Page 81 of Bound to a Killer
I repeat it to myself, like that’ll make it true, but the twist in my gut says otherwise. If I’m not careful, it’ll grow, expand large enough to breach the point where I can’t reel it back.
I slip out of her room the same way I came in, pausing only to fix the mesh screen on my way down.
Just like that, I’m gone. Almost like I was never here.
23
ARIA
Clara twirls through her dressing room the next morning while I sit on a beige chenille ottoman, watching gold flecks shimmer across her bodycon dress beneath the chandelier light.
“So, what do you think?” she asks, running her hands down her sides, her fingertips grazing the sequins.
“It’s pretty,” I murmur, smiling just enough to prove I’ve been paying attention.
Skipping another day of school isn’t what’s bothering me. Prom’s this weekend, so the whole week is basically prep anyway.
What’s really distracting me is work. I can’t miss today’s afternoon shift, not after barely getting the job back in the first place. Turns out, not many new hires were willing to deal with Becca’s overbearing nature for minimum wage. Shocker. The café isn’t within walking distance from Clara’s house, which wouldn’t be a problem if I had my car. Thanks, Mom.
“Hey, do you think you can drop me off at the café later?”
She lifts her gaze to the mirror lining the closet wall, itscarved frame set against cream toile wallpaper, one Clara chose after flipping through my sketchpad last summer.
That was the first time I realized how much joy it brought me to see something I’d imagined take shape in the real world. I had visions for my own room, too, but I didn’t have Clara’s budget. So I kept my dreams confined to paper, and my expectations adjusted to whatever leftover trinkets I could get my hands on from work.
Shifting her weight to one hip, Clara keeps her eyes on the mirror. “Duh, of course I can.” She studies me for a moment. “But what about you? What are you thinking of wearing?”
I sigh. “I don’t think I’ll go to prom.”
“No, please don’t stay home,” she pleads, her bottom lip jutting out as she reaches an arm back to feel for her zipper.
I get up to help her with it. “You’re going with Jayce, anyway, aren’t you?” I hedge, curious but hoping it’ll steer things away from me.
“Oh, God no,” she says with a mock retch, her button nose scrunched as she shimmies herself out of the form-fitting dress. “I’m going with Gabe.”
“Class clown, Gabe?” I deadpan, scrunching my nose right back at her.
She shrugs, muffling a laugh as she pulls a bubblegum pink t-shirt over her head, the fabric scattered with miniature cherries. “So, what? He’s funny,” she says, gathering a thick bundle of blonde hair into a messy bun.
“So…What you’re saying is, you’re not dating Jayce Michelson?” I ask, walking back toward the closet island.
Sunlight from the afternoon heat spills through the arched window beside it, glinting off perfume bottles and scattered jewelry across the glass surface. I grab a frosted pink bottle that catches my eye and spritz it onto my wrist before dabbing it onto my collarbone. Crisp peonies. The scent is faint, perfect for spring, and expensive enough to cling to my skin all day.
I glance back up to see her roll her eyes, her lashes batting dramatically over milky skin. “Barf,” she says, sticking a finger in her mouth. “Okay, fine, he’s obviously Hillside’s poster boy or whatever, but we’re just friends.”
My brows pinch together. “Friends…”
“Can you pull open the second drawer to your left?” she asks, her shift in tone catching me off guard. “There’s a photo album inside. I want to show you something.”
I do as she says, lifting it out from the island drawer. “This?”
“Yeah, that,” she says, walking around to stand beside me. I hand it over, watching as she flips through a stack of photos before landing on the one she wants me to see. “Right here,” she says, pressing a ruby-tipped finger to the page.
I lean closer, squinting at the circle of kids in what looks like a library. A girl with pale, flaxen ringlets spilling over her shoulder sits in the middle, beaming. “That’s you, isn’t it?” I smile at the image, remembering how peaceful and whole life felt back then.
“Yes…” she says, drawing out the word, a strange look flickering across her face. “Guess who’s sitting beside me?”
I glance back down, eyes settling on a young boy with wavy, honey-brown hair and a deep dimple in his cheek. It takes a second to register, but when it does, I gasp through rounded lips. “Jayce?”
