All words abandoned my head as I met those eyes and found them boiling over with rage, unearthly rage and—panic. Hysteria. His breaths came out in short gasps, but he stepped forward slowly, carefully. As if he knew I needed the minute to collect myself. To grasp that he was here, really here. At my house.
But even with the moment to compose myself, I still wasn't ready for the words that came out of his mouth.
"Did he hurt you."
I brought a hand up to my throat, feeling my heart hammer there. "Dez—"
"Did that fucker hurt you." He stepped closer, his voice charged with a fury that I'd yet to see. Not anger but something far worse. Something darker.
I couldn't look him in the eye. "Not in the way you're thinking."
"Well you better explain in what way, Peacock, because my head is exploding with a thousand different scenarios right now." Dez gritted his teeth, stopping when he reached the threshold of my door. A part of me still couldn't believe that he was here, standing in front of my house.
"I need to hear it from your account," he said, "Not from NBC or CNN or some other news site. I need to hear it from you."
I looked up at him, at the carnage tearing through his face, and I had to remind myself how to breathe. Questions—yes, I had so many of them for him too. But with the way his gaze was burning through me now, I knew those questions would have to wait.
So I stepped forward, shutting the door behind me before I took a seat on my front steps.
I angled my head up at Dez. "Are you going to sit?"
He only crossed his arms and stared, waiting.
Alright then.
"Where would you like me to start?" I said.
"From the beginning. Who was he to you?"
I shut my eyes and braced myself before I forced the ugly words out of my mouth. Because whether I liked it or not, Dez knew the truth now—or at least, whatever the news articles were able to tell him of it.
"His name was Samuel Arbor," I started, fighting back a cringe. My fists clenched. The name brought back the face—the deranged green eyes, the straight white teeth wreathed by cracked lips and a smile so inhuman, it pillaged my dreams for months afterwards.
It brought back the memories of what he did.
And of what he made me do.
"He's a year older than us," I went on, nails digging into my palms, "I'd only ever seen him in passing—sometimes in the halls, sometimes at parties, but other than that he was a total stranger. I bumped into him at school once, or—he bumped into me. He introduced himself as Sammy to me then, and I didn't think anything of it. There was something off about him. Something in the way he smiled, in the way he looked at me, but I just . . . I didn't know what it was. I knew in my gut something wasn't right, but because I couldn't pinpoint what it was, I just shrugged it off." My nails pressed in harder, but I welcomed the pain against my skin over the one in my chest.
Warm hands wrapped around mine, easing my nails from my palms as Dez laced his fingers in between my own. I looked up to find him sitting on the step beside me, his strong hands entwined in mine. There was still hell blazing in his eyes, but his touch was gentle, soothing.
He glanced at the red marks on my palms before bringing them up to his lips, closing his eyes as he did so. His face hardened, as if he were the one who'd felt the pain of my grazes—and he didn't let go of me, didn't open his eyes as he whispered onto my skin, "What did he do to you."
I swallowed past the lump in my throat and gave Dez the short and simple answer:
"He broke me."
Samuel took the person that I was and smashed me into a million pieces—and he made sure there was no coming back from it.
Dez's eyes opened, cracking with an emotion that cut me deeper than any other wound.
I pushed forward, "I used to be different, Dez. And the reason I was so horrible to you when I first met you wasn't because of anything you did." I thought of our first exchange at the bookstore. My innate, unreasonable dislike for Dez at the time. "It was because of how much you reminded me of me. Of the life I used to have. I wasn't always a recluse. Believe it or not, I actually enjoyed being around other people. But you—you are so much better than I ever was. I was arrogant in the worst way possible, thinking that I was bigger than the world. That I was invincible and that no one could possibly hurt me.
"After the day he bumped into me, Samuel found more and more excuses to be where I was. He'd chalk it up to coincidence and sometimes he even made me feel like I was the one following him around. Whether it was at a coffee shop or a restaurant or just a certain hall at school, he was always there. But I ignored it. I ignored all the signs. I thought maybe he just had a crush on me and that was all.
"My dad was hardly home because he was usually away on business trips, and my mom had left us the year prior. I didn't know where she went. I just woke up one day, and she was gone. Her number had changed, and I never heard from her again, so I drank and partied and I tried to fill the silence at home with friends and fun. My best friend Madison—" I paused, feeling my heart shrinking, turning to ash in my chest as I said her name. "She and I were kind of like you and Lewis. We grew up together. And Madison . . . she was perfect. She was kind and sweet and the most down-to-earth person I'd ever known. She was the one who kept me grounded, who made sure I didn't take the partying to an extreme and that I stayed focused on school. She gave me the support I needed when my parents weren't there—and I was the one who protected her.
