47. Kira

47KIRA

“What?” The gun goes slick under my hands. “I don’t even know you.”

A small, spiteful smirk twitches on Lacey’s face. “It’s embarrassing, but I used to be one of your most loyal followers.”

My mouth goes dry. Obviously, I know anyone can have access to the things I post, but the thought of someone like Lacey scrolling through my life, always watching … it makes my skin crawl.

Lacey glances at Max. “I still have no idea what he sees in you, but I’ll give it to you: your videos really got me into shape, babe. My favorite was the Dance Boot-Camp Challenge.” Something flashes in her stare. “Remember that one?”

Of course I do. I posted it on YouTube a little over two years ago, and it was my first set of videos to hit a million views each. I framed it as a two-week challenge with a different set of videos to do each day, all based on the kind of workouts I did as a competitive dancer, a mix of technique and conditioning. I even pulled out my old pointe shoes for a barre workout, and it felt so good to do the thing I used to love so much, the thing I’m still not always comfortable doing anymore: just dancing, but on my own terms.

Wait, the shoes in my drawer. Was that my clue? Something so insignificant, so …

But no. Looking at Lacey’s face, I know—it wasn’t insignificant to her. Something about that challenge was monumental to her, bad enough that she brought me here. That she wanted me to suffer, maybe even die.

I swallow, tightening my grip on the gun. “I remember.”

“Do you remember what you said at the end of the ballet video?”

My mind stutters. What did I say? It was so long ago. “I…”

“Think harder.”

And then it’s there, bobbing up like I’d been trying to hold it underwater. “I think I said something like … ‘I know you’re tired, but ballet is all about discipline. You have to keep going even when it’s hard, because—’”

“‘Because it is hard,’” Lacey finishes, nodding like an approving teacher. “‘But all the best dancers make it look easy.’ That’s what you said. Right?”

“I don’t understand,” I tell her. “What’s wrong with that?”

Her lip curls. “You were right. You made it seem easy. So easy, I thought, well, if a two-week challenge is all it takes to look like Kira Lyons, then maybe I can do it, too.” She laughs bitterly. “And I did. All two weeks of it. Only when I got to the end, I didn’t look any different. But I remembered what you said about discipline. I figured I just needed to work harder. Make it look easy. So, I did another two weeks. And when that still didn’t work, I went harder. Did each video twice, back-to-back. I worked so hard I passed out. It was kind of a nasty spill, too. Had to get stitches.”

Lacey taps the faint scar on her chin, a vicious half smile quirking on her lips, and it’s like a nightmare slowly taking shape, the shadowy monster revealing a face more terrifying than any I could have imagined.

“That isn’t what I meant.” The words come out weak. “I never would have told you to do that. You can’t go that hard. No fitness goal is worth sacrificing your health or well-being. Ever.”

“That’s sweet, babe.” She comes closer, unafraid of the gun. “But the thing is, it wasn’t the videos that made me hate you. They even worked, eventually. Well, the videos and some top-tier plastic surgery.” She laughs, taking another step. “No, what really did it for me, Kira, the reason I had to bring you here…” Another step, only a foot between the barrel and her chest. “It’s because you made me hate myself. Every single picture, every toxic-positive mantra … you live to make other girls feel like they’re not enough. You get off on it. You wouldn’t sell products without all that self-hate.”

It’s what I’ve been afraid of this whole time, what I’ve been wrestling with for years, but hearing it out loud is like a punch in the gut. I started making my content because I wanted to be in control again. Because I wanted to stop letting people like McKayleigh, Ms. Tammy, and the strangers in my comments make me feel like I wasn’t enough. But in the process, that’s exactly how I made Lacey feel. I was too focused on the good stuff—the love and the gratitude, followers telling me I’m helping them feel happier and healthier. I clung to their support, too relieved to wonder about the hurt radiating behind those smiles.

The same hurt that I see now, so clearly, on Lacey’s face.

“But do you want to know the worst part about you, Kira? What makes you so unforgiveable?” Her eyes are blue as ice, and I feel like I’m falling through them, the ground cracking underneath my feet. “You act like you’re this nice, good girl. A shy little victim. You’ve even convinced yourself.”

I lower the gun, my chest aching.

Lacey laughs, so loud and sharp that it startles me into aiming again.

“See?” She stares down the barrel. “Sweet little Kira is ready to put a bullet in my chest. Better watch out, Max. Your girlfriend’s a firecracker.”

She looks at him, and all at once, I understand. Even through her boldness, I see her: that fifteen-year-old girl who gave a boy the most delicate of things, her trust, and watched as he smashed it to bits in front of her. And the longing. That slim, whispering hope that maybe, just maybe, things would work out better if he’d only let her try again.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I’m so, so sorry I made you feel that way.”

She drops her smug grin so quickly, it’s like someone slapped her.

