Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(56)
“I promise, your problems may seem big now, but I’ve been working with kids your age for a long time and I can tell you that the problems of high school—the gossip, the boys, the cheerleading—they are never as cataclysmic as they seem.” The pastor’s office was hot and stuffy. I needed him to open a window before I suffocated. “Another year and you’ll graduate, then—poof—all these problems will disappear.”
Disappear. Poof. Gone. I was having trouble breathing.
He winked at me and leaned back again, probably confident that he had told another teenage girl exactly what she’d needed to hear.
And for the first time ever, I kind of hated Pastor Long. Because it never occurred to adults that we might be capable of having real problems, too.
*
THERE WERE NO waffles after church. My parents and I hardly spoke a word and Honor and I spoke none. I wanted desperately to make things better for Honor, but what could I say to fix things? I’d be repeating the same advice as Pastor Long and I couldn’t bring myself to do that.
I kept staring at the two lines tattooed into my wrist, becoming more and more fearful that I might go to sleep and wake up to another one. The black marks felt like explosives, counting off seconds, hours, minutes of the time I had left. With every new one, I understood that another part of who I was would be lost forever.
Pastor Long had spoken about forgiveness. Aside from that, I’d been attending years’ worth of church services that all talked about forgiveness. I didn’t know if it was for me, but how could I possibly be forgiven if I sat around and did nothing?
My stomach churned at the thought, but I could think of only one thing to keep another line from materializing. If I could offer a warning, then maybe this nightmare would stop. Nothing worse would have to happen. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that I could return to my old life. The thought of going back to the Oilerettes was laughable now. But I did still want a life, one outside of Hollow Pines.
Which was what had led me here, back to Dearborn. I’d left the moment our family had returned home from church.
Sunlight flooded the picturesque campus where I stared up at the brick buildings with concrete steps lined by scrolling iron handrails. On the greens, students lounged on blankets where they read and enjoyed the day off from classes. For a moment, I allowed my head to tilt back and I closed my eyes and imagined myself as a college freshman. A new state. New friends. New me. The setting looked straight out of a college recruitment brochure. It said: Nothing bad could ever happen here.…
Only I knew better.
When I opened my eyes, I quickly promised myself that wherever I ended up, it wouldn’t be here in Dearborn. Ever since I’d crossed the city line into Dearborn, my insides had begun to slosh around in my belly like a bowlful of slugs. I hid my hands in my pockets so that I didn’t have to watch how they trembled. I swore I’d never come back to this town, but here I was. As the saying went, Never say never, I supposed.
As I wandered the campus, I felt self-conscious and too young. How could I have ever thought I had any business being here at all? I checked the time on my phone. Eleven o’clock. The morning sun was a half step away from directly overhead. I followed a series of signs to the dining hall. Surely, at one point, at least one of the boys had to eat.
The dining hall had a triangular front made entirely of glass that reflected the sky. I took a seat on a bench at the top of a short flight of stairs, curled my heels up underneath me, and prepared to wait.
Reflexively, I turned over my wrist again and ran my fingers over the two lines tattooed. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence. If that night hadn’t been seared into my memory, I might not know how many would complete the set, but without having to stop to add up the faces, I could tell anyone with absolute certainty that the number was three more. The tattoos would end once a complete tally mark had been inked into my skin for eternity—four hash marks, plus one crossed over. It would end once my entire life had been ruined and then whose skin would it be, really? Would there be any Cassidy Hyde left over?
The numbers on my phone’s digital clock read a quarter till noon. My tailbone was beginning to ache and I leaned back on my palms, watching the students that came and left through the doors of Broomwood Dining Hall.
Even though that night had been branded into me as physically as the lines of ink, I still nursed a needling worry that even if I found the boys, I wouldn’t recognize them in the light of day. It turned out, I shouldn’t have been. I heard before I saw. A clap of laughter sounded like a thunderbolt in my chest. I pulled the weight off my palms and twisted on the bench to see behind me. At three minutes after twelve, I laid eyes on him. The meanest of them all. He was nameless to me. The sight of his face felt like touching a spot of skin that had been burned. It stung and flared. The pain pulsed in time with my pounding heart. I lost my ability to breathe.
There he was. I sat frozen a safe distance away, watching his profile as he chained a bicycle to the rack. He chatted with another boy that I didn’t recognize while everyone else faded into a blurry background. All I could see was him.
I remembered the feel of his hands around my wrists. The weight of his torso. The hotness of his breath. Slowly, I rose to my feet. But my knees went weak. My arms shot out to steady myself like a tightrope walker and I felt just as off balance as I forced my feet down the three shallow steps and nearer to him. His presence pressed me away like a repellent. My head was going fuzzy. One, two, three steps, I counted them out.