"When boys broke her heart or our classmates were cruel in the way they could sometimes be, I was the one who helped her fight through it, who made sure people didn't walk over her—and who made sure she didn't let them. We made a promise that even if the rest of the world hurt us, we would never hurt each other."
I fought back against the burning in my eyes, even as my voice splintered. "But then February 10th happened."
Dez squeezed my hand.
"And I broke that promise."
My words came out as a whisper. I didn't have the heart to say the rest of it. That Madison was now in a coma . . . and that she had been for the past year.
As if he'd read my mind, Dez said, "The articles said she fell down a flight of stairs."
I looked away from him. "She didn't fall."
"Did Samuel . . ?"
I shook my head.
"It was Madison's birthday." I dragged in another breath. "A few friends and I threw her a surprise party—most of the school was invited. I didn't know it until about halfway through, but Samuel was there too. Everyone got pretty wasted, including Madison for once, but it was her birthday, so the rest of us promised we'd take care of her. And she just . . . she looked so happy, so free. I wanted to be sober enough to take care of her, so I decided to stop drinking once I started feeling tipsy and dared her to chug the rest of my drink. She just laughed, tipped her head back, and everyone around us cheered while I poured the rest of it into her mouth."
I closed my eyes, seeing the triumphant smile on her face as she finished the drink like it was nothing. The way the crowd around us howled and cheered her on—including me.
"But what I didn't know was that someone had spiked that drink," I said.
Dez swore under his breath.
"I took her upstairs when she said she was feeling lightheaded. We were at her house, so upstairs was off limits for everyone else. By the time we got to the bathroom, she could hardly hold herself up against a wall to stand. It was then that I'd realized she was more than drunk—she'd been drugged." I clenched my teeth as the guilt threatened to swallow me whole. "I just didn't know at the time that it had been because of me."
"That wasn't your fault."
"It was. If I hadn't been so careless, if I'd paid any attention to my drink that night, I would have known that it was Samuel who spiked it, and I would have thrown that cup away the minute the drugs touched the surface. I would have never let Madison have it, and I sure as hell wouldn't have poured it down her fucking throat." I clutched my chest, feeling it shatter again and again. The same way it did that night I lost her.
My body went cold as ice as I said, "I fucking cheered on my best friend as I drugged her."
"Peacock—"
"As soon as we came out of the bathroom, Samuel found us," I said, cutting Dez off, my heart racing. "And that was when I saw it—what I felt was off about him all that time. I saw it in his eyes. There was nothing there, Dez. No emotion. No feeling. Only . . . an obsession.
"I asked him to move out of the way so I could get Madison downstairs and call an ambulance. My phone was dead, so I knew I'd have to borrow someone else's, but Samuel blocked off the staircase. And he was just . . . staring. He didn't say anything. He just stared and stayed silent and looked at me like . . . he knew he was going to get away with whatever he planned to do.
"That was when I saw the gun in his hand. He pointed it at Madison—and that was when he started yelling at her, telling her that she fucked everything up for him. That the drink was meant to be for me."
"Jesus Christ."
"I was scared out of my mind, Dez. I didn't know what to do. He said if I tried to yell for help, he would shoot her—so I just stood there, stunned, unable to do anything while he pointed a gun at her." I tightened my grip on Dez's hands to keep my own from shaking. "But then he started laughing, like it was all one big joke and he'd just thrown the punchline. He turned and pointed the gun at me."
Dez's body stilled. And the world started to blur a bit as I went on, "He told me to leave Madison and go with him. He said he wouldn't hurt us if I went with him, but . . . I couldn't. I couldn't just leave her. She was already falling limp in my arms, passing out. I didn't know what he'd put into my drink. I didn't know if she was going to overdose. All I knew was that I had to get her to an ambulance. So I begged him. I begged him to let me call an ambulance for her or let me bring her to someone who could help her, and then—I would go with him.
"But he thought I was lying. He thought I was planning to call the cops on him instead, and he just . . . lost it. He went ballistic, yelling at me, claiming I was trying to trick him by promising I'd go with him. Screaming at me for thinking he was that stupid. He could see that I cared more about Madison's life than my own, so he took his gun and rushed us, pressed it right against her head. And then he just . . . smiled."
