Page 84 of The Initial Insult

“Seriously?” Gretchen’s gum snaps in my ear.

“What?” I ask again, my back to her as I sort through children’s clothes.

“Tress just took something off the jewelry table and walked away.”

“Okay,” I say. I fold clothes, adoring the symmetry in the squares I can make, the order under my hands.

“Do you remember when she stole your tampons? Klepto.”

Chapter 79

Tress

She’s got the heart in her hands, pulling down, pulling on my neck, pulling me over the wall.

“Felicity, you need to let me go. I can’t lift you by myself. I’ve got to get Hugh.”

“Where’s mine?” she asks, her eyes on the necklace. “Where is my heart?”

“Here,” I tell her, digging into my hoodie pocket. “It’s here. I brought it for you. I thought . . .”

I don’t know what I thought. That I would show it to her and she’d be overwhelmed by the grief of what we lost, pushed by her emotions to tell me what happened that night?

I don’t know.

But I definitely didn’t think I’d be putting it around her neck, clasping the back through a bloodied knot of hair, lifting her chin because she can’t raise her own head.

I didn’t think I would kill her.

I reach past her legs, past a wet mess of all kinds of things, for my phone, turning the light away, out of my eyes.

“You’ve got it back now,” I tell her. “You’ve got your half of the necklace.”

It rests, lackluster, against her gray skin, next to a runnel of her blood.

Her half, the half that reads Best. Because that’s the half she wanted. Of course she did. And maybe that’s right. Maybe Felicity Turnado is better than Tress Montor, not because of her house or her car or her parents or her clothes. Maybe Felicity Turnado is better than Tress Montor because she never killed anyone.

“I’m going to get Hugh,” I tell her. “Hey!” I clap my hands in front of her face, sending a massive jolt of pain up my arm. “Felicity—I’m getting Hugh. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“Hugh?” she asks. “Hugh didn’t carry me.”

“Okay,” I tell her, agreeing with whatever she says. “I’m leaving you the phone, okay? I’m leaving you the light.”

She doesn’t answer, so I go, lost in pitch blackness as soon as I turn my back, slipping in my own blood, finding the staircase by feel, pulling myself along the banister, one-handed, resting halfway up.

Jesus Christ. Neither one of us is going to make it.

I elbow the hook open, fall into the kitchen, sending bottles scattering. The glass rolls across the floor, making hollow music.

“Hugh!” I cry, not caring who finds me. Not caring who helps. Not caring about the questions. I just have to save my friend.

Chapter 80

Felicity

“Hugh didn’t carry me.”

My voice is strained, tired, a worn-out note.