Page 103 of Savannah Royals
And he walks away. Away from me. Away and away, straight-backed and strong, until he disappears in the foggy depths of the Savannah night.
For the first time in a long time, there’s no one to catch me when I fall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Thepainislikenothing I could have imagined. Like a knife stuck in my chest, the blade scratching, slicing—endlessly—through the outermost layers of my black heart. I’m still alive, but with every beat of my pumping, wounded heart, a new gash appears, each mark gouging deeper than the last.
It’s death by a thousand cuts. Over and over. And through it all, the same haunting memory—Matthew walking away, head held high. Higher than me. Always.
“Goddamn him!” I scream the words into my tear-soaked pillow. I punch the feathery fluff, stuff my bruised knuckles against my teeth, biting down.
My mother’s voice comes next.You aren’t meant to be seen, Katarina. Why, oh why, did you let him see?
“I don’t know,” I mumble, burying the words in the pillow. I imagine myself dancing with the sun. The warmth rushing in, then sputtering out. Plunging me into frigid darkness. It’s so cold now. A starving man knows hunger all the better for having feasted. I wish I never had. I wish—
“Kat?”
The door creaks open, light streaking in. I roll away from it.
“Kat?” Mellie is poking my back. “I brought a plate of dinner for you. Meatloaf and potatoes. You should eat.”
“I’m not hungry. Leaveme alone, Mellie.”
There’s a gentlethumpas porcelain hits the wood of my desk. Then, to my abject horror, the foot of my bed sinks, lowering under Mellie’s weight.
“Get out, Mellie.” I try for my usual fierceness, the tenor that always makes her capitulate, but her butt remains firmly planted on my bed. Her body warms the bundle of blankets around my feet.
“Kat, it’s been three days.”
Three days?I blink stupidly, the action painful in my swollen, sandpaper eyes.
“I can’t cover for you much longer. Headmistress Helena is sending for a doctor in the morning.”
I grunt, unmoved.
“Kat.” Her hand lands on my ankle, her fingers curling around it with worry. “What happened?”
I want to kick her away. I want her to stop talking. I want her to leave me alone.
“I’m not moving from your bed until you talk to me.” She wiggles backward, all the way back, until her spine rests comfortably against the wall. Legs stretched out, she settles in for the long haul.
I pull my bedraggled head off the pillow to stare at her, aghast.
“Golly.” Her gaze roves over my splotchy face and tangled hair. “Things are worse than I thought.”
“What are you doing?” I croak, summoning a weak glare. “Get off my bed and leave me alone.”
“I won’t.” There’s a stubborn tilt to her chin.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re my friend and you’re hurting. I don’t know why, but—”
“We’re not friends.” I’m shocked by her assertion.
“Of coursewe are.”
“No. We’re not.” I drop my head back to the pillow, exhausted. Certain now I’ve won, and she’ll leave me in peace.
