Chapter Twelve

Snow

I sit in my business class, glancing out the window, watching the calm sea. I completely tune out the professor, lost in my own thoughts of Lyrical.

What am I going to do with her?

I tend to forget all about how she destroyed my family, and the urge to exact revenge is becoming less desirable by the day. It doesn't help that I wonder if I'm being too hard on her, and that maybe she was, in fact, drugged. I want to believe her, but I don't know if I can. Lyrical has always been the type of person where she's not honest with herself. She'll lie to get herself out of trouble and she doesn't want to face her issues. Being in close proximity to her, I lose my common sense and quickly forget I'm meant to hate her.

Sometimes, I wish we could go back to how things were before the car accident. Me, Bailey, and her. Hanging out, or them doing shit that they don't have any business doing, where I have to clean up their messes. I miss Lyrical spending the night at my place when she wasn't hanging out with my sister. We would spend time at our hangout spot on the cliff overlooking the ocean.

I receive a text message from Miles, the owner of the moving company I hired.

Miles: Your fiancée threw shoes at my workers and told us to leave and that she wasn't moving in with you.

I look at the time. She's supposed to be on her way to her art class. When I tap the GPS app, the red dot shows her moving toward Gogh Hall.

Me: I'll handle her. Go back to her place and pack her stuff.

We are supposed to move in after our marriage, but I'm not waiting. I need her in my space, I need her available for me to use as a toy when it's convenient for me, plus it's for appearance's sake. My father has been on my ass about going out in public with Lyrical, since our engagement ball, in fact. We have to paint this picture to the media that we're a happy couple. Show the world we are still on top, and we're as powerful as the rumors say we are.

The professor dismisses the class, and I grab my backpack, sling it over my shoulders, and leave the room along with the rest of the students.

When I step outside, I see Savannah leaning against the cobblestone wall, watching me like a hawk, and I shake my head because clearly, she isn't getting the hint that I don't want her.

She's been sending me messages, asking me why I ghosted her, and when the news broke free that I'm engaged to Lyrical, she sent me messages asking me to meet her and talk. There isn't a reason for us to talk; Savannah was a tool I used to get back at Lyrical, a warm hole—a warm, loose hole—I used from time to time. She doesn't satisfy the dark side I share with Lyrical. She always complained I hurt her, and she doesn't like choking. She wants to lie on her back and allow me to fuck her. She doesn't even suck dick right. A total fucking bore.

Savannah stomps up to me, her hands on her hips. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to marry Lyrical?"

"It's none of your business. That's why. Move the fuck out of my way, Savannah, so I won't be late for my next class."

"Why didn't you convince your father to choose me? I can give you what you want. You want to choke me? I'm okay with it."

No, she's not. She's okay with my bank account balance and my endless connections. I heard her having a conversation with her best friend Tanya about how she wanted to snag me because I can provide for her. I never wanted her, but I definitely don't want her after she told her friend that.

"I never wanted you, Savannah. You're a slut who can't keep your pussy to yourself."

She cocks her eyebrow. "You want the virgin who isn't experienced?"

"My fiancée isn't a virgin anymore, thanks to me, and she takes my dick a lot better than you. She isn't fucking me because she wants a rich husband, and she isn't fucking me to get paid. You're a dried up whore." I chuckle. "You fucked my friend, that's how desperate you are for a payday."

Tears form in her eyes, but I don't care about her feelings. I have had enough of her needy ass. Her palm connects with my face, slapping me across the cheek. I instantly see red, so I grab her by the throat, squeezing tight, cutting off her airway. Savannah digs her nails into my skin, her eyes bulge, but I don't let go.

God, I want to kill this bitch.

I lean in, my mouth so close to her ear. "If you put your hands on me again, I promise you, I'll slit your throat and toss you in the Atlantic Ocean and let the fish feast on your body. Stay the fuck away from me." I let her go, and she slides down to the concrete floor, sobbing.

"You will pay for how you treated me, Revi Williams. Mark my words. You've just fucked with the wrong bitch," she screams at the top of her lungs.

Lyrical

I take an Uber to Snow's parents' mansion that sits on the top of a hill, surrounded by trees. The city is alive tonight but you don't have to worry about paparazzi following you around. The small buildings made out of cobblestones light up the dark sky.

