How had all this happened? Why hadn’t they confronted me sooner?

“We were so sure it was you,” Will chimed in. “I woke up, saw the videos online, and I panicked, realizing I’d left the phone in my sweatshirt at the warehouse.”

He could barely look at me.

“And then Michael saw the sweatshirt hanging on a kitchen chair the next morning, and we finally figured out through Damon that you’d worn it home. You were mad at Michael, feeling rejected, so we...we just…”

He trailed off, the rest not needing to be said.

I glared at Michael. All this time. All these years he could’ve confronted me…

But that was him, I guess. He pushed forward no matter who it hurt, always believing he was right and never apologizing. At least I could see the regret in Kai and Will’s eyes.

With Michael, nothing. The more mistakes he made, the taller he tried to stand, so no one could see over him. So no one could see anything but him.

I shook my head, my eyes burning as I stared at him. Say something!

How could he just sit there after everything we’d…?

I’d trusted him—shared parts of myself I’d never coming close to sharing with anyone else—and this is what had been going through his mind every time he whispered in my ear or touched me or kissed me or...?

I squeezed my fists so tight my nails dug into my skin.

“I want to leave,” I told him, tears still thick in my throat.

“No.”

“I want to leave,” I repeated, hardening my tone.

“You can’t.” He shook his head. “I have no idea where Damon is. We’ll all go back to the city tomorrow.”

I ground my teeth together. Goddamn them.

I stomped past him, up the stairs toward my room. I couldn’t stand the sight of any of them.

“So what do we do now?” I heard Kai ask behind me.

“Let’s get fucked up,” Will breathed out.

And I ran to my room, locked the door, and wedged a chair under the handle.

Present

I HAD NO INTENTION OF STAYING. I didn’t care what their story was or what they had to say. I wanted my life back.

And if I thought I was in danger at my apartment, Alex lived on the sixteenth floor, so I could crash on her couch for a night or two. I wasn’t safe here. I knew that.

But as I leaned down on the bathroom sink, feeling my chest shake with tears that weren’t falling, I raised my eyes and looked at myself in the mirror.

My tank top clung to my skin, wet and dirty with splotches of Damon’s blood, and my hair hung cold and stringy along my cheeks. My damp jeans hugged my thighs, chilling me to the bone, and I curled my fingers into the side of the sink, feeling Damon’s blood thicken under my nails, wedging deeper and deeper, until it was the only thing I noticed.

I closed my eyes, feeling my heart pick up pace again.

I’d fought back. I’d hurt him.

And I hadn’t run. Not like three years ago in the forest.

Being scared wasn’t a weakness. But letting it force my head down and my voice quiet was. Fear wasn’t the enemy. It was the teacher.

I hated Michael, and tomorrow, after I got everything back from him, I was leaving. No more Delcour, no more Meridian City, and no more Thunder Bay. I couldn’t wait to get away from everything that had hurt me.

Chilled and shaking, my muscles exhausted from everything that had happened tonight, I didn’t think. I stood up and slowly lifted the tank top over my head, peeling off the rest of my clothes and dropping everything to the floor before I turned to start the shower.

Just a few minutes.

I stepped in and sat down on the sandy-colored shower floor, right under the hot spray. Steam filled the small enclosure, and my hair was immediately drenched, falling down my back as I tipped my chin up and let the hot water cover my face.

Tingles spread over my body, and my heart began to calm as I hugged my legs to my body and felt everything grow warm again.

Michael.

He’d done all of this. He’d been in charge. He’d told me to come here, and out of love for my mother, I did.

He’d trapped me, blackmailed me, and put his friends on me.

I hate him.

I worked vigorously, washing my hair and body, and then I used a file to dig Damon’s blood out of my finger nails. Getting out of the shower, I dressed and checked my bedroom door again to make sure it was locked before going to dry my hair.

But as soon as I was done—and I’d turned off the hair dryer—I noticed a vibration under my feet.

And my ears perked, hearing an indiscernible beat coming from downstairs.

Was that music?

I set the dryer down and walked toward my door. Leaning my ear into it, I heard a short, fast rhythm and then a few howls.

What the fuck?

Tossing my brush on the dresser, I pulled the chair away from where it was lodged under the handle and cracked open the door.

Loud music immediately hit me, and I could hear voices and laughter.

A lot of voices and laughter.

Leaving the door open, I dashed over to my window and looked out at the driveway.

It was flooded with cars.

“I don’t believe this,” I said to myself.

Whipping around, I charged out of my room and down the stairs, taking a look around at all of the people.

I clenched my jaw. What the hell was going on?

Some of them I recognized from being a couple of years behind me and still in high school, some were college students home for the weekend, and others I had no idea. Maybe people from neighboring towns? Locals?