WHAT, AREN'T YOU going to tell me to sleep tight?
Her last words.
And no one here knows them, except for me.
No one else saw her twisted smile, or her vacant eyes as she pulled the trigger, spending her last moments alive with the person she hated the most. No one here will talk about that. Not at her funeral, where they describe her as a beautiful girl with a troubled soul, someone who was lost and in need of love, rather than someone poisonous and evil.
But I know the truth, and I refuse to forget. I've done more than enough forgetting for one lifetime.
Mom and Audrey insisted I didn't have to come here today, that it would make more sense for me to skip out on the memorial service of the girl who tried to kill me on multiple occasions, rather than to be in attendance. Still, I selected a somber black dress, and rode to the church, Mason serving as my funeral date and chauffeur. He hadn't hesitated to let me know that going to Zoe Hendriks funeral was an incredibly stupid idea, but he'd also said there was no chance in hell he was going to let me go alone.
We sit together in the very last pew of the church, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, though both of our faces have been plastered all over the news for the past week. The majority of the people here are most likely aware of our presence, but they all seem to be respectful enough to leave us alone, which is more than can be said for the news vans that've been camping out on my street ever since we got out of the school, or the ones waiting eagerly outside of the church.
It almost feels as though someone high-profile has died; someone important, like a celebrity, or a prime minister, what with all the media interest, and security, and the magnitude of the congregation. Zoe would have loved all of the attention, even though she'd know that most of the people in attendance don't care about her, they're just fascinated by the nature of her death, and the circumstances surrounding it.
In the same way, none of them truly care about what happened to me.
I can see Mason glance at me out of the corner of my eye, an unreadable look on his face, and I look down at the pew, to see his hand hovering inches away from mine. My fingers twitch slightly, my natural instinct being to reach out for him, but I refrain, folding my hands together in my lap instead. He doesn't seem to notice, already having turned to face the front again.
It's a strange thing, to be at a funeral for someone who attempted to commit homicide three times, and to have everyone pretend that it didn't happen. The preacher is clearly dancing around the elephant in the room—me—and there's no mention of it in the tearful eulogy delivered by Zoe's cousin. A slide show of her short life displays on the large screen overhead, though, notably, there are no photos of her and I together, as if they're trying to erase my existence completely. The girl they're all talking about today is not the same one I knew, but I suppose I didn't truly expect to hear her portrayed as my villainous tormentor.
After the miserable slide show comes to a close, Mason leans closer to my ear, and I incline my head in his direction. "Why the hell did we come here?" he murmurs, irritation evident in his voice, and when I look down again, I see that his hands have balled up into fists now.
"I need closure," I whisper back, though the words are a lie. The real reason I chose to sit in a church and listen to people mourn the person I despise the most is for my own sanity. I need confirmation that she's truly dead; that what happened in the school isn't just a hyper-realistic figment of my imagination.
"No such thing," he mutters, leaning away again, and my heart sinks a little.
His injuries aren't as prominent as they were when I first saw him that night, and he looks pretty decent for a guy who was brutally assaulted with a baseball bat. Albeit, his face is still discoloured, ghostly pale in places, and vibrant blues and purples in others. Even without the injuries he would still look haunted. He hasn't told me what really happened when he was left alone with James, and how the aforementioned boy ended up losing his life, and I haven't asked about it. As far as I'm concerned, I don't need to know. I'm assuming neither of us will be ridding ourselves of the nightmares anytime soon, anyway.
The Zimmerman family has tried to fade into the shadows since the death of their son, the polar opposite of the Hendriks clan. There was a memorial service for him at the school, which I chose not to attend, the thought of even stepping foot inside the building enough to give me a panic attack, and leave me struggling for breath. Instead, Mason came over, and together with Audrey, we watched hours of mindless television without speaking. Mason's eyes were glazed and unfocused the whole time, and I didn't know how to console him.
Eventually, the service comes to a close, and the family begins to make their way to the graveside to bury her, and finally put her to rest. It's quiet as everyone collectively stands, shuffling toward the exit, and I hear the muffled sounds of sniffling, and coughing. Outside of her family and those closest to her, I wonder how many of the people here will actually mourn her, or think about her at all once we leave the church.
Once we've made it to the lobby, I stick to Mason's side, not wanting to lose him in the crowd, and he places a hand on my back to tether us together in the sea of black. We keep our heads down on the way out of the church toward Mason's car, not wanting to garner the attention of any reporters.
Inside, I lean back against the seat with a sigh. "Okay, let's go."
He turns the key in the ignition. "Home?"
"No," I correct, shaking my head. "To the graveside."
Mason instantly freezes, looking displeased. "Alina..." he trails off, scolding. "We're not allowed to be there."
"I don't care."
