1. ONE

ONE

three months later

C lose your eyes, sweetheart. Count to thirty. One…two…three…four…five…

I gasp, sitting up in the bed and clutching at my chest. It felt so real—so real I could feel my eyes burning from the dust in the field we'd kicked up just before Declan pushed me to the ground.

So real I could feel his weight on my back and his breath on my neck.

What I'd give just to feel it again—to be touched again, to be held. It's been so long; the only time I can remember what it's like is when I dream like this. And I dream like this a lot.

I wish it'd stop.

I look around the small, plain white room and scream, tearing at my hair.

"What's wrong, baby?" Luca asks, running his fingers along my back. "Did you have another bad dream?"

I nod and wipe the tears away from under my eyes. "Why didn't you come back for me? I loved you so much. And it still hurts…so bad. When will it stop hurting?"

"I can't answer that for you, angel. I'm so sorry."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not real."

Before I can reply to my ghost, the door opens.

"Am I interrupting something?" Sebastian asks.

I scowl at the orderly, who's the closest thing I have to a friend in this shithole. "My regularly scheduled pity party."

"Well, here's a pro tip," he says, passing me a small plastic cup with pills. "If you want to go home tomorrow, don't let them see or hear you carrying on conversations with your hallucinations. Sane people don't do that."

"I'm aware," I say. I look into the cup before I throw back the contents. "Aww, you brought me extras."

"Snaked a Percocet from Harvey again. She's so fucking out of it that it's the last thing she needs; they'll never notice. Consider it a parting gift."

He hands me a small cup of water, and I wash down the pills.

"Well, if I'd known I was going to get a parting gift, I would have made a request."

"I'm not going to fuck you, Teagan."

"You bore me," I tell him. "What's the point of you, then?"

"What the fuck do you mean? I work here."

"You could be getting endless pussy in a place like this. Is there someone else? Is it Veronica?"

Sebastian is over six feet tall and the embodiment of tall, dark, and handsome. Deep tan skin, eyes like Declan's, curly dark hair, and I bet under those scrubs, he's nothing but hard muscle. Tattoos wind their way up his left arm, and just behind his ear, written on his neck, are the words, "We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell." It's Oscar Wilde, but he doesn't seem like the type who would know; he probably saw it in a meme one day, felt like going to get a tattoo. I can't say for sure whether it's the worst or most perfect mantra for a place like this, but I can say that I've lost hours staring at it over the past few months, wondering if that's what I did and how exactly I did it. This certainly isn't the first or second time I've tried to get him to fuck me. I've fantasized about it several times, touching myself while imagining he'd snuck inside my room…and then inside me.

Unfortunately, before I come, my thoughts always slip to Declan or Luca. Sometimes River, if my subconscious self feels a little less masochistic.

Every fucking time.

"You know this is sexual harassment, right? Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I just don't want crazy pussy? Maybe I just don't need another fucking problem."

"You'll miss me when I'm gone."

He rolls his eyes, then shrugs. "You keep it interesting, I guess. Come on, I'll take you to breakfast. Leave your imaginary friends here."

I sigh and walk toward the door, looking back and adding to the empty room, "Hey guys, sorry. I'll be back later."

Sebastian shakes his head as we make our way down the hall.

"What?"

"Nothing, just…it's very hard to discern if you're actually crazy or not."

"Thank you," I tell him. "That's kind of the point, isn't it?"

He grabs the walkie-talkie from his waistband and brings it to his mouth. "Hey, I'm bringing Townsend down," he says. "Make sure none of the TVs are showing the news."

"Copy that," a woman replies. "Turning them off now."

"You realize when I go home tomorrow, I'm going to be able to watch whatever I want, right?"

He shrugs. "It's the doctor's rules, not mine, Teagan. You're not missing much, anyway."

Part of my treatment includes keeping me away from news stations where I might see the latest maniacal stunt pulled by the bloodsluts or learn something about the investigation into Declan and Luca's crimes or their whereabouts. Or, well, Declan's whereabouts. From what others have told me, everyone has pretty much accepted that Luca is dead.

Even the fans have started to calm down. They don't say his name anymore.

"Do they still write to me?" I ask. "The fans?"

He lowers his voice. "Maybe once a week or so…they'll get something and toss it. Nothing like in the first month."

Sebastian scans his tag and checks me into the cafeteria, leaving me without another word. I take my breakfast burrito and fruit and find a spot in the back corner.

It was hard to be here at first. All I wanted was answers—I wanted to know why they left me, I wanted to know why they lied. What was the point in making me feel the way they did? Was it just for Declan to prove that he could? Was it all part of the mindfuck?

