Page 80 of Grave Love
She puts away her purse, and for the first time in years, it seems like she’s genuinely curious. Like she wants to know who I’ve been staying with. Panic rises in my chest, filling my ears with throbbing pain.
Is this where it all comes crashing down?
When does it become my fault?
“Is that the work friend who picked—”
My phone buzzes on the table, jerking around with the vibrations. Mrs. Richmond rolls her eyes, her true self finally returning. She motions for me to take the call.
I close the bedroom door behind me. My heart leaps when I see his name.
“You didn’t call me,” Blaze says, his voice low and tenuous, like a song that’s both sad and erotic.
Heisworried about me, isn’t he?
No. This is about what he wants from me.My corpse.
I’m just his little corpse. That’s all I’m supposed to be. Even if he wants more, I can’t—
“It’s been a few hours. Not days,” I mutter, cutting off my own thoughts, a subtle hint of annoyance in my voice. Blaze chuckles, and I wait for everything to break down. For the cracks to surface.
I should tell Blaze about the doctor. I should ask if hesentthe doctor.
I tuck away those questions, not letting them out. I might not know the details, but I know they’re not friends. If I tell Blaze about the doctor, it’ll only create more problems, and right now, with the way things are? If I don’t try to keep it together, itwillblow up in my face. And I don’t want that to happen yet.
I don’t want to think. I just want it to be over. To end things while I still feel like I can.
“Is your grandmother fine?” Blaze asks sarcastically. “Come back. We need to use this day off to our advantage.”
A minute passes, the phone line crackling. I was supposed to come home and process everything that had happened with Blaze. Last night with the gun feels like it was ages ago.
I run through every reason why I shouldn’t go back to Blaze’s house.
I remind myself of why I’ll never be good enough. Not even for Blaze. That he’ll be better off when I’m dead.
But it doesn’t stop me.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay,” he says.
It’s one word, and yet there’s an endless stream of complication behind it. You can show up on someone’s doorstep and say that simple word, and it can sign away your death to a murderer. Or you can say that word, and you give yourself over to someone who cares for you, knowing that your love can still be ripped away in one breath. It doesn’t matter who kills who. Who dies. Who lives.
It always ends.
I get in the car. The engine rumbles underneath me, my chest fluttering with anticipation.
I don’t want this anymore. I don’t need help in doing anything. I can do it by myself. I can end things, with or without Blaze.
Maybe Iwantto keep going. Even if it is fucked up and I have no control, maybe I like knowing that there’s no way to tell what comes next.
Maybe it’s my choice to stay.
Red lights fill the windshield. I slam on the brakes and my tires slide, squealing to a stop right before hitting a car.
I ran a red light.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins, shock hot on my skin. A car to the side of me honks, and I hold my chest briefly. I could’ve died right then.