My stomach curled. That smile, the way Samuel's cracked mouth curved up in sweet satisfaction as he held the gun between Madison's eyes and saw the horror in mine—that smile was the color of my nightmares, the shape of my deepest fear.
"He wanted to punish me for trying to trick him, so he gave me two options. He said I could get rid of Madison myself, push her down those stairs and leave her for someone else to find her . . . or he would get rid of her for me. And he told me to picture it, the way her blood would spray on me once he shot her." I paused, taking several deep breaths before I found my voice again. "And for a second, Madison looked at me—and she just . . . nodded. Even when she was drugged up, she knew I didn't have the heart to throw her down those stairs. And even with that gun pressed against her head, she just looked at me like . . . like she she loved me. Like she was saying goodbye."
I swore the world beneath my feet crumbled as I said weakly, "Samuel gave me five seconds to choose. I didn't know what to do. I knew he would go through with it, but I couldn't get myself to push her. When he reached the last second, I tried to pull her out of the way—behind me, but I ended up losing my footing and taking both of us down the stairs anyway." I shook my head. "The news say that she fell, but she didn't. I did. And I took her down with me."
Tears burned down my cheeks. "I got out of it with a dislocated shoulder and two cracked ribs, but Madison hit her head on the way down."
I let go of Dez to bury my head in my hands. I couldn't get the image out of my mind. The image of Madison lying beside me on the landing of those stairs, unconscious, not responding to a word I said as I called to her. The image of Samuel, the fury in his eyes as he stormed down those stairs to us.
"Someone had seen us, or had at least seen Samuel holding the gun and called the cops, so just after we'd fallen, ambulances and police cars were already pulling up to the house. After the gunshot went off, everyone had bolted out—especially after they saw me and Madison lying at the bottom of the landing. But because everyone was rushing to get out, it was harder for the cops to get in. Samuel was long gone before they'd even gotten to us."
But not before he stopped to kneel down beside me on those stairs. Not before he traced his fingers along my body, placed his lips on mine, and uttered the words that haunted me to this day. I'll find you.
I'd vomited as soon as he left.
It was the way I had begged him to let me help her, only for it all to have turned out like that—
I promised myself I would never beg anyone for anything after that night. That I would never debase myself like that again. And I'd remained true to that promise . . . until the day I'd begged for my mother's help to get Dez to Florida.
I idly registered arms wrapping around and under me, pulling me up and placing me against a hard, warm surface. I couldn't see past my tears, but I smelled that earthy citrus-and-mint scent of his. I was on Dez's lap, I realized. My head was buried into the crook of his neck while he sat in silence, holding me, giving me leave to cry onto his skin.
And so I did.
I cried. I cried for my best friend. I cried for what Samuel had made me do. And I cried for everything after. I cried for now. For the way my mother came charging back into my life like it was all okay. For all that I'd put Dez through in trying to keep this secret.
For the fact that to this day, Madison still hadn't woken up.
"My best friend is in a coma because of me," I breathed, clutching at Dez's shirt as if he were the only thing keeping me on the ground, from wasting away into nothing. His hold tightened on me, securing me, and I felt his breathing deepen. I hadn't said the words out loud before—"The person who was there for me through every stupid decision I made, who supported me and loved me unconditionally . . . we promised never to hurt each other, but I hurt her in the worst way possible."
I added, my voice breaking, "I wish I'd just let Samuel take me."
I hardly felt the world around me anymore as the admission fell from my lips—the very truth that had brutalized me over the past year and that I had not shared with anyone. Not until now.
Because what I'd done to Madison—it was just as bad, if not worse, than what Samuel had done. He held a gun to her head, but I was the one who stole what was now a year of her life.
Dez pulled back from me and took my face firmly in his hands. His expression was hard. "Don't think for one god-damned second that you two would have been better off if you let that bastard take you." His eyes clawed into my own. "Madison is alive. She's breathing today because of you."
"And if I never let her have my drink?" I fought back, "What of her then? She sure as hell wouldn't be in a hospital bed right now."
I tried to pull away from Dez then, but he held my face steady. His expression was still taut, but he said gently—defeatedly, "No. Maybe she wouldn't have."
I closed my eyes.
"Peacock, look at me."
I didn't.