Buckling my seatbelt, I stare out of the window. I can feel Mason studying me, and he considers my request for a long time. Finally, I hear him curse under his breath, before pulling out of the church parking lot.
We arrive at the cemetery, parking on the road and keeping our distance, and it looks as though the interment has already started.
There's a cluster of people standing among the headstones, all cloaked in black and huddled together, and the pastor reads a passage from his bible, positioned by the foot of the grave. I lean forward in my seat, keeping a close eye on the coffin, adorned with baby's breath and roses, too pretty for a killer, in my opinion, and I wait. This is the fragmented closure I've been craving, and I won't be able to breathe easy until she's six feet under the ground, never to resurface.
I watch as they slowly lower the casket out of sight, my knee bouncing slightly in agitation. Her mother weeps, though her father merely looks angry, most likely upset that something has happened that's out of his control. When it comes down to it, money can't fix everything.
It can't bring back the dead.
"Do you feel better now?"
Mason's voice startles me out of my obsessive reverie, and I turn to look at him in the driver's seat. His blue eyes are riveted to the dash, paying no mind to the remainder of the burial. It seems my true intentions have been revealed. My lips curl upward marginally. "Not in the slightest," I tell him honestly.
"Yeah," he says, resting his head against his seat. "Me neither."
We sit in silence for a long time, watching the funeral-goers attempt to console each other, and I wonder if they're weeping for the loss of Zoe Hendriks, or the loss of her innocence.
Mason shakes his head, watching the spectacle with disdain, before turning to me. "Let's get the hell out of here."
✘✘✘
The house is empty when we get home.
I unlock the door, stepping inside and kicking off my shoes, and Mason follows behind me, doing the same. Wordlessly, I drift up toward my bedroom, paying no mind to his footsteps echoing after mine. Once I reach the top of the stairs, I push my door open, promptly collapsing onto the bed and closing my eyes, wanting to disappear.
The mattress shifts next to me with Mason's weight, and it's both a comfort, and a source of sorrow. Part of me wishes he had just dropped me off and gone to his own house, so that I could be alone, and delay the impending conversation that's been weighing on me ever since we left the school as long as possible.
Silence fills the room, though it's not uncomfortable, and I take my time in opening my eyes, gathering a handful of my blanket in my palm. I stare up at the slanted ceiling, thinking about how strange it is that some things in life stay constant and unchanging, even when everything else has gone to shit. Despite all that's happened, this room, this house, they haven't changed.
Rolling over, I turn to face Mason. He leans against the headrest of my bed, a contemplative expression on his face, and I begin to think about how much I've ruined his life.
It's not the first time I've thought this way, and it certainly won't be the last. There's no denying that if I didn't exist to him, life for him would be completely different—and infinitely better, most likely. He wouldn't have unwillingly gotten involved in a murder plot gone awry, he wouldn't be plagued by nightmares, he wouldn't have someone else's blood on his hands, and memories to torment him for the rest of his days.
He wouldn't have me, and that would be for the best.
I study his face, the line of his nose, the angle of his jaw, the slight part of his lips, remembering the first time I kissed him. His words flow back to me like a caress. I'm very much yours. That's not going to change. My heart sinks like a stone with the weight of the decision I'm about to make, but I know that it's the right one. He shouldn't belong to me.
"I don't think we should spend time together anymore," I announce, breaking the silence, and the statement hangs in the air, before settling down on us like gentle rain.
Mason's expression doesn't change, though he takes a while to meet my eyes, and his are unreadable. He purses his lips together, watching me for several beats. "You got your memory back, didn't you?"
Shock and guilt battle inside of me as I push myself up into a sitting position, keeping my gaze riveted to the boy next to me. My mouth falls open, speechless for a second. "How did you know?"
"You've been looking at me differently," he says, lending me a tiny, rueful smile, and I feel my eyes prick with tears. "I had a hunch."
Chewing on the inside of my lip, I will myself to keep it together. "It happened in the basement," I explain quietly, "when Zoe pulled the trigger. I don't know why my brain chose that exact moment, but..." I trail off, not sure what else to say, fidgeting with my fingers.
"That must change things for you quite a bit," he remarks softly, lowering his eyes.
"Yeah," I breathe, reaching up to tuck some of my hair behind my ear, my eyebrows tipping upward as I watch him, trying to read his face.
He's quiet for a long time. "It's changed the way you feel about me." The words are a question, but he says them more like a statement, like he's already confirmed it in his head, and I can feel my heart snap in two, my vision becoming increasingly blurrier.
"No," I say honestly, shaking my head, my voice thick, "absolutely not. I care about you, Mason. So much. That's the one thing that hasn't changed."
