Chapter 16

Ten Days Later

I stare up at the ceiling. Turns out, when time is all you have, all the shit you've spent your entire life running from, well, it catches up to you really quickly. And there's nowhere for you to run to. Or hide. It's just you … and all of your shitty memories.

"This is quite an achievement, Briar!" Principal Jordan beamed at me before pulling her glasses off. "This will also look incredible on your college applications next year!"

I looked down at the paper, unable to fight the smile that spread across my face. Running my fingers over the letters, I glanced at her. "Are—are you sure? What if there was a mix-up?"

She gave me a reassuring look. The kind that instantly made me feel better. Then, she reached across her desk and patted my hand. "Briar, I'm one hundred percent certain there wasn't a mix-up. You are at the top of your entire class. You are a sophomore who's taking some of the toughest classes our school has to offer—oh, and getting perfect grades in all of them." She nodded slowly. "This is an award you've earned, girl."

Every year, five high school students in Georgia were chosen to travel to the capital and be recognized with an excellence-in-academics award. I'd gotten good grades since I had been a child, but I never thought I'd be chosen to win that award. Yet there I was. Learning that I had.

One of the best parts about it was that each winner was gifted five thousand dollars in scholarship money for when they went to college. I knew right away that would help me pay for art school.

"So, next month, you'll travel to the capital. You'll meet the governor, along with the founders of this award." Her eyes widened with excitement. "I'm so proud of you, Briar."

When I looked down at the paper again, my stomach suddenly sank because I realized something. "Wait … do I just go alone? Or …"

Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say I don't need a guardian to go.

"Well, I'll be traveling with you," she said, and I felt relieved. That was, until she added the next part. "But you're welcome to bring your parents along too. I'm sure they will be so proud of you." She paused. "Oh, and Walker. He's more than welcome to come too."

The thought of my parents at the capital made me uneasy. They had relapsed … again. And at this point, they were deeper into their addiction than ever. My mom was skin and bones, and my father looked nothing like he once had. Both of their skin had these open sores on it, and their eyes were sunken into their heads, making them have these big, dark circles under them.

I felt ashamed to admit it, and I'd never say it out loud, but the thought of accepting that award when they were in that state of mind and in that rough of shape … it made me ashamed. Who else would be there, accepting an award, while their parents were probably going to sneak into the restroom and shoot up heroin and return, looking like zombies?

I didn't want to risk it.

"But, like … if I wanted to go alone—well, with you—would that be okay? Or, me, you, and Walker maybe?" I felt the shame rise to my cheeks. "If my parents were busy or something."

There was no missing the understanding all over her face, and she gave me the smallest, saddest smile. "If that's what you want—I mean, if they are busy—then that's fine, Briar. This is your day to celebrate all your hard work."

I thanked her before excusing myself from the office and heading home. I didn't want to tell my parents, even though I knew I should. So, instead, I walked home with the intent of keeping it to myself—for the time being anyway.

Right when I walked into my house, I knew something felt different. It was somehow grayer and darker. And a chill hit my skin, cutting deep into my bones.

With my eyes squeezed shut, I feel the tears stream down my cheeks, wishing so badly I could turn this memory off and make it stop.

But that doesn't work. And I can't escape it.

"Mom?" I called out. "Dad?"

No answer.

I prayed they were just out somewhere, but I knew there wasn't much of a chance of that. My parents didn't go out. Hell, even their drugs were hand-delivered to them from our neighbor.

Pushing their bedroom door open, I covered my mouth to muffle the scream that came from my lips.

Their bodies were lifeless. Their lips blue. Each one had a needle hanging from their arm.

I stumbled to the phone, and even though everything was echoes and buzzing … I dialed 911. I didn't know what I said to the operator other than screaming for them to come help.

I knew right then that they couldn't help. My parents were dead. I'd never talk to them again. Or hug my mom or laugh at something my dad had said. They'd never get a chance to be the parents that I knew they had it in them to be.

And then it hit me that less than an hour before, I had planned to sneak away to the capital and receive my award without them there. All because I was too fucking embarrassed about them and their addiction. Guilt consumed every cell inside of my being, crippling me as I waited for the paramedics to arrive.

I knew right then that I was a shit human.

And the guilt that I knew I'd carry for the rest of my life … it was going to nearly kill me.

When I come back to the present, my heart is beating so fast inside my chest that it hurts. I breathe harder and faster in an attempt to catch my breath, but I can't.

I might have been ashamed of my parents, but they were twice the person that most of the people surrounding me now are. I'd give anything to have them here. I'd give back the few years of living in a fancy house at Beckett's or having a nice car to drive or lavish dinners. I'd throw all of that away, even if it meant I had to live at that crappy house with them. I'd do whatever I could to understand their addiction instead of blaming them for it.

I bring a pillow over my face to muffle my cries. Everything hurts, and there isn't a soul to make it better.

