Although when I next have a dark moment alone with Billie Charter, I’m going to kill her.

Make no mistake about that.

After a while, I end up curled on the couch beside Aaron, my head resting against his chest, just so I can make sure his heart is still beating, that he’s still breathing. That he’s still around for me to hate. Part of me wonders what I’d do if I lost him now, how I’d react. For someone I supposedly despise, I sure have a lot of feelings on the matter.

When Vic appears several hours later, he pauses in the living room and gives his friend an assessing look.

“What are his chances?” he demands, and it's quite clear that he's addressing Nurse Yes-Scott and not us.

“He seems stable enough,” she says, checking Aaron’s blood pressure for the umpteenth time. “He's going to need time to heal, and he'll scar, but—”

“I don't give a shit about scarring. Will he live?” Vic demands, lighting up a cigarette of his own and making Whitney frown dramatically.

“He'll live. As far as gunshot wounds go, it isn't overly serious. Likely, his poor condition is a result of pushing too hard and refusing to seek medical treatment right away. But I really should insist that you have him see a doctor—”

“I don't give a fuck what you insist,” Vic says, moving over to stand beside her. The look on her face is priceless. Two parts fear and one part, sickening, disgusting lust. Guess she likes ‘em young, same as Principal Vaughn. They deserve to share a coffin together, preferably sometime soon. If only the devil worked on karma. Too bad nothing about life is fair. “Hael, Cal, load Aaron up and let's go.”

“What am I supposed to do about all of this blood?” Whitney whines as Hael and Cal gingerly lift their friend between them, carrying him to the door. I move ahead of them, opening it wide, and pausing just briefly before following them out, so I can hear Victor's answer.

“You’re going to clean it up,” he says, crouching low next to Nurse Yes-Scott and putting his lips near her ear. “And then you’re going to erase this night from your memory. If you choose to do anything outside of that plan, I’ll send the most depraved men I know to pay you a little visit.” Vic stands up, staring down at Whitney’s wide eyes and quivering form with zero empathy. Her face is paler than Aaron's was when we first got here. “Oh, and if you see Vaughn around, you tell him to fuck off. If I find out you’re entertaining him …” Victor just shakes his head, but he doesn’t need to say anything else. It’s quite clear from Whitney’s expression that his message was heard loud and clear.

Turning away, I head down the steps and open the sliding door to the minivan.

The sky is beginning to warm with color from the rising sun, a cheeky blush that annoys the shit out of me. How dare the day be threatening to start when the night seems so endless and bleak? That endlessness, it suits the situation. A gentle pink blush does not.

“Hey.” Vic grabs my chin, but I tear my face away from him, turning away to stare down the street, at a perfect row of suburban houses lined up like toys, dollhouses for people crafted of plastic dreams. I don't belong anywhere near here, not by a long shot. Aaron's dream of seeing me reach for the stars, like some sort of bullshit poster on the wall of an elementary school classroom, it was never going to happen for me. Even if I didn't have Heather to worry about. Even if I didn't drink darkness and sip pain. “He'll be okay, Bernie.”

“Yeah, but that doesn't mean we didn't kill a kid tonight,” I say, turning back to look at Vic. He just stands there, a mountain of muscle and immorality, and smiles tightly at me.

“What happens on All Hallows’ Eve, stays on All Hallows' Eve. Don't bring it up again.” He starts to move past me, but then grabs my face and presses a scalding kiss to my lips that has me thinking all sorts of depraved thoughts that don't belong in the middle of a crisis, thoughts that pertain to naked flesh and hungry mouths and roving hands. “That's not a request.”

Vic lets go of me and slips into the driver's side of the van. I hesitate only briefly before climbing in to join him.

I don't remember falling asleep, but I'm just grateful that I wake up with zero nightmares. All I can figure is that I was just too fucking tired to have them. When I crack my lids, I find Aaron staring back at me, sitting propped up in the king bed in his parents' old bedroom. Vic is on my other side, his breathing deep enough that I can tell he's still asleep.

“You're awake,” Aaron says softly, and I cock a brow, pushing myself up into a sitting position.

“Shouldn't I be the one saying that?” I reply, pushing white-blonde hair over my shoulder. The pink at the ends is starting to fade; time to re-dye it. I wonder if I should choose another color? But no, Penelope's favorite color was pink. I wet my lips and scoot a bit closer to Aaron, until our shoulders are so close that one deep breath would press our bare skin together. “How are you feeling?”

Aaron scoffs a laugh and shakes his head, cringing a bit as he reaches up a hand to press against the bandage on his left shoulder.

“Like I got run over by a fucking truck,” he says, cocking a smile that reminds me of the ones we used to share on bright, sunshine-y days, back when life didn't feel quite so … desperate. That's the only way I can think to describe the way I feel right now, desperate.

The Thing was here last night. Kali was here. Principal Vaughn was here.

Callum killed Danny Ensbrook.

Shit.

You're not in this alone, I remind myself, looking up and catching Aaron's green-gold gaze. Havoc Girl. Not Havoc’s girl. We might be in hell, but we're burning together.

“I thought you might die last night,” I whisper, without even meaning to. Emotion catches in my throat, surprising me. With Vic on one side, and Aaron on the other … the numbness inside of me feels like it's been shattered, like I'm being cut apart with every thought, every feeling. I'm bleeding profusely, and I don't know how to stop it. Unlike with Aaron's wound, there are no transfusions for the emotionally repressed, no IV doses of happiness or clarity or mental wellness.

“Yeah?” Aaron asks, shirtless and covered in tattoos, beautiful and broken. I want to reach out and touch him, but I don't dare. There might only be inches between us physically, but emotionally, there are miles. “And how did you feel about that?”

I snort and shake my head.

“Don't ask stupid questions, Aaron Fadler. They don't suit you.” We both pause as a soft, little knock sounds at the door.

“Bernie?” Heather calls out. “We're hungry, and there's cereal but no milk.”

Aaron and I exchange a look, and he grins.

My heart stutters in my chest and I know I'm balancing on a dangerous precipice here, one where I forgive Aaron for the things he did to me, where I find myself slipping into a routine as warm and familiar as any I've ever had in my life. Aaron and I were good together, but we were kids. Maybe we're still kids, but things are different now. I'm not sure how safe or smart it is to let my heart believe we can ever recapture the past.

“I wouldn't mind something to eat, if you're up for having food delivered.” He glances down at his phone, twisting his mouth to the side in a sardonic smile. “It's nearly five o'clock anyway, so pizza seems appropriate.”