To the Stars (Thatch #2)(72)

I was in the tub, mostly floating. My top half was twisted so only one of my eyes was out of the water, and I gasped when I remembered Collin—causing me to inhale the water that was tinted red with my blood, making me choke harder. I struggled to sit upright as I forced water out of my lungs, and looked around the guest bathroom for any signs of my monster, but he wasn’t in there with me. I heard the sound of running water, but it still took me a few moments to realize that it was coming from the tub faucet, and that water was covering the bathroom floor.

I hurried to shut it off then sat still as stone as I waited for sounds other than my wheezing breaths. He would have heard me, and he would come for me soon if he was still here.

I’m not sure how long I waited, but I had two coughing fits that I wasn’t able to stop in that time. I was worried with each one that Collin would come rushing in to finish what he’d started. I tried to stand but couldn’t force the lower half of my body to cooperate yet, and ended up pulling myself out of the tub instead.

My sharp gasp filled the bathroom when I landed hard on the wet floor, and long minutes passed before I felt like I was able to make myself move again. But by that time, my legs were working again. They were shaky, but working. Although I knew it was a vulnerable position, I crawled as far as the hallway before I was able to push myself onto my feet, and then had to use the wall to help me walk.

I didn’t know how long I’d been unconscious, and even though I would’ve bet my life that Collin would come running in at the first sign of me waking up, I was now second-guessing everything because I didn’t know my monster at all anymore. He could have been waiting, for all I knew. Watching with those dead eyes from somewhere in the house as I slowly dragged one foot in front of the other toward the front door, the whole time a sick smile played on his face. I was soaked head to toe, but I didn’t care. I didn’t have time or the strength to go into my bedroom to change. I needed to get out. I needed to run.

Just before I made it to the front door, I caught sight of myself in the large mirror in the entryway, and what I saw made my already-trembling body start jerking from the force of my silent sobs. I looked like someone coming back from the dead to get their revenge. I was so terrifying I was only able to look at myself for a split second before I looked away. I didn’t have time to change the wet clothes or shoes, but I also couldn’t afford to have anyone call the police if they saw me and my blood-tinted shirt.

Turning around, I pulled open the entry closet and grabbed one of Collin’s dark hoodies. It swallowed me whole, but none of my coats in that closet had hoods, and I needed something to hide the gash on my forehead, which was pumping out blood again.

My shoulders dropped in relief when I finally made it outside and didn’t see Collin’s car, but I knew better than to let my guard down now.

He can still be playing a game with you. He may have just moved his car to make you think he left. You need to get out of here, Harlow. You need to run. You need to go faster than this. You need to run! I chanted to myself, and was glad to see that each step was a little easier, and a little faster than the last.

There was something freeing in running—well, shuffling—from that house. From him. There was also something close to panic that was threatening to cripple me. Something that kept screaming at me to go back so I wouldn’t make Collin mad; that screamed he would find me. I tried to push those thoughts aside. He’d changed things tonight.

I’d thought at the hospital that I’d have to be good in order to keep Hadley and my family safe, but then I hadn’t been able to keep my mouth shut. And then it had happened, what I’d been afraid of all day, but had still thought could be weeks, even months, away. Collin had snapped. No, Collin’s monster had snapped, and he’d decided he was done. He had tried to kill me.

I stopped walking when that thought floated through my mind, and couldn’t stop the sharp cry that burst from my chest before I was able to slap my hands over my mouth. Through everything over the last two and a half years, I’d known I could get through it. And it had escalated to this all within a few short days. I’d hated my life, I’d hated him, but I’d never thought we’d get to this day. Knowing we had, remembering the look in his eyes and on his face, remembering the panic that had consumed me before the dark had welcomed me, was making it hard to breathe now.

Move, Harlow. Move.

I forced myself forward and didn’t stop until I found myself at the front of the neighborhood. I hadn’t thought this far ahead; I’d just known I needed to leave the house. Now I was turning in circles trying to figure out where to go from here. I was worried that if I started knocking on doors asking to use a phone, people would call the police either on me or for me.

I jumped when I heard a voice call out, “You lost, kid?”

I turned and found a man not much older than myself looking at me from across the street. He was holding a leash attached to a fierce-looking dog, but the dog was too excited about the car directly next to him to notice me. The man’s eyes squinted and he bent in an effort see inside the hood I had pulled down low. My hands twisted nervously as I stuttered out in a hoarse voice, “N-no, I’m trying to get to Thatch. But I don’t have a ride or a phone.”

He laughed, and I found myself relaxing at the sound. It was calm and amused, not a hint of the evil I’d lived with and had come to know so well. “What teenager doesn’t have a phone these days?”