I need to figure out who Bailey's boyfriend was and if he was the one who drugged us the night of the accident. Before we went to Snow's party, we went to a football party. A memory pops up in my head about Bailey. I remember a cop pulling me over, tapping on my window, then I blacked out and woke up in the hospital. I believe someone roofied me, because I didn't take any drugs at the football party. Someone offered it to everyone, but I didn't think anything of it at the time. Professor Carter and Professor Neil busted the party, so we left. I remember Bailey telling me she had to use the bathroom, but maybe she spoke to her boyfriend because she came back to me looking pissed off.

After the funeral, I couldn't show my face here because I caused her mother to go into a bout of depression. I'm the reason why their baby girl is six feet under.

I swallow the pain in my throat, trying to work as much courage as I can, then I knock on the door. Several moments later, the maid answers.

"What brings you here, Lyrical?"

"Is Mrs. Williams around?"

She nods. "She's in the living room."

"I need to speak to her. It's about Bailey."

She opens the door wide, letting me through. When I step inside, the smell of lavender air freshener hits my nostrils, and memories flood my mind. It's like stepping into a time capsule and for a second, I imagine Bailey rushing down the stairs, throwing her arms around me as if she hasn't seen me in a long time. She was always an affectionate person, and I wish I had more time with her.

I walk into the living room, and Mrs. Williams stands near the window, looking outside at the trees in her backyard. We only exchanged a few words at the engagement party, nothing more. When I clear my throat, she turns around.

Surprise flickers on her face and a sad smile stretches across her lips. "Lyrical, what brings you here?"

From what my mother tells me, she's supposed to be taking antidepressant pills and her depression is driving a wedge in her marriage. But that's the thing about grief, it changes you in so many ways, so I have no business passing judgment on her. I hope to God I never lose a child.

My anxiety is getting the best of me. "How are you holding up?" I ask, biting the inside of my cheek.

"Barely hanging on. Sometimes, I can hear her coming down the hallway, asking me to eat some delicious chicken sandwich she made."

She's stuck. Everyone else seems to have moved on with their lives, but not her. She's stuck with the memories of Bailey, and so am I. I often find myself sketching old memories. That's another thing I hate about grief. Everyone moves on with their lives while you are stuck on the person you're missing. She's right; Bailey did make some fire-ass chicken sandwiches.

"I miss her too. I'm here to grab something from Bailey's room, if you don't mind?"

"I don't mind at all."

She turns her back to me, and I take that as my cue to head upstairs. Once I arrive to her room, I suck in a breath as I turn the knob of her door, exhaling when I step inside and shut the door behind me.

Tears gather in my eyes as I take in her room. Pictures of us and her family and sketches are all over one wall. Her faint cherry scent lingers in the air. Her mother hadn't changed anything about this room, and I'm grateful for it, though she's kept her room clean because not a dust mite is in sight.

I exhale, trying to not get caught up in my memories of my best friend, and I go to her drawer. I open it, finding our journal that we used to draw in. I scan through the pages.

The tears finally fall down my cheeks as I study a picture of me sitting on her lap, kissing her cheek, with Snow in the far corner with tears in his eyes. The caption reads, Crybaby. I remember this picture. Bailey told me Snow was pissed that I blew him off to go to the movies with her. She often said her brother had a crush on me and how I didn't want to see it. I don't think he ever loved me in the same way I loved him before all of this.

I flip through to the last page, which was completed by us a few days before the party. Bailey drew a picture of herself in a hospital bed, and she pictured this one, Bad tummy aches . I drew a picture at the bottom of it with a red rose—my caption, Get better soon . I hold the sketch journal to my chest and sob like a newborn baby. I miss her so much, I don't know how to process her death. I usually deal with it by cutting myself, but sometimes that doesn't work.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I tuck the sketchbook under my arm, then search through her drawer. Here I find a photo, so I pick it up, studying the person who has his arms wrapped around her waist. He has a tattoo on his chest—a snake with an X over it, but the face of the person is cut out. They both seem to be on a beach.

I don't know anyone who has a tattoo on their chest. I flip the picture over and it reads, Me and my forever person. The love of my life. Him and Bailey for life.

Tears fall down my cheeks because I'm the only who believed she was dating anyone. And I was the only one who didn't think she was crazy and accepted her for who she was.

"I'm so sorry, Bailey." My tone echoes in the room. "I'm so sorry."