He looks up again, expression still guarded, jaw tight, and I can tell he's not sure whether he should believe me or not. I don't blame him, seeing as I don't exactly have a great reputation when it comes to being honest and sincere. It's a brutal reminder that most people perceive me as untrustworthy, and someone they shouldn't let get too close to them.
I swallow a lump in my throat, thinking about how we had a conversation similar to this in this very spot, not all that long ago, only, the roles were reversed, and no one was about to have their heart smashed into pieces.
"You told me we shouldn't be together because I was in a bad place," I reason, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm in an even worse place now, Mason. And I don't have anything left in me to give someone else."
His eyebrows furrow, the first clear sign of emotion on his face. "I'm not asking you to give me anything," he returns sincerely, shaking his head. "The way things are right now is enough."
"Not for me," I confess, lifting my lips in a barren smile. "You deserve to be with someone who has the capacity to take care of you. I can't be that someone right now."
Mason's jaw tightens again, and he stares at the wall for a while, before looking back at me. "Don't I get a say in this?"
"I think there's something seriously wrong with me," I whisper, an onslaught of tears welling up once more. "Something that goes beyond the trauma, and the nightmares, and the panic attacks. I refuse to subject you to that."
"Alina," he says, speaking my name with a slew of pent-up emotions and frustration, "I'm not exactly a beacon of light. I'm fucked up, too. We all are. You don't need to suffer alone."
For a few painful, strenuous seconds, I consider listening to him. I consider giving up my battle, taking the easy way out, and curling up against his side. Things would feel so much better that way. But it's unrealistic, and I don't deserve it.
"I'm sorry," I admit, looking away.
The tension in the air is thick, and heavy, feeling like black tar in my veins, and I hear Mason laugh shortly without humour, seeing him drag a hand through his hair out of the corner of my eye. "Fuck," he utters incredulously. "I guess it's finally my turn to have my heart broken by Alina Castillo."
His statement causes something to twist painfully inside of me, and I hear Audrey's words echo inside of my head, even though she most likely doesn't mean them anymore; it's in your nature to screw people over. "Please understand," I beg, the first tear slipping down my cheek, and I'm quick to swipe it away.
Mason's ice blue eyes study me for a long time, but there's no malice within them, only pain. He purses his lips together, considering, before nodding slowly. "If that's what you want," he says, his voice low and gruff.
"It's for the best," I murmur, trying my hardest to believe it. "For both of us."
"Should I leave now?" he asks without emotion, staring at the floor.
A wave of panic bubbles up in my chest all of the sudden, and it hits me that this is real, and this is happening. He's going to walk out of that door, and I'm never going to see him again, all because that's what I requested.
"Wait," I blurt, hating how desperate the word sounds coming out of my mouth. His eyes flicker to mine. "Stay," I whisper. "Just a little bit longer."
"Okay," he agrees.
Against my better judgment, and in spite of everything I've just said, I reach out, winding my arms around his shoulders one last time. It takes him a moment to process the gesture, but eventually he wraps an arm around my waist. Somehow, I end up laying down with my head on his chest, his fingers playing with my hair, and impossibly, I fall into a dreamless sleep. It's a scene not unlike the one after our first kiss, where I was able to pretend we were normal for a fleeting moment.
But this time, when I wake up, he's gone.
✘✘✘
Two days later, all of my belongings are packed up into the back of Audrey's car.
After it became clear that me going back to school and finishing out the remainder of my senior year was out of the question, given how the hallways of Pender Falls High are currently my nightmare fuel, Mom allowed me to start looking at other options. Basically, she gave me the okay to drop out, and transfer to another school for my final semester. I would've much rather just not gone to school anymore at all, but this was her compromise, and she told me if I didn't get my diploma, I would regret it.
And so, I made the decision to move to Vancouver to live with Audrey and one of her friends. I'm not going as far away as I'd like, but it'll have to do until I can go somewhere else. I neglected to tell Mason I'm leaving with no plans to return, unsure of what good it'll do now.
The town of Pender Falls is a black hole, a source of dark energy, a place that will go down in infamy. The memory of what happened may fade away eventually, but the headlines will always be there, and so will the tombstones. The high school hallways are doomed to be forever haunted by those who died there, stained with blood and history that will never disappear.
In the same vein, I am forever ruined.
There may be hope of recovery for me, somewhere in the distant future, but for now, I am tarnished, marred by the horrors that took place while I lived in this nightmarish town, secrets and corruption lingering at every corner, hiding out in the shadows, a sinister underlying edge that no one speaks about. I'm no saint; a large portion of the deception at play in this town was thanks to me.
So for my final act, I am leaving everything behind; the places I used to love, the murderous forests, the homicidal hallways, the person I care about the most, in an effort to escape to a city where no one truly knows me, the promise of a new beginning too tantalizing to pass up.
But my darkness seeks darkness, and it will be a long time before I choose to let any light in.