"Look at me."
When I still didn't, his thumb grazed my cheek gently. "Please."
There was enough panic, enough desperation when he said it that my eyes opened.
"Maybe she wouldn't be in the hospital bed if you hadn't given her your drink," Dez said, "Maybe you would have drank it and Samuel would have taken you then. And maybe Madison would have had enough wits about her to try and intervene and then she would have gotten herself hurt—or worse, killed. Maybe she wouldn't be in a hospital bed now because she would be six feet underground instead."
I flinched at the harsh truth of his words, but he went on, "Samuel had a gun. Drunk or not, you know Madison wouldn't have let him take you. Do you think he wouldn't have used it on her anyway?"
I didn't answer. I didn't need to.
"Or maybe, one way or another, she wouldn't have been able to help," Dez went on, his voice lowering, "And maybe you would now be missing. And I would have never gotten to know what it felt like to look into those fucking blue-green eyes of yours, or to know what it felt like to have the air ripped from my lungs whenever you smiled. To know what it felt like to be happy just from being near a person. If you had kept that drink and Samuel had gotten you first, who knows what god-awful things he would have done to you then."
Tears filled my eyes again.
Dez wiped each fallen drop away, one by one.
"But the point is that you can't go around asking yourself what if," he said, "There are so many different ways that night could have panned out, but you have to know—you have to accept that it wasn't your fault. You once told me that I couldn't blame myself for what happened with my brother. Well, you don't get to blame yourself for this."
I looked away from him, but Dez pressed on, "You can let what happened tear you apart." He lifted a hand to my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "You can let what Samuel did devour you and whittle you away until there's nothing left of the person you were before it happened. And that would be a damn shame, Peacock, because I don't think you even realize how remarkable you are. But if you do that, if you let him break you like that, then you're giving that piece of shit all the power."
"He already broke me—"
"No he didn't." Dez shook his head. "Because you're here. Telling me this story. And all this time, you've been fighting to keep everyone around you safe. A broken person would have already given up. A broken person would be in there," he pointed towards my house, "hiding behind those doors. And do you think Madison would have preferred that? You beating yourself up over something that was never your fault? Living in fear of that bastard?"
It took me a moment before I shook my head.
Because I knew—Madison wouldn't have wanted any of that. She'd probably have yelled at me if she knew I'd been spending the better part of a year doing so.
Still, I couldn't get myself to look at Dez as the rest of what happened ate at me.
I didn't know how to tell him that it wasn't living in fear that was the problem.
It was living without it.
"What aren't you telling me?" he said.
"After Samuel went missing . . . the cops ran some investigations. They found pictures," I said, still not looking at him, "of me, stashed in his bedroom. Some were of me at school or out shopping or just grabbing a bite to eat with friends, but others were more—personal."
"How personal," he breathed.
I tried not to shiver as I recalled what they'd found. Pictures of me from inside my home. Asleep in my bed. Getting out of the shower—
"Very," was I said.
Dez's jaw clenched.
"They found the cameras then," I went on, "Samuel had somehow broken into my house and had hidden them during a weekend that my dad and I were away. The pictures dated back to a whole year before the incident, but I didn't remember anything that would have triggered it. I didn't even know who he was back then. I didn't know why he'd chosen me. But Samuel's dad . . . he might have been the most heartbroken from what they'd found. He was the town sheriff, and when he went home that night, he found not just one, but two of his guns missing. Along with a few magazines—extra bullets."
"That was why you moved here," he said, realization striking down with each word. "Because he's out there—with two loaded guns."
"And he's looking for me." I nodded. "I can never be too careful. I can't just let my guard down and live like nothing happened. Because while he's out there, while he's still looking for me, no one around me is safe. Since that night, I haven't been able to see Madison. I haven't been able to visit her at the hospital because the feds said it would have been the first place Samuel looked for me. They didn't want to put me or Madison at risk, and my father was adamant about it, too. So all I get, to this day, are weekly updates on her condition."
Not once did I get the chance to hold my best friend or talk to her or at least tell her how sorry I was for all that had happened.
And so far, nothing had changed.
"My father and I moved to Veranda Grove after I was released from the hospital from my injuries. I was homeschooled for the rest of my junior year and a bit of my senior year, but I got restless. Unable to see any of my old friends, stuck in a home that I never got to leave . . . it took a while to get it settled, but my father eventually enrolled me at Lincoln Valley High—public and big enough for me to be able to blend in without a problem. The private academy in Veranda Grove is too small and would have been more of a risk. I changed my last name from Sullivan to Callaway, and—you pretty much know the rest."
