Punk 57(76)

If he hadn’t popped Xanax when it was convenient then maybe Annie would never have gotten the idea to put herself on amphetamines to give herself the boost to do more than she should handle and be perfect.

Annie was going to be great. She fought for what she wanted in life. So much wasted talent.

“Sometimes I wish it was me instead, too.” I look up, seeing him still asleep.

He’d said that to me one night when we’d gotten in each other’s face, and I’d been hurt, despite how I acted like I wasn’t. I knew he didn’t mean it, but I do know he’d be happier still having the one child of his he had a good relationship with.

With me, what does he have?

But I can’t let him go. Annie is in him, she’s in this house, and we’re her family. We have to stay that way.

“We’re never going to have a relationship like you and she had, but I’m here.”

I stand up and quietly start clearing off the cluttered table, heading to the kitchen to do the dishes.



“Hey,” Dane calls, and I look up, seeing him walk back out of the gate at the Cove and head toward me.

“I’ve been texting you,” he says.

“Yeah, I saw.” I slam the truck door and reach into the bed of the truck, taking out some boxes.

After cleaning the kitchen at home, I’d opened some windows to air the house out while I threw in a load of laundry, sorted through the mail, took out the garbage, and cleaned up my bedroom. Which is pretty impressive, because I never do that.

I’d covered my dad with a blanket, and hopefully, when I bring groceries home tomorrow, he will be okay with me being back.

I guess I’ll find out.

“I’ve been going over this song you gave me with the guys. We were up until three last night,” he tells me. “I think we really got something.”

I nod, not really that invested in that right now. My head is in a million other places. I still have no idea how I’m going to fess up to Ryen.

God, she’s going to kill me.

Dane walks with me as I head through the parking lot for the gate entrance. “What are you doing?” he asks. “Are you moving back?”

“I’ll be home soon,” I say. “I just have some stuff to clear up here first.”

“Do you need help?”

I jerk my head over my shoulder. “Go grab more boxes if you want.”

He runs back and collects the rest of the boxes I’d taken from my garage at home, and we walk through the old park.

I didn’t bring much with me when I decided to hide out here, so it won’t take long to pack my stuff, but I’m not in a hurry.

I don’t really want to leave, but I can’t stay here as Masen Laurent anymore—a name I picked out of thin air a month ago when I asked my cousin to help me get my fake driver’s license and forge some school records. I just kept my same initials.

Once people—two people, in particular—find out I’m Misha Lare, the jig is up.

And I can’t lie to her anymore. Things were never supposed to get this far.

I don’t have any friends. Hearing her words and seeing her eyes tonight, that moment when she broke, I hated myself. What is she going to think tomorrow when she finds out her best friend stabbed her in the back and looked her in the eye doing it?

Dane and I climb down the field house stairs, and I head over to the opposite wall, throwing some switches. Lights spark to life, illuminating the long hallways as we make our way straight, to the room I’ve been using.

“I don’t know how you slept down here,” he mumbles. “It’s like a horror movie.”

I give a weak laugh. It’s definitely creepy, but… “I wasn’t really thinking a lot back then.”

I figured because it’s close to Falcon’s Well, I probably wouldn’t be discovered—or so I thought—and I have good memories of coming to this place with Annie when I was a kid.

I swing into the room, Dane following behind, and I walk the short distance to the bed table and switch on the light.

“Whoa,” Dane says.

“What?” I look up and follow his gaze, but I quickly notice what he’s referring to, and I stop breathing for a moment.

Wha—

“What the hell have you been doing in here?”

I turn in a circle, seeing the flood of papers scattered over nearly every inch of the room. Posters are ripped off the walls, my clothes are strewn about, and a table with some candles is tipped over, all of my personals laying on the floor.

I suddenly feel the pulse in my neck throb like the vein is trying to punch through the skin.

“I didn’t do this.”

I lean down and grab a fistful of the papers off the floor, seeing my name at the bottom of every letter, a couple of them a year or two old, and one from grade school. I can tell, because I signed my name Mish during an asinine spell to sound less girly.

These were all letters that were sent to Ryen. She’s had them. How did—

Something tightens around my stomach, and I wince, knowing there’s no other way these letters got here.

“What’s that say?”

I sway off balance, but I look up, following where he points. On the wall, written with a can of black spray paint are huge letters glaring down at us.