Brutal Obsession (82)

Instead, I find the crowbar in my backseat and heft it in my hand. When I return, Jack is pleading with Knox. He’s crawled forward again, farther away from the drop-off, and he stares up at Knox like my friend will save him.

He won’t.

“This is strictly business,” I inform Jack.

His attention switches to me, but it’s too late to stop me. Or to get away. I’m set on my mission, the fury under my blood hot and demanding revenge.

I raise the crowbar. The weight is solid in my hand, my grip sure. I swing it up over my head. I relish the expression of horror that crosses his face. And the acknowledgement that he can’t stop me. For a perfect moment, we’re all frozen. And then I slam it down on his knee.





36





VIOLET





I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. I rub my eyes and manage to roll out of bed. My mouth has a sour taste, and I brush my teeth twice to get rid of it. My head pounds. A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s midmorning. Later than I would’ve normally slept… and it’s Tuesday. I’m missing classes.

“Shit,” I mutter.

I get halfway dressed before I realize that making it to campus isn’t going to happen. I stumble out into the living area and glance around. It’s neat and organized, like…

Wait.

What happened last night?

I stand in front of the couch and stare down at it, confusion hindering my thought process. There was the press release on the athletic blog, the football player in the library, Jack waiting for me on my front step.

And then… nothing.

Like my memories have corroded. There’s nothing left except that taste in my mouth. I don’t remember putting myself to bed or what Jack wanted…

Panic surges up my throat. I put my hand over my chest and try to breathe, but getting air in seems to be the problem.

The front door opens, and Willow strides inside. Her voice, calling my name, seems to come from a long way off.

Something crashes, and then she’s right in my face. She lowers me to the floor and kneels next to me. She puts my hand on her chest, miming deep breaths.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to match her. The rise and fall, everything slowing down. There’s still panic riding through me, but after a few tries, I manage to catch my breath. I inhale and exhale until my heart rate slows, too.

“You with me?”

I open my eyes. “Sorry,” I croak.

Her concern bleeds through her expression. “What happened?”

I frown. “I don’t know.”

She frowns, too, and sits beside me. We lean against the wall.

“Walk me through it?”

That’s the problem. I don’t know what happened, and I can’t seem to articulate it. So instead, I ask, “What time did you get home?”

“Eleven. Coach had us learning new choreography, and it was taking forever to get to a stopping point.” She tuts. “You were asleep by then, though. Did you order out?”

I roll my head toward her. “Did I order out?”

“Yeah.” She nudges my shoulder with hers. “There are takeout boxes in the trash. Beer, too. What happened?”

My heart skips, then picks up speed. “I can’t remember.”

She watches me carefully.

“Willow.” Tears fill my eyes. “I walked home, and Jack was waiting on the front step for me. I remember him coming inside, then… nothing. It’s blank.”

“Did he…?” Her gaze drops.

I wrap my arms around my abdomen. “What are you saying?”

“The last time he talked to you, he was awful. I’d never want to accuse someone of… that…”

“He didn’t.” I don’t know how I know it, but I do. He didn’t rape me. That’s the sort of thing I’d be able to feel, right? I’d be sore. Or there would be evidence. Bruising, tearing. All the sort of vicious stuff we hear about in relation to sexual attacks.

Right?

The more I think about it, though, the more suspicious I become. Why don’t I remember? I push myself back to my feet and go to the trash. There are two beer bottles nestled against the plastic, along with a pizza box. Not stuff we’d usually throw away.

We like to recycle, for one.

I have that same untethered feeling as when I was high on the Molly. Like I’m lost and might just float away. So I pour myself a tall glass of water and force myself to drink most of it, then refill and repeat.

Worry churns my gut. I can’t let it go. Something happened, and it’s eluding me. Just out of my grasp. Every muscle in my body is strung tight.

Willow guides me back to bed, and we both jerk to a stop in my room.

My nightstand is tilted, like something crashed into it. My lamp is askew, leaning haphazardly against the clock. It seems like a miracle it didn’t fall and break. Everything else that used to be on it, nice and neat, is jostled, too. My book is on the floor.

“Something happened,” Willow says in a low voice. “I don’t know what, but… we need to find out.”

“I agree.” I’m afraid, but at the same time, I need to know.

“Do you want to stay in my room instead?”

I shake my head and shuffle over to my bed. I fix the lamp, straighten the rest of it, then sit heavily.