Sometimes, it hurts that same way it did in the early days following their abandonment—like someone is tearing my ribcage apart with their bare hands. On those days, the pain all but cripples me. I go through the motions, I cry for my ghosts. I close my eyes and pretend it didn't happen and that, when I open them next, it'll all be over.

But sometimes, I wake up and all I see is red; I let the rage seep into every crevice, every cell of my body, using it as fuel, and being angry at Declan is the only thing that keeps me going. On those days, I think if I could get my hands on something sharp, I'd slice that letter 'D' clean off my chest. And if I could get my hands on Declan, I'd roll up that fileted chunk of skin, shove it down his throat, and laugh while he chokes on it.

It'd only be fair.

Lost in that scene in my head, I snap my stupid compostable fork in half.

Whoops.

I give up on the fruit and grab my burrito.

It was Alana who talked to the police—who told them about Layla and Declan's fascination with suicides. The amount of live-streamed suicides after this made the news was enough for many states to declare a public health crisis, and it wasn't long before their music was banned from streaming services and radio stations. All of their merch was pulled from chain retailers, which was great for the little guys who were able to cash in.

They all hoped they'd come back. I hoped they'd come back. But aside from the fanatics, everyone seems to have let it go now. It's long past time I did, too.

But the idea of letting go—of admitting to myself that none of it was real—hurts, too. I think of Luca. I think of how he washed my hair and told me he'd love me until his heart stopped. I think of Declan telling me that I'm perfect, I'm poetry, and the rest of the world was just beige.

That's how everything feels to me now—just beige. Like the lifeless walls of the room I've called home for the past three months, the world is completely devoid of color. They sucked the life out of everything around me when they left me an empty husk that used to be human in the dirt in Wyoming. The trees are beige. The people around me are beige. This fucking burrito even tastes beige.

I choke down as much as I can before returning my tray.

"I'm ready to go back," I tell the woman moderating the room.

"Townsend needs an escort back to the dorms," she says into her walkie.

"I'll grab her," a voice replies. "She has a visitor."

I wait between the woman and a security guard until Sebastian meets me at the doorway.

"Who is it?" I ask as he leads me to the front deck.

"I don't know," he says. "Some blonde girl. I didn't ask."

A blonde girl?

My heart pounds in my chest as I pick up my pace, almost running now as we make our way down the hall.

"Slow down, Teagan," he says.

But I don't listen. I push through the doors and begin scanning the area.

My heart drops when my eyes meet Blakely's. She smiles, giving me a small wave.

I turn to Sebastian with tears in my eyes. "You said she was blonde."

"She is blonde."

"She has four fucking highlights. That's not blonde." I blink, sending the tears rolling down my cheeks. "Fuck you. I fucking hate your ass."

I turn and walk to the table, sitting opposite my sister with my arms crossed in front of me.

"I take it you're not happy to see me," Blakely says.

"Not really," I tell her.

"Mom's here, too," she says. "She's just grabbing some coffee. Um, how have you been? Are you doing better?"

"Better than what?" I ask.

She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

"Since when do you care? I've been here for three months, Blake. Where have you been?"

"I've been…waiting for you to get better. And from what I understand, you have gotten better—enough that they're going to send you home. I want to have you in my life, Teagan. Just…not the way you were."

"That took a lot longer than I anticipated," my mom says, setting a coffee in front of Blakely before taking her seat. "I told you it was beautiful out here, Blakely. Isn't it beautiful?"

Rancho San Flores is nestled in the foothills of the Santa Anas. The views are nice enough and the facility clean enough to convince family members that they're sending their loved ones—or tolerated ones, in my case—on peaceful little vacations to get their minds straight. But we need escorts to walk the halls and some of the residents are kept so medicated they barely blink. That was me in the early days.

Of course, out here on the wraparound porch sipping coffee and lemonade, you don't see any of that.

"It really is," Blakely says. "I'm impressed; I might want to book a weekend here."

Mom laughs. "Are you sure you want to come home, Teagan?"

"There's an electric fence over ten feet high," I say, unamused. "It's Jurassic fucking Park, Mom."

"Teagan," my mom says, shaking her head. "Would it kill you to be a little more positive?"

"I am positively ready to get the fuck out of here," I tell her. "Does that count?"

She sighs. "This is a fresh start for all of us, and I want you to treat it that way, Teagan. Not everyone gets those, you know."

I think of Brady and Rhett, and my chest tightens. I know. I know all too well.

"Yeah, fine. I'll treat it that way."