“You’re sorry I feel that way,” she repeats. “You’re sorry I feel that way? Oh my god, do you hear yourself? You still can’t take responsibility for what you did. You can’t accept that you’re the reason you’re here!”

And just like that, I don’t feel so sorry anymore. Yes, I’ve made mistakes, but I didn’t do this. I didn’t torture people, make them kill each other, and then laugh in their faces like a sick, twisted puppet master.

I speak slowly. “You’re right. I should have been more careful with my words. I should have thought about the impact they could have. And I’m sorry I didn’t. But you don’t get to blame me for this.” My fingers curl around the gun’s handle. “You’re the one who lured us all here. You’re the one who took it too far. You’re the reason people are dead. I didn’t do any of that, Lacey.” My heart thumps as I throw her own words back at her. “I just gave you the idea.”

As soon as I’ve said it, I know I cut too deep. With a growl, she lunges forward like she’s going to rip the gun from my hands, but I jolt out of her reach, aim unwavering. She stops, breathing hard, and wipes her forehead, leaving a smear of what must be Max’s blood behind. Looking up at the sky, she smiles.

“Go ahead. Shoot me. You really want them to come and find you with six dead bodies and a smoking gun?” She laughs. “I’m empty-handed, babe. You can’t call this one self-defense, can you?”

Blood pounds in my ears, my hands shaking, but I’m frozen. Paralyzed.

“You’re not innocent, Lacey.” Max speaks up, his voice cutting hard. “Do you actually think you’re better than the rest of us?” He walks toward her, unafraid. “This is about me. Right? Don’t bring them into this.”

“God, you’re so obsessed with yourself,” Lacey tells him, but she’s trying too hard to put on her bored Elody affect. Max is hitting a nerve.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” he says. “Okay? I take full responsibility for that. But I didn’t ruin your life. You want to talk about ‘obsessed’?” Max gets right up in her face. “You ruined your own life because you couldn’t let go of a middle-school crush.”

Everything drains from Lacey’s face until it’s nothing but a stunned mask. And I see it happen, like a gear grinding behind her eyes, but she’s too quick.

Lacey surges toward me, her weight knocking me back onto the sand. The gun falls from my grip. We both scramble for it, but I’m faster. Closing my hands around the gun, I stumble back, and my elbow cracks against her face. She cries out, holding her nose, and I stand up, aiming the gun with shaking hands.

Lacey grins, blood trickling from her nose. She wipes it away, smudging it like war paint.

“Go ahead.” She laughs. “Kill me.”

Her eyes are wild, broken, and I realize with a shudder that takes over my whole body: there’s a part of her that wants me to. And I won’t. Even with everything she’s done, I won’t fight this girl’s hurt with more hurt. I won’t let her turn me into what she thinks I am.

I lower the gun, and that’s all it takes. Lacey’s hands close around mine, pulling hard enough that it wrenches from my grip. She stumbles back and then rights herself, swinging it back and forth so I can’t tell who she’s even aiming for. I’m not sure if she knows, either. All I can do is watch, frozen, my heart and the waves roaring in my ears as Lacey swings the barrel to Max’s chest.

“Sorry,” she tells him. “But I need you to know how it feels.”

She pulls the trigger.

Click.

Lacey stares at the gun, looking just as blank and confused as Max.

That’s when Corinne unfurls her fist, revealing the unloaded magazine.

“No one else is dying tonight,” she says firmly.

Lacey’s jaw drops. “You—”

“Just caught you attempting murder,” Logan finishes, nodding at the camera in Corinne’s other hand, and then at the discarded knife. “For the second time tonight, by the way.”

I breathe out, trying to release the adrenaline pulsing through me. Even though I knew the gun wasn’t loaded, I wasn’t prepared for how it would feel to aim it. To make someone believe the only thing standing between their life and death is a twitch of my finger. It didn’t feel badass or heroic—only wrong. And looking at Lacey, her shocked expression, I have to believe some part of her felt it, too.

“It’s over, Lacey,” I tell her softly.

And then she grins.

“Wow,” she says, clapping. “You really got me. And you know I love a performance. But the thing is, babe…” She bends slowly to set the gun on the ground. “I’m done with all the fake shit.”

When she springs back up, the knife is in her hand. It happens so fast, a blur of motion broken up by moments in high definition. Lacey lunging at me. The glint of the blade raised above my head. Max rushing forward just in time to block its path. The swinging arc of the knife as it plunges into his skin.

Horror floods Lacey’s face.

“Oh my god,” she breathes. “Oh my god!”

Max buckles, clutching his side. We all rush toward him, crowding around as the blood starts to bloom through his shirt.

Everything is noise. The sea, our panicked voices, Lacey’s cries, but then it’s deafened by a new sound, one that kicks up the breeze and shakes the ground beneath my feet.

I look up as the first helicopter takes shape in the sky.