Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 738(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
The girl who lost.
I’m pointing the gun at him now, unable to think straight, controlled by fear.
“Whoa. Don’t shoot me.” He raises his hands slowly, the universal gesture of surrender.
My vision blurs a bit. I blink to clear it and realize my eyes are leaking. Why am I crying?
“It’s okay,” Tor says, slowly bringing one steadying hand out in front of him. “You’re okay. Let me think.”
His words don’t make sense. Neither does his tone. He should be freaking out. Why isn’t he freaking out?
“Can I have the gun?”
I shake my head.
“No. Okay,” he says, still calmly. He takes a slow step toward me.
“Stay back,” I say, jamming the gun toward him to remind him I have it.
He keeps his hand out like he’s approaching a wild animal he needs to convince not to maul him. “I’m not going to hurt you, so don’t hurt me, okay? I just want to take the gun so nobody gets hurt by accident. Your hands are shaking, and it doesn’t look like you have complete control. We don’t want an accident, right?”
That makes sense, I think, but… I don’t know.
I’m sick to my stomach. My mind feels fractured, but I try to make sense of his words.
He’s right. I don’t want to hurt anybody by accident.
But I’m also afraid to hand over my only way to defend myself in case he’s lying to me.
Seeing my indecision, he keeps talking. “Listen, there’s not a lot of time to figure out what we’re going to do next, okay? We have to work together to figure this out. Did you have a plan?”
“This was my plan.”
“Right. But after pulling the trigger, did you have a plan?”
“No.”
He sighs. It’s a quick sound, then he nods. “Okay. That’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, my head finally clear enough to realize he sounds crazy.
“Give me the gun, Cassie. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’ll give it back if you really want it, but I need to wipe it down before the police get here.”
“What?” I say, blinking at him.
I’m so confused that when he reaches me and gets his hand on the gun, I let him take it.
I know as soon as the weapon has left my hand that I did the wrong thing. I just shot his brother, and now he has my gun—he can grab me, or hell, he could shoot me and claim self-defense. He can get his revenge right now, forgoing the legal process entirely.
I wish I had done that.
Despite the instinctive dread I feel—the purely biological component of self-preservation that can’t be suppressed—I rationalize that it doesn’t really matter if Tor kills me. I died a year ago. If he wants to put down the shell, so be it.
But he doesn’t.
He lowers the gun to his side, his watchful blue eyes locked onto me. “Are you here alone?”
“Yes.”
“Did you drive here?”
I nod.
He mirrors me, nodding too. “Does anybody know you’re here?”
I shake my head before I can consider that I should probably lie.
“Is there any evidence of what you were planning to do tonight at your house?”
That question confuses me. My brow furrows, then I nod. “I left a note.”
His eyes seem to darken, and his brow furrows briefly. He opens his mouth, then decides not to ask whatever he was going to ask. After a couple of seconds, he says, “Anything else?”
“I have a notebook in my room where I wrote about tonight. A lot.”
“What color is it?”
“Green.”
“Where do you keep it?”
“Under my mattress.”
“Is there anything else?” he asks.
“I don’t… think so.”
“Okay.” He turns around, glancing down at his brother. He isn’t moving.
Tor goes back up the steps and disappears down the hall. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know why I’m still standing here. I should turn around and go back to my car. I should get the hell out of here.
I never made plans for after pulling the trigger, but just because I expect to get caught doesn’t mean I have to do the cops’ job for them and sit here and wait for them to show up. I should get on the road and get the hell out of here. I should go see the beach or Times Square. I should do something before I get locked up for the rest of my life.
Before I get my feet moving again, Tor comes back down the hall. I’m still standing in the same place he left me.
“Come inside. Close the door behind you—no, don’t. I’ll do it.”
I’m still pretty frozen, but I try to step forward. He reaches past me, closing the front door, and pulling me forward a little more.
Since the rape, I haven’t liked being touched. Maybe it’s due to my frayed nerves, but his touch doesn’t bother me right now.