Don't Look Back(44)
“Already do, honey.” I didn’t wait for her response. Edging around the table, I made my way to the front of the cafeteria. Eyes were on me, and I didn’t care. A weight lifted off my chest. I felt free—free of having to fit in with people I couldn’t relate to anymore. Adrenaline put an extra kick in my step as I dumped my tray. Part of me wanted to run back there and kidnap Lauren. She was the only decent one among them.
On the way out, I glanced over to my brother’s table. They were too far away to have heard us, but the whispers flying around the cafeteria had already reached them. Julie caught my eye and grinned before she rested her chin on my brother’s shoulder.
With some time to spare before lunch ended, I headed for my locker. Rounding the corner, I came to a complete standstill.
Carson was leaning against a locker across from the library, his back to me. A pretty brunette smiled up at him as he handed her a backpack that must’ve belonged to her. All I could hear beyond the irrational buzzing in my ears was the deep, husky laugh that curled my toes in the right way as he slipped the bag over her shoulder.
A pang hit me right in the chest, splintering my heart. I had no right to that pain—no right to the fire building inside me, but I wanted to bum-rush the two and force them to have at least five feet between them.
And there was no way in holy hell I would do such a thing. Maybe the old Sammy would’ve, but then again, the old Sammy didn’t like Carson on most days.
I took a step back, and it was suddenly like watching two actors on a black-and-white television, except the girl in front of him ... it was me. I was on the tip of my toes, in his face. At first I thought I was kissing him because I was that close, but then I heard myself speak—this lifeless gray version of me.
“I saw you,” I sneered. “I saw you with Dianna. I know what you did.”
Carson threw up his hands, laughing grimly. “As always, you’re sticking your stuck-up nose where it doesn’t belong. You have no clue what you saw, Sam.”
Laughing, I tossed my hair over the shoulder. “Oh, we’ll end you, Carson. You just—”
Whatever else I’d said was lost to me. I’d stumbled into a locker, and the rattling sound sucked me out of the vision. All I knew was that the girl who was really in front of him was Dianna, but the reason behind the confrontation with Carson was unknown. Who was the “we”? And what had I seen him do with Dianna that could’ve been used as a threat?
Carson looked over his shoulder, brows knitting when he saw me. “Sam?”
Backing up, I shook my head in confusion. Switching from a memory—or possibly a hallucination—to what was really happening had my mind spinning to catch up. That, and my reaction to seeing him with a girl. “I’m sorry. I ... I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Wait,” Carson said, stopping me. “Is everything okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah—sure, I’m okay.”
His eyes narrowed, and then he turned to Dianna. “Can you hold on a sec?”
“Sure,” she said, pulling out her cell and suddenly becoming very interested in it.
He crossed the distance between us, reaching out as if he would touch me but stopping before he made contact. “Sam, what happened?” he asked in a low voice. “You’re bleeding.”
“What?” I looked down. The sleeve of my sweater was pushed up to my elbow, revealing two jagged scratches that beaded tiny drops of blood. A dull ache radiated from my arm. “I must’ve ... scratched myself.”
He took my hand, swallowing. “How could you not know if you did that, Sam? That’s...”
Messed up? I pulled my hand free. “I have to go.”
“Sam—”
“She’s waiting for you,” I whispered, backing off. “I’ll talk to you later.”
His jaw clenched as he gave me a sidelong glance. “Okay. There will be a later.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I nodded. Forcing a smile that felt wobbly, I turned around and headed to the nearest bathroom. Heaviness pressed down on my chest, spreading to my shoulders. The back of my throat burned as I dropped my bag near the sink and turned on the water.
How had I done that to myself without even noticing or feeling it until now? And when had I done it? Swallowing hard, my stomach rolled as I shoved my arm under the faucet. The raw skin stung, adding to the already overwhelming pressure of unshed tears. Water ran red until it turned a faint pink against the porcelain basin.
Lifting my chin, I stared into my own frightened eyes. My heart threw itself against my rib cage. What would Mrs. Messer say about scratching yourself so deep that the skin tore? Probably the same thing she’d say about talking reflections. A strangled laugh escaped my lips. I doubt either of those fell in the normal range of coping mechanisms.
I took a breath, but it got stuck. There was most definitely something wrong with me. Crazy wrong.
When Scott returned home after baseball practice, I took my purse and my hastily scribbled directions down to the garage. I had a couple of hours before the sun set, so I managed to avoid most of Scott’s questions. I felt bad for being short with him, especially because he was letting me borrow his car, but I didn’t have much time.
It took me a little over forty minutes to reach Michaux State Forest and to find the summerhouse. Common sense told me that if I was going to start anywhere, it would be there.