Killman Creek (Stillhouse Lake #2)(69)

“Oh. So that’s where you’re hanging out now?” She hunches her shoulders forward, which sort of counts as a shrug that can’t be bothered. “You’re going to get busted if you keep that up.” I hesitate, then continue. “Were you meeting somebody?”

She grins suddenly, and I wish I hadn’t asked. I think. “Nobody special. I was just seeing who was up there, and if they had anything good to share. Sometimes Mary Utrecht has her mom’s Valium.”

“Oh, so now you’re into pills? I leave, and you go all dark side?” I throw the pillow, and she catches it in midair.

“Relax, it’s casual. It’s not like I go to pill parties or anything.” She sends me a quick glance. “Hey, how did you get here, anyway? I didn’t see your mom’s ride on the road.”

“Yeah, well, I walked,” I tell her, then immediately wish I hadn’t said that; if she tells anyone, they’ll know I’m living somewhere in walking distance of this house. I wish we were somewhere else. I love my room, but everything in it reminds me of Mom, of how she’s always been here, ready to give me a hug when I needed one, or fix a problem, or protect me with her life. Having Dahlia here helps, but it doesn’t stop the truth from coming through.

I’m not angry at Mom anymore, I realize. I’m sad. I’m disappointed. I’m confused.

“You okay?” Dahlia asks me quietly.

“I don’t know.” I swallow, and it hurts, and my eyes burn. “I—my mom and I had a fight. I said some things. I was pretty cruel.”

She leans over to look down at me. “I yell at my mom all the time.”

“No, it’s—I think I really hurt her. And maybe she deserved it, I don’t know anymore. But . . .” I can’t help it. I start to cry, and I roll on my side and hate that I’m crying and that Dahlia can see me doing it, but it feels good when she touches my shoulder and ruffles my hair and rubs her hand in slow circles on my back.

“You’re a good person, Lanny Proctor,” she whispers in my ear. “You’ll get it right. Okay?”

“Okay.” I gulp back tears. I’m weeping for a lot of things: Mom lying to us; me cutting her to pieces with words; this ruined house that used to be such a sanctuary. I’m even crying because I’ve lost Dahlia, but I haven’t lost her at all. Stupid. I feel stupid.

Dahlia knows how to snap me out of it.

The pillow hits my nose, and I claw it off and yell, “Hey!”

“No more sad face. Time to get happy, girlfriend!”

I’m half-angry with her, and half-giddy. I taste tears and laughter at the same time. I grab the pillow and smack her with it, and we wrestle for it, and then I’m on top of her, and we’re looking at each other, and she’s laughing like a dropped silver bell and I think . . . I think . . .

I don’t think.

I just kiss her.

It’s like everything explodes into quiet around me, and all I can feel is her, her lips (so much softer than the boys I’ve kissed, smaller, sweeter), her body arching up against mine, our breasts pressing together under the layers and layers of cloth, and God, this feels like the best moment of my life. Like until this moment I’ve been doing it all wrong, and finally I’ve figured out something so important it makes everything fall into place inside me. It’s wonderful, and it’s terrifying, too. I’m shaking with the shock of what I’ve done, and I pull back, wondering if Dahlia’s going to scream at me and call me names now.

She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t cry or yell. She’s smiling like she’s just waking up from the most wonderful dream, and she’s looking at me that way—the way that Javier looks at Kezia, the way Sam has sometimes looked at my mom, and my breath catches because I was right, it’s beautiful. It feels beautiful.

“Well, hello, I’ve been wondering when you’d finally get around to that,” Dahlia says, which makes me laugh in panic and wonder. Her lazy, lovely smile fades. “I’ve been crying myself to sleep since you left. Did you know that?”

“No. Why?” I mean it honestly, because this is all coming at me fast, and I can’t quite get hold of it.

“Because I love you, fool.” She grabs the pillow and whacks me with again, which makes my hair fly in my face, and I start to laugh, and she kisses me again.

It’s still stupid. I know it’s stupid. And dangerous. But it doesn’t feel wrong.

I don’t feel wrong anymore.





16

GWEN

Everything’s wrong. I feel like I’ve been cut open and emptied of everything that matters, and I can’t even say that it hurts, because what I feel is . . . nothing. No anger, no fear, no rage, no love, nothing but echoing silence from my head and my heart.

Not a person, but a shell of one. Maybe I’ve always been a shell, because if those videos are real, then I’ve never been who I thought I was.

Sam’s driving. He says, after a long, rough silence, “Where do you want me to drop you?” It’s clear he doesn’t even want to say that much, from the abrupt tone of it. I swallow hard and shut my eyes.

“So that’s it,” I say. “We’re finished now.”

“We’ve been finished since Atlanta,” he says. “Did you honestly think anything else?”