Page 9 of Terror Tuesday
Saturated in blood, covered in darkness, and shaking with terror, I keep moving.
Eventually, I slump against another alleyway wall to catch my breath and bring up my phone I remembered to snatch before I left. I nearly drop it. My fingers freeze over the screen.
It’s…sticky. Not blood. Something else. Oh, god. Shuddering, I wipe my hand on my dress, but it only smears and mixes with red. The sour scent lingers.
Swallowing the bile rising in my throat, I force myself to unlock the screen.I can’t call anyone for help. My brothers would make this so much worse. And my father… His involvement would start a war.
They’d kill trying to protect me, and then the society would send the enforcers for them…
Not to mention, they’d all know what I did. Worse, they’d discover what happened to me before. Then, all of my family would die for knowing the truth. I have to protect them.
It feels natural to run away. Zip my mouth closed. This is who I am. The keeper of secrets. One who must remain quiet to survive.
Hunter spoke the same words that have haunted me from the night that changed my life. The moment I had to become a good servant ofCaliphylla. Or else.
Every step forward through the city streets forces me to relive my worst memories. Starting with seeing Bryce’s body twitch. Hunter’s blood coating me. The smell of Reggie’s breath as he forced himself inside me. And the victorious smile that covered his face after.
Hours later, I wander through Northview’s campus in a daze. Thirsty. Exhausted. Caked with red stains.
But I still have enough wits to head to the basement laundry. No one comes down here except for the staff, and at this time of night—morning—it should be dark and empty. Fortunately, my key code works on the door. The president has access to every part of theOmega Nu Epsilonhouse.
Splashes from the lake are the only sounds in the still air. A chill scurries down my spine. The wind shifts, carrying something unnatural with it. A presence. A weight I can’t see but feel pressing onto my chest. I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know.
He’s watching me.
Hustling inside to escape that thought, I shed my dress until I’m left in my white slip with just a hint of blood at the hem. Underneath some pizza boxes and oversized laundry detergent containers, I stuff the garment and tie off the bag, setting it near the back door.
As I pass the dryers, something flickers in the corner of my eye. I turn and nearly recoil.
A ghost stares back at me. Sunken eyes, bruised skin, dark hair tangled in blood and sweat. I step forward, and she mimics the motion. But I open my mouth, she doesn’t. My stomach twists once again. The woman in the reflection isn’t me. She’s someone else. Someone…ruined. Pieces of me are forever cemented in that warehouse downtown.
I seem to have aged ten years overnight. But even if I made it to thirty-three, I don’t think I would change. Will he ever stop tormenting me?
On the metal sink lies a nail brush that I use to scrub my hands and face. At least enough so I don’t look like I just murdered two men. With delicate steps, I tiptoe toward my room on the top floor, skirt inside, and hurry to my private shower. Another perk of being president.
The hot water settles me, but I slump to the floor, everything exploding from my body.
Sobs wrack my chest, brutal and sudden—like they’ve been waiting in the wings, silent until now. Forehead hitting my knees, I fold forward and release a silent scream. My throat clenches too tightly to let it out. Steam rises around me like smoke from a ritual fire, but I don’t feel clean.
Hunter’s dead.
Bryce too.
The words loop like a children’s song gone wrong. A nursery rhyme for the damned.
I should be gutted. Perhaps clawing my chest open with sorrow, ripping clothes, or burning myself upon a pyre. BeggingCaliphyllaorBonakanoshimself to bring them back.
But instead, I just sit here on the cold tile. Crying. Shaking. Weak. And not even sure what these tears are for.
Am I grieving…or am I relieved?
A hiccup rattles through me, and that’s when the laughter starts. The sound is ridiculous and broken.I’ve lost it.Horrified, I clamp my hand over my mouth. But it slips out anyway. A nasty little giggle, like my brain doesn’t know which lever to pull.
What’s wrong with me?
Hunter is gone. The boy who owned my first college Homecoming. My first heartbreak. The man I was supposed to love.
And yet, some part of me feels like I’m finally exhaling.
