Page 20 of What We Bury

SEVEN

SAGE

At some point, I must’ve passed out, because the next thing I know, I’m being yanked up from a darkness so thick that for a second, I’m not sure I’ve woken up at all.

My brain is a projector with a jammed reel, playing the same frames on a loop. Moonlight, a belt buckle, rope, masks, blood—so much blood—a knife in my hand, the wet give of flesh, his body jerking, my voice howling, arms around me.

You’re okay?—

I roll onto my side with a groan, pulling a pillow over my head.

Go to sleep! Be normal!

“Fuck.”

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling as the darkness turns into a predawn gray. My entire body hurts. And if I try to close my eyes again, all I see is the knife going in.

And to top it all off, I have to go to work today. I really don’t have it in me, but I also can’t afford not to.

Fucking capitalism.

With a discontented groan, I drag myself out of bed, spine popping, every joint creaking. The memory of last night wants to grow teeth and eat my day, but I don’t let it. Not yet.

I throw on jeans and a clean shirt and scrape my hair into a ponytail so tight my temples throb. There’s a slight bruise along my jaw, so I cover it with concealer then end up doing a full face of makeup when I can’t get the color to even out.

When I finally open my bedroom door, the smell of coffee and eggs hits me and I freeze. Amy and Tyler are at the kitchen table. Tyler’s wearing his undershirt and the same jeans from last night, his hair going four different directions. Amy’s in his button-down, bare legs tucked under her, a mug cradled in both hands. They look up, and Amy bursts into a wide smile.

“Morning! You look pretty! I made eggs. Well, Tyler made eggs. I supervised.”

“She burned the first batch,” Tyler confirms. “I staged an intervention.”

I force a smile. My face creaks with the effort. “Thanks. It smells amazing.”

I pour coffee and grab a plate, sliding into the chair across from them. The coffee is too hot but I drink it anyway, letting the burn anchor me to this kitchen, this table, these two people who have no idea. No freaking clue I murdered their friend.

“So,” Tyler says, his tone a little teasing. My spine goes rigid. “Brock never came back last night.”

Whoomp, there it is.

Fuck!

They know.

How do they know?

They can’t know.

I take another sip, forcing myself to be calm.

There’s no way they know. No way in hell.

I arch my eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Amy giggles. “You two seemed to really hit it off. I was totally expecting him to walk out of the bedroom with you.”

The coffee goes rancid in my mouth. I force myself to swallow, to act normal.

“Yeah, we, ah—” I lick my lips, buying time. “We walked around the block, talked a bunch. Then I came home.” I keep it light, leaning into the sleepy-girl routine to sabotage any real scrutiny. “He was a total gentleman, wanting to get to know me. I’m kind of salty about it, he said goodbye to me at the front door and didn’t even try to kiss me.”