie’s job to fix me.
I rub my hands over my face. I saw the way she looked at me earlier—pleading without words for me not to leave her. That silent plea hit straight to the bone. She’s been abandoned. Hurt. Afraid.
So have I.
What we have is too strong to just let go.
I head for the bedroom. But as I pass the bathroom, I see it, a soft glow leaking from the room next to it.
Curiosity hooks me by the throat.
She never mentioned this room. The door’s locked. I frown. She hasn’t left my sight all night. She didn’t lock it while I’ve been here.
A slow grin pulls at my mouth. You only lock something you don’t want found. I know, half my house is locked down for a reason. The Decadence Trials. Although, delayed or not, the games haven’t been part of my thoughts for a while.
She’s just like me.
I find something small and thin in the kitchen and jiggle the lock until it clicks open.
The light comes on to reveal a plain, windowless office. The glow is from the computer monitor. No photos. No art. Just a desk and a cupboard. It’s bland and boring.
I try the computer. Password protected. Figures.
First drawer: empty except for a small key.
Second drawer: locked. The key doesn’t fit.
My gaze shifts to the cupboard. This is like a puzzle.
Inside is a metal safe. The key slides in perfectly.
My breath stops when I open it. There are rows of vials. All hospital stock. All lethal in the wrong hands.
My pulse climbs. This isn’t shit you take recreationally. That’s not what she’s doing.
I know exactly what I’d do with them.
At the back, a second key. I try it on the locked drawer. It works.
Inside is a red leather box.
