Page 96 of Shattered In Darkness

I shake my head. “He’ll be angry if I’m late. You know how he is.”

Brody’s jaw clenches. “He can fuck himself.”

“Yeah,” I say, but it doesn’t sound like me.

He stands to walk me to the door, careful not to wake Sophie. Their mom calls goodnight from upstairs, voice warm and tired. At the door, Brody stops me with a hand at my wrist. The porch light flickers, dust motes spinning in the yellow air.

I look up at him and for a second, it’s just us. It’s summer nights and secret grins, hands on backs under the stars, before everything cracked open.

“If you need me, you call,” he says, voice careful. “I’ll come get you. No matter what. You hear me?” I nod, not trusting my voice. He leans forward, presses his forehead to mine. “I mean it, Bambi.”

I slip out into the night; the air is colder now. The leaves stick to my sneakers as I walk home fast, head down, arms wrapped around my ribs to keep them from splitting open. Lights are on in the house. Marcus is waiting, always waiting. I can feel the hook in my chest, the leash around my neck, the ache in my bones that says this is not over. Nothing is ever over.

But for a few hours, I remembered what it felt like to belong—to a family, to a friend, to myself.

30

LOLA

I wake up shivering. My body aches, my mouth is dry. For a moment, I think I’m alone but then I feel his presence like a storm behind my eyes.

He sits in the chair, skull mask gleaming in the watery morning light, elbows on his knees, watching me. Watching, always watching. Brody—except not Brody, not the boy I loved, but some colder thing. A shadow in a mask.

I try to sit up, clutching the blanket to my chest. My head spins. “What do you want?” My voice is raspy, unfamiliar.

He doesn’t answer right away, just stares. The mask gives nothing back, just a bony, black, endless eyes. Even sick, even weak, I feel hunted under that gaze.

Then, finally, he speaks. “What did you mean last night?”

My heart thuds. I blink, remembering flashes of fever: my mouth running, secrets slipping out in the dark. “I don’t—what?”

He leans forward, the mask inches from my face. “You said you never wanted Marcus. Not ever. You wanted me. That night. Don’t lie. I want the truth.”

My lips part, mind scrambling, searching for something safe. There’s nothing. Just memories and regret and the pounding of my own heart. “I hated him,” I say, voice trembling. “He was never what I wanted. I just—I wanted out. I wanted something real. You were the only thing that ever felt real.”

He laughs, joyless. “Yeah? You could’ve fooled me. You ran right back to him. You left me with nothing.”

My hands curl tighter around the blanket. “You left me. After that night, you disappeared. I had no one.”

He stands, fast and violent. The chair scrapes against the floor, and suddenly, he’s towering over me, mask close, breath fogging between us, every inch of him a threat. My pulse is a terrified drumbeat.

“Don’t try to twist this, Lola,” he growls. “You think a fever confession changes anything? You think I’ll forget what you did?”

I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes. “You don’t know what it was like. You don’t know what happened.”

He grabs my chin with rough hands. “Then tell me. Tell me what the fuck happened. What did you do?”

My voice cracks. “You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

His grip tightens, then he shoves me back, hard enough that my head knocks the pillow. “No, I wouldn’t. You’re just like him. A liar. A little actress.”

I swallow the sob clawing up my throat. “I’m not like him. I’m not.”

He paces, fists clenched at his sides, rage vibrating off him. “If you wanted me—if you ever did—why did you let him take everything from me?”

I can’t look at him. I stare at the ceiling, blinking back tears. “I wanted you,” I whisper. “But you left.”

The sentence hangs between us. He towers over me, all rage and hunger. I see his fists, the way blood pulses in his throat. He doesn’t even flinch. Just stares, mask splitting the light, jaw set like it hurts to be alive.