Neil would’ve preferred to keep Penelope around, I bet. She was his little toy after all.

But what about Pamela?

The thing about true darkness is that it doesn’t just disappear forever. It sits, crouched and waiting at the bottom of your soul. As soon as it finds an opening, it springs and sinks its teeth in.

That’s what’s happened to me. Every time I look in the mirror, I see my mother’s face staring back at me. I see Kali. I see my own cowardice, my own shortcomings.

I’ve found it, that core of hatred in the deepest part of me. This time, it’s not just about pushing it down and learning to live with it. This time, I have to learn how to destroy it for good.

Because if I don’t, then that list with the crossed-out names won’t mean a damn thing.

Four days later, Kali’s ghost is still there. But I’ve gotten used to her presence. I see her on the ceiling when Hael is above me, thrusting deep and moaning against the side of my neck. I see her when Aaron and I sit on the couch together, touching like we’ll break if we don’t get enough of one another.

I see her when I’m playing a new videogame with Heather or brushing Kara’s hair for her. I even see her when Oscar and I squabble with each other, the tension that’s building between us coming close to its boiling point. Fuck, she’s there when Callum tries to teach me how to dance or shows me the best way to break a man’s fingers.

She’s just there. Always. And I’m not sure how much longer I can stand it.

I pointedly ignore her as I sit on the back patio, using the sunlight to do my makeup with a portable mirror. I’ve never done makeup for a black-tie event, and even though I watched hours of tutorials this week, I’ve decided that I don’t give a flying fuck. I’m going with a full Prescott face—long lashes, dark liner, heavy lips. If Ophelia Mars and her fancy friends don’t like it, they can get fucked.

“I’ve never been to a gala where someone was trying to kill me,” I say and then pause, gesturing at Victor with the length of a makeup brush. He watches me shadow my lids with smoky color, drinking in the sight like it’s his most favorite view in the world, like he could climb Everest and the view wouldn’t be half as good as this. “Well, I mean, if you don’t count Snow Day.”

Vic snorts.

“Don’t call that rachet ass shit a gala. Anyway, this isn’t my first wealthy-asshole party, I’ll be honest. When I was little and cute, Ophelia would sometimes parade me around in front of her friends.” Vic looks away sharply for a moment and makes a sound of disbelief under his breath. “Considering her current business interests, I’m just glad I got out of there before I was rented out.” He nods his chin at me, indicating the robe. “Is the dress under that? Or your naked body?” The way he smiles at me, I can tell he’d be fine with either option.

“Why?” I ask, setting the brush down on the little plastic table that I’ve commandeered as a makeshift vanity. I’m wearing the dress, but I didn’t want to get any makeup on it. Still, is it better if Vic thinks I’m naked? “You want to make us late for the party, I’m guessing?”

“I don’t give a shit what time we go to the party,” he purrs, stepping forward as I turn to face him. He holds out a hand and I take it, standing up in bare feet as the sun begins to dip toward the horizon. Luckily, my makeup is just about done. I’m most excited about my new lipstick, a shade that’s titled Nothingness. Now, I’m not exactly sure what the color of nothingness really is, but this company’s take reminds me of deep holes in the ground with just a bit of brown earth for color.

Holes dug to hide bodies, for example.

Carefully, almost reverently, Victor slips the tie from around my waist and lets it slither from his hand to the ground. The robe gapes open and the red and black dress makes her debut appearance.

“I’m simultaneously disappointed and excited,” he admits, sliding his hands inside the robe and resting them against my hips. “You want that crown I bought for you?” he asks, but I shake my head.

“I still haven’t earned it,” I admit, and instead of feeding me platitudes like Aaron or Callum, Vic nods and steps back. He’s said his piece, and that’s that. “Save it for the right time.”

“Only you will know when the right time is,” he says as I bend down to grab the box of heels, sitting down on the plastic lawn chair to put them on. I look up at his face, and he gives me a sardonic smile. “Bernie, this is all about you. Only you know when you’re ready.”

I look away from him and back down at the shoes, at the shiny black patent leather, and the red soles that match my new hair color. When I’m finished putting them on, I glance back up and Vic is gone. For just a brief moment there, I’m alone.

I haven’t been alone since forever ago, it seems.

It hits me all of a sudden how vastly different my life is. Some would argue for the better, some would argue for the worse.

None of them could possibly understand.

Hael appears in the back door, wearing the bloodred bow tie I picked out for all the boys to wear. The rest of his outfit—from the button-down to the jacket to the slacks—is all black. I chose the color specifically because I read an article online about how midnight blue tuxes are preferred for events like this. The reason is, the waitstaff is likely to be wearing black. “If you’re not a fan of being asked to top off a guest’s champagne, the writer of this article strongly suggests you not wear black …”

As if being mistaken for a working-class person is the worst possible thing that could happen to someone.

So.

Black.

The color of crows, of the waitstaff’s uniforms, of coffin-tipped nails, of rotten bodies and funerals.

It was the right choice.

Lifting my eyes to Hael’s honey-almond ones, I see that we don’t really know each other at all. We’re ghosts from one another’s past, dragged into a feeling of romance by something even more basic, more desperate.

Obsession.

It oozes over the both of us, this metaphysical aura, as he steps forward and I stand up. Not sure what it is about those simple moments, what makes the way he moves mean so much more than it should. My hands slide behind Hael’s neck as he leans down and presses his lips to mine. He’s so fucking hot that I feel myself lifting up on my toes to be closer to that wicked mouth.

Hael Harbin has likely kissed a hundred girls with this mouth. Two hundred. More. I have no idea. The way he touches me tells me he’s got plenty of sense memory when it comes to women, like he could write a course on how to do it right. There’s just something about that sweet coconut oil scent that helps cut the grittiness of the motor oil. I know he’s been working on the Caddy for me, whenever he gets the chance.

Probably checking on his mother, too. Weird shit might be happening, but I haven’t forgotten that his father’s a convicted murderer who beats his mom on the regular.

“Would it be wrong if I fucked you against the fence and scared the shit out of the neighbors?” He leans in, fingering some blood-tipped blond strands of hair that’ve escaped from the loose chignon I’ve decided on. “Ruined those pretty panties of yours.” Hael pushes the tight dress up my legs, moving the mesh cutout from my thighs to my crotch. My panties underneath are as red as my hair.