I ended my explanation to Dez there. I didn't want to tell him that now, I worked at a bookstore despite my father's money because sitting at home made me want to shred all of my hair out. It made me restless, and it left me with nothing better to do than think about all that had happened.
I tried to live a normal life. Not for me but for Madison. I knew she wouldn't have wanted me to stay stuck in the dark place that was. I didn't want to dishonor her by continuing to live that way. I wanted to live my life the way she would have wanted me to. Focused on school and happy—or at least attempting to be.
But I never, ever stopped thinking about her. No matter what I went through or what I was thinking about, she was the voice in the back of my mind. She was the one who spoke back to me when I needed her.
So for her, I tried. I tried to make friends with the few people at school who kept me grounded, and I tried to focus my energy on my classes. I tried to get into a headspace that was at least a fraction close to normal.
But then I met Dez.
And I stopped thinking—and I just started feeling again.
I stopped trying to be happy because I just was.
Did it make me a bad person? To be able to laugh and smile and experience life while my best friend was lying unconscious in a hospital bed?
I didn't realize I'd said those words aloud until Dez answered, "No."
I whipped my head towards him.
"It makes you resilient as hell," he went on, taking my hands back in his and giving me a look that read nothing but pure sincerity, "It makes you that much stronger. Not a bad person. Not nearly. But I think I understand it now, Peacock. Why you've been acting the way you have."
His gaze fell to our fingers laced together as he said softly, "And why . . . you left that day."
The day he'd told me how those he cared about had a habit of leaving him.
It was the day I'd left him, too.
I glanced at Dez, feeling my pulse sky-rocket as those lovely golden eyes finally met mine. And there was something like anguish in his voice as he looked at me and said, "You were trying to protect me."
I swallowed. "Yes."
I wasn't sure if it was sorrow or acceptance that caused his powerful shoulders to fall.
"I didn't want to be seen in public with you because I don't know where Samuel is," I said, "He could be back in Boston or he could be here, but there was never a way for me to know for sure. It was—it is selfish of me to be around you. So I tried to let you go. I tried to keep you safe. Because if he ever saw us together, if he knew what you meant to me—"
"What do I mean to you?" Dez's voice was hardly a whisper.
I froze at the question.
Sweat began to form on my palms, and I let go of his hand before he could feel it.
"What do I mean to you, Peacock?" Dez repeated as he stood in front of me.
It took me a moment to muster up the courage to say it, but eventually I stood from the steps and met his gaze.
And then I said, "I was willing to break my own heart in order to keep you safe, Dez. I still would." He had to know what that meant.
I didn't get to read whatever emotion fissured in his eyes before we were interrupted by a strangely familiar voice.
"Excuse me. I have a delivery for a Miss Lyra Callaway."
Dez and I turned at the same time to find the delivery boy from the Red Dragon approaching my steps. I wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or horrified—I'd almost forgotten about the order.
Dez furrowed his brows, looking a bit lost as I stepped away from him and met the delivery boy half-way. And I tried not to look too flustered as the delivery boy said, clear as day, "You ordered the teriyaki chicken and crab rangoon, is that correct?"
From the corner of my eye, I saw Dez's shoulders stiffen. I turned away from him so that he wouldn't see the blush flooding my cheeks. Of course. Of all the things I could have possibly ordered from the Red Dragon, I just had to order Dez's favorites.
And of course he had to be here when it was delivered.
When I was done paying for the food and was left alone with Dez again, I turned to find his expression surprisingly raw. His eyes were soft—pained, in a way. But they were brighter than I'd ever seen them.
Without a word, he held out his hand.
I stared at it for a moment, frowning before I slowly began to hand over the delivery bag.
"Your hand, you dork." Dez snorted, flashing his teeth as he stepped forward and took my hand anyway. "You can bring the food with if you want."
"Bring it where?"
His expression flickered with what looked like a hint of grief before it was gone again.
"You're coming with me," he said, leading us to his car, "There's something you need to see."
***
That is it for this four chapter release! As I mentioned, the next time I post, the rest of the story will be released all at once, up through the ending (and epilogue :D) - so please hold on for a little longer. I can't wait to finish this journey with all of you. And as always, thank you for reading!