Maybe being here is my karma for being ashamed of my own parents—the people who brought me into this world to begin with.

Sitting up quickly, I lose my mind. Traveling to a state of anger that even I can't control. Grabbing my sketchbook, I tear pieces out of it, gritting my teeth so hard that my jaw hurts. And when that isn't enough, I take all of the colored pencils that Hudson secretly delivered to me, and I throw them against the wall.

Everyone always leaves me behind.

Dragging my hands through my hair, I scream into the empty room just before I catch sight of myself in the mirror. And when I do, I pause. Slowly, I watch the girl staring back at me as her chest rises and falls—her eyes red and puffy and her face splotchy from crying.

"You stupid girl." I sniffle, shaking my head at myself. "All you do is fuck everything up."

Seconds later, my fist smashes into the glass. The pain is different from the agony that's roaring inside. So, I hit it again. And again. And it's never enough. It'll never be enough.

When Rossi throws the door open, his eyes widen in horror as he takes in the sight of the broken glass and my bloody fists that are dripping all over the floor. He starts toward me slowly. And I suddenly don't give a fuck what happens to me. I can't sit around and wait for my chance to break free. Because if I do that, it'll never happen.

Jumping toward him, I catch him off guard, grabbing the gun from his waistband before stepping back and drawing it at him.

"Come another step closer, and I will blow your brains all over that fucking door!" I scream, somewhere between a cry and a yell.

Holding his hands up, he swallows. "Briar, if the other guard on duty comes in here and sees this … he's going to shoot you," he whispers. "I'm going to kick the door shut behind me. Please, don't shoot."

Narrowing my eyes, I hold it closer to him, but still, he kicks his foot behind his body and pushes the door shut. I shake, not understanding why he wouldn't want me to get caught.

"Listen to me," he says, trying his best to keep calm. "I know you're scared. You're mad. You're fucking pissed. I get it, Briar. I do. You've been forced to be here, in this room, with nobody." He continues keeping his hands up, speaking slowly. "Don't become a monster like everyone else here. Don't let them make you turn into something you aren't."

"Maybe I am a monster," I croak. "Maybe I am destined to be a killer—just like the rest of you."

"No, you aren't." Quickly, he shakes his head. "Do you know how I know that?"

"I don't care," I growl, releasing the hold on the gun with one hand just long enough to wipe my eyes. "I don't care!"

"I know that because Hudson loves you, Briar." His voice is different now. Sad even. "He hasn't so much as looked at another woman since Cami."

I'm too far into whatever fucked-up state I'm in to be intrigued by the name. So, I say nothing, keeping the gun drawn, waiting for him to attack me.

Only he doesn't.

"Cami was Hudson's wife and the love of his life. They were married young. Like, twenty-two years old, I think? And within two months, they found out they were pregnant." He swallows. "She was a nurse. A few months later, she worked all night long to save people's lives in the ICU." He pauses, looking down for a split second. "She was six months pregnant when, on her way home from work, a drunk driver hit her head-on." He reaches up, wiping his eyes. "She died instantly. And … Hudson has never been the same."

I feel a different pain now from before. It's no longer the feeling of sadness for my parents or guilt for being ashamed of them. But instead pain for Hudson and all he's gone through. But I can't put my guard down with Rossi. After all, he's keeping me in this room.

"Why are you telling me this?" I whisper, lowering the gun slightly.

"Because, Briar, I've known him a long, long time. And he's never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. Not since Cami was alive."

We stand there in a silent standoff for minutes.

Eventually, he speaks. "I want to take something out of my pocket, okay? I swear it's not a weapon. Please … trust me."

My lips tremble, and I suck in a shaky breath as I keep the gun pointed at him. But finally, I nod. "Okay."

Reaching into his pocket, he takes out a picture and looks down at it for a moment before holding it up for me to see. And when I look at it, I see an attractive woman kneeling down with her nose pressed against a little girl with curly brown hair.

"This is my wife and my daughter—my whole world," he utters. "If I lost them … I don't think I could go on living." He looks me in the eye. "And if they lost me … they'd be devastated, Briar."

I move my eyes back to the photo. So much joy in a small, wallet-size picture. It's like I can hear the little girl's giggle and feel the warmth of her mom just from looking at it. Tears begin to fall from my eyes faster, and I toss the gun onto the chair before sitting on the edge of the bed and covering my face with my hands.

"I'm sorry," my voice croaks weakly. "I'm so … so … sorry."

I feel the bed shift next to me as he takes a seat.

"It's okay, Briar," he whispers. "But we're going to be okay, I promise. I'll make sure of it."

I hope he's right. Not for me, but for himself. Because that beautiful woman and the precious little girl need him.

Wiping my eyes, I sit up straighter and turn toward him. "Tell me what you need me to do to help get us out of this place, and I'll do it."

For a moment, he looks surprised. And then he grins. "All right, let's do it, Ms. James. Let's do it."