"And I want us to be friends again, too, Teagan," Blakely says. "I want to be there for you; I want you to be a bridesmaid at my wedding."

"Isn't that nice, Teagan?" my mom asks.

"Yeah, that sounds great," I lie. That's the last fucking thing on Earth I want to do now.

"Anyway, I know you have your appointment soon; we meant to get here earlier, but traffic was crazy, wasn't it, Blake?"

"The 5 was a nightmare," Blakely agrees.

"But I wanted to talk to you about some of the boundaries we've set for you coming home," Mom says. "And we've talked to Dr. Miller about this, too—she agrees that these are good rules to have to help you readjust."

"Okay…"

"Well, first, you'll have to start seeing Dr. Miller again once a week. Secondly—and this is a big one—no social media, no trying to communicate with any of the…fans."

"Bloodsluts," I say.

"I'm not going to say that. It's disgusting," she says. "I got you a new phone with a new phone number, and you're going to have to get a job and start helping out with the bills and around the house."

"Fine."

"And you cannot bring men to my home, Teagan," she adds. "Or women. No sexual partners. You'll have a ten o'clock curfew, and I'll expect to see you there—alone—every night."

"Mom, for fuck's sake—I'm twenty-one years old."

"And when you can support yourself and live on your own, you can do whatever you want. But as long as you're in my house, you'll live by my rules. Dr. Miller agrees that this is the best way for you to transition back into society. And I think once you get used to it, Teagan, you'll like it."

If it weren't for the Percocet, I'd be furious right now. As it is, I'm pretty relaxed, enjoying the heavy feeling in my limbs, and I don't bother to argue.

"Yeah, I think I'm finally ready to contribute to society. I've learned a lot here," I tell her. "That all sounds great."

Blakely scoffs and shakes her head, but my mom just stares.

"I hope you do take this seriously, Teagan. I hope you feel the weight of this."

"Do you have any idea how many deaths they're responsible for at this point, Teagan?" Blakely asks.

"Not really. I'm not allowed to watch or read the news."

"Well, it's a lot," Blakely says. "Consider yourself lucky that you're sitting here and not in the ground or a prison cell. And that's because we love you."

"I know that," I tell them both. "And I am grateful. I just…I'm trying. I'm trying my best. It'll be easier once I'm out of here, I think, to remember who I was before all of this happened. It's hard when there isn't much to do aside from staring at the wall."

"Well, you need to be better than you were before all of this happened, too, Teagan," my mom says. "Maybe it's better if you don't remember."

"Townsend?" a female voice calls.

"Right here," I reply, turning back to the nurse. Her name is Dana; she's around my mom's age, and she's an asshole. She eyes me with disgust just like she is now any time she's burdened with my presence.

"I'm here to take you to your appointment," she says.

"Gotta go," I tell my mom and sister.

"I'll be here to pick you up at this time tomorrow," Mom says.

"Okay."

"I'm really excited to have you home," she adds.

It feels like a lie, but I smile anyway.

"Me, too, Teagan," Blakely says. "I've really missed you."

"Yeah," I say. "I've missed you, too. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

I push in my chair before leaving the table and meeting the nurse at the front door. She scans her tag, checking me out before we leave the porch, and then takes me to the elevator and up to the second floor.

"I'm going to miss this special time together," I say to Dana, breaking the oppressive silence in the small space. I'm not surprised when she doesn't answer.

The elevator doors open, and I follow her down the hall to the psychiatrist's office. She scans me in and walks away without saying a word.

"Teagan, have a seat," Dr. Watkins says, smiling as she gestures to the seat in front of her. "It's your last day; how do you feel?"

"Pretty good," I lie.

The truth is I don't feel much of anything. Nothing good anyway.

"Do you have any concerns you want to discuss?"

"Concerns?" I ask. "What do you mean?"

"Concerns surrounding the transition," she explains. "Social, financial…safety concerns…"

Safety concerns. Now, there's one I haven't considered. Am I safe? And do I even care?

I picture myself in pieces, all blood and stringy sinew, stuffed into one of The Order of the Red Hand's little black suitcases. It doesn't really faze me.

"No," I tell her, shrugging. "I'm not worried about any of those things. I am, however, less than thrilled about living with my parents and adhering to their juvenile rules."

"I can see how that would be challenging for a young woman like yourself," Dr. Watkins says. "But that's all temporary, isn't it? You can take back control of your life, Teagan. Do you want to know what I've learned about you in the time you've been with us?"

"Sure."

"You're a strong, determined, and fearless woman. And you're extremely intelligent. Imagine what you could do if you channeled all of that to change your own life in a positive way."

