Page 93 of How to Kidnap a Fake Date
The pigs are already stirring.
I gag. ‘They’re coming closer.’
‘They know dinner when they smell it.’
We tip Eddie in, and the pigs surge forward, excitedly snorting and nudging at Eddie with their twitching snouts.
I turn away sharply, not needing to add any more images to my brain tonight.
Eliza watches me for a long moment, then smirks. ‘Well, Roman. Welcome to the family.’
I scrub a hand over my face.
‘I assume Maggie hasn’t left you completely in the dark. You don’t seem quite as shocked as you ought to be.’
‘Not entirely,’ I say hoarsely.
She tilts her head. ‘And you still like her?’ The question hits harder than the bat did.
‘Yes.’ And I do. But enough to deal with all of this?I don’t know.
‘Huh. I may have underestimated you.’
I have a sinking feeling that my life, as I once knew it, is well and truly over.
31
MAGGIE
We sit on the edge of the bed in silence. The world outside the bedroom door continues on. People partying and cleaners cleaning. Pigs eating.
Steam from the open en-suite door still lingers in the air, but beneath it, that unmistakable coppery smell of blood. My hair soaks the towel I grip around me, my fingers tight. Roman’s hair is equally wet, his skin covered in a constellation of water droplets.
We both look hollow.
Like the couples you see at three in the morning in A&E. Sitting close but not touching. Trying to rationalise the trauma we’ve seen. Bruises are blossoming while a thousand horrid thoughts rampage through our heads.
My brain just won’t shut up.
The bat.
The knife.
Coffin’s screeching.
Blood.
So much blood.
The way Eddie’s throat gushed until there was nothing left for it to expel.
The scene replays over and over again, and I keep searching for a way it could have ended differently. I can’t find one, but the guilt still eats at me.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, not daring to glance at Roman as I speak. ‘For all of it. For tying you to a door. For my family, being who they are. For Eddie hurting you. For the pigs. For nearly getting you killed. For what you had to witness…’
I trail off, knowing my words won’t make any of it better. Roman has had to witness death, and it’s all my fault. In this bubble, I’m protected. But will Roman crack when we get home? Will he go to the police, or worse, his online world? Dad has enough sway that anything brought officially can be quashed, but with the way social media grasps on to anything salacious, I could be ruined. Roman’s platform is big enough to make my family’s secrets a global sensation.
Roman’s stare burns into the side of my face, and I can’t look at him. I press my tongue against the roof of my mouth to ward off the tears that threaten.
