Lies You Never Told Me(76)

“Leave her alone.” My voice comes out in an uneven snarl. I clutch my shoulder with my free hand, panting a little with the pain.

“It just makes me so mad.” The laughter is gone from her voice now. “You’re such a liar. You told me you were mine. You told me we’d be together forever. And the first chance you get, you go running after her.”

“The cops are on their way, Sasha,” I say.

She laughs again. It’s a dry, empty sound.

“I don’t care anymore.”

Next to me I can feel Catherine tremble. I look over at her—at her narrow features, at the slight, pensive overbite of her mouth. At her long-lashed eyes, pupils wide with fear. I lean down and kiss her cheek. Then, before she can try to stop me, I step out from behind the tree.

I don’t have a plan. All I know is that Sasha is here for me. She’ll hurt Catherine, but she’ll do it to get to me. So I’m the one who has to stop her.

Instantly there’s another shot. It disappears somewhere into the darkness past me. Sasha’s about thirty feet away, gun held out from her chest in both hands. She’s still in her drill uniform—a sparkly vest, a short white skirt. The sequins catch what light there is, flaring bright as flame.

She lowers the gun ever so slightly, her eyes meeting mine.

“Why do you love her, and not me?” she asks. Her voice is almost matter-of-fact.

There are a million and one things I could say. I could point out all she’s put me through. I could use all the labels she hates so much: manipulative, abusive, controlling. I wouldn’t be wrong.

But the truth is so much simpler, and so much more complicated.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I just do.”

We stand like that for a long moment, staring at one another. I look at her heart-shaped face, at the thick, dark hair like a tempest around her shoulders. I look at her mouth, sagging under the weight of her bitterness.

“I’m sorry,” I say. Because it’s true. For whatever she’s going through. For whatever I may have done to make it worse.

Her features crumple into an expression of anguish. The gun is aimed at my chest this time. No more wide shots.

Then, all at once, she turns the gun toward her own temple. The movement is so swift and so sure I realize that it’s what she’s meant to do all along.

“No,” I say, too soft. I start to run. There’s no way for me to get there in time; I know even as I reach toward her I won’t make it. “No, Sasha.”

I can hear sirens. I barely noticed them over the pounding of my own heart. But there are the red and blue beams, swirling across the highway. Lights go on inside the motel. Someone steps out, a silhouette in a doorway. A cop car swerves into the parking lot, another close on its heels.

Sasha’s hand trembles. I stop a few feet away, holding my hands up.

“Don’t,” I say.

She blinks, once, twice, like she’s waking up from a bad dream. She looks up at the cop cars. An ambulance pulls into the lot a moment later. The lights flash across her skin.

The gun falls to the ground. She sits down, hard, on the broken concrete. Her expression is empty, as if everything has been drained away.





FORTY-FOUR


    Elyse




It’s the kind of gray day I love, the kind that makes me homesick for Portland. Town Lake is dull under the heavy clouds, and while December in Texas isn’t nearly as cold as I want it to be, there’s a cool current in the air.

It’s the day before Christmas Eve; the usual joggers and walkers and bikers are probably doing their last-minute shopping, so the park is less crowded than usual. I sit on a bench and watch a chubby guy with a beard throw a tennis ball for a sheltie in the dog area. All around is the hum of traffic, the noise of the city.

When the minivan pulls into the parking lot, my nerves shoot sparks.

It’s been a week since what happened in the woods. I haven’t seen Gabe since he disappeared into the back of the ambulance that night; and while we’ve been texting back and forth nonstop, I’m suddenly nervous to be face-to-face with him. Even though by now he knows some of the story—the news has covered the basics—there’s still so much to confess, to explain.

I’ve never stood in front of him as myself. Not completely.

The side panel swings open, and the first thing I see is Vivi, waving frantically. She’s holding a stuffed armadillo and beaming at me. “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” she calls.

“Merry Christmas, yourself,” I say, getting up from the bench and moving closer. She holds the armadillo out toward me. I take it and make it dance along her lap, and she squeals with delight.

The passenger side door swings open, and Gabe steps carefully out. It’s surreal to be able to look at him directly in the light of day, without fear that we might be seen. There’s almost a rush to it. He’s wearing a loose black T-shirt that says SATAN’S CHEERLEADERS, and his curls are adorably tousled. He grins at me, that cocky sideways grin that pulled me in from the start.

Before he can even say hi, Mrs. Jiménez leans across the seat.

“You must be Elyse,” she says.

I nod, not sure if I should move to shake her hand or something. I don’t remember how normal teenagers talk to adults.