I bite my cheeks and take a deep breath. Change your life. That's all I've heard over the past three months. Change, Teagan. Be better. Be obedient. Fall in line. Be just like everyone else.

Sometimes, I even think I could play the part. I could go back to school, get a regular nine to five job, and live the illusion of normal for them all. My parents would be so relieved, my sister would be happy to have me at her wedding and her future children's birthday parties.

But it wouldn't change who I am at my core. It wouldn't change the fact that, even though the woman across from me has been nothing other than what she considers kind and helpful, I sit here every other day, bored, imagining the different ways I could kill her with only what's available in this room. It's a new game I made up shortly after I got here, and I can't stop playing it.

I could jam that steel-tipped pen into her neck.

I could bring that window down on her skull until her brains come out of her ears.

There are at least seven items I could strangle her with.

Given the setting, you'd think she'd be a little more careful. But maybe this place isn't meant for people with my brand of crazy. I laugh to myself a little because…I don't think any place is.

"Do you want to know what my concern is for you, Teagan?" she asks.

"What's that?"

"My concern is that once you're immersed into the real world, you'll retreat back into fantasies and conspiracy theories and allow them to become your reality again."

I ball my fists, digging my nails into the palms of my hands and averting my gaze. "No. I'm not going to do that."

"I need you to look at me and say it then, Teagan," she says.

I grit my teeth and meet her eyes again, willing my own not to pool with tears and my voice not to crack. "I know what's real and what isn't," I tell her. "I know Declan and Luca are dangerous, that they're killers, and that they were using me and never loved me. I was manipulated…and I fell for it because I was lonely. I know they aren't coming back for me."

"Good," she says. "That's good. Well, if you don't have any other questions for me, I think we can cut this session short. I'll let them know you have permission to spend the rest of the day out in the courtyard if you'd like. How does that sound?"

"Um, I think I'd rather just go back to my room," I reply. "Tomorrow is going to be a big change for me, and I could use the quiet. I have a lot to think about."

"I understand. I'll let them know anyway…in case you change your mind. Oh, one more thing, Teagan…"

"What's that?"

"A couple of staff members reported they've heard you carrying on conversations with your hallucinations again. I'm going to make some small changes to your meds. If you have any issues with them, you can give us a call, okay?"

That fucker.

"Okay, great."

She pushes a button under her desk, unlocking the door to the room. As I stand, she adds, "I'm so proud of you, Teagan. You've come so far."

You're an angel—you saved him. You did so good. I'm so proud of you.

I force a smile before turning to the door.

The same asshole nurse who brought me upstairs brings me back to my room and, after she opens the door, says, "My niece left for that commune, you know—for your church. She left her entire life behind, and no one has heard from her since. I won't miss you—I can't stand to look at you. I hope you all get exactly what you deserve."

"I…don't know what any of that means."

She scoffs. "Sure, you don't."

Once the door closes behind me, I turn off the lights, curl up in my bed, and sob.

"What got my kitten so upset this time, hmm? What'd they do to you now, sweetheart?"

I'm still sane enough to realize the arm draped over my waist and the body lying next to mine isn't really there. There's no way he could really be here in this locked room in Jurassic Park.

"Nothing," I say. "They didn't do anything to me. It was you."

"Me? What did I do?"

"You told me we were the same," I cry. "You said you loved me and I'd never be alone. You lied to me, and now I will always be alone. And every time I close my eyes, I see yours. Every morning, I wake up thinking I feel Luca's fingers in my hair. Every time I look in the mirror, I see the evidence of your betrayal carved into my body, into my soul. I hate you."

"You don't mean that, Teagan."

"I do mean it. I can't talk to you anymore; you can't come home with me tomorrow. I'm done with you."

"Hmm, well…if this is it, then at least let me hold you until you go. You shouldn't have to be alone when you feel like this."

"I feel like this all the time," I whisper to the man who isn't really there. "But I'll do my best to pretend I don't."

"Right here, kitten," Declan says, pointing to his collarbone, just above the 'T' carved into his chest. In my delusions, it's still scabbed-over, raw, and angry, just like me. But in reality, if it's even still there, it's been scarred for a while now.

I roll onto my side and curl into him. "Someone tricked me today," I tell him, even though I know that's not exactly true. "They told me a blonde girl was here to see me. I thought it was River. I was happy…for about ten seconds. It hurt so much."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. That's a mean trick."

"Everyone in the world knows exactly where I am, and none of you have come for me," I say, squeezing my eyes shut. "That's the meanest trick of all."