Get Out If You Can

Alison | It's Never What It Looks Like

I feel so shitty I want to throw myself up.

And that isn't really possible, but still.

I'm not feeling the way I'm feeling because of what I did — or rather, what I didn't do. I'm feeling this because I can't believe I forgot all about it.

She asked for my help. And I didn't give it to her.

I could've helped her, could've stopped it. She wouldn't have to be shipped off to rehab. I could've done something and I didn't.

Why?

Because that's how we are, aren't we? We're too afraid of everything.

And I didn't do what I had to do because I didn't want to be involved. I remember clearly why I didn't do anything about it. Why I didn't help when I was asked to.

I was afraid I would be the next target. And that's what stops us, isn't it? Imagine if they knew everything they didn't. Imagine.

And imagining stopped me. Whatever happened to me wasn't nearly as bad as whatever was being said about the Tejadas. But still. I was selfish.

I knew that someone was in a position to share a little, but extremely shattering, bit of information I happened to have. I'd seen it on the original birth certificates, and that person had seen it too. Maybe in the school records. I've never come to know who it was.

When Mom knew what had happened — the preliminaries, that is — she wanted to forgive him. Because, one, we're not rich enough to move somewhere else where nobody would know, and two, if news like this fell into Callenfield's hearing range — I'd be done for. For no fault of mine. Little did they know how much worse I'd have it if that someone had taken a few extra steps. I couldn't deal with everything. I knew Mom was trying to be the better person, but...

...But that doesn't make it alright, does it? That doesn't not make it a news item, does it? I'm glad no one knows. I hope no one finds out. The one who did know has gone surprisingly quiet, and I'm not complaining. I know this doesn't really affect me that much, but — it's difficult. It's hard to digest.

And I shouldn't have cared, but I did.

I do.

***

"Guess we need to move on to the next tower, right?" Diego says, shooting careful glances at me. I avoid his eyes. They're pretty, but way too much of a risk.

"We'll do yours," I say, pointing at Diego. "Tower one."

"Madison, right?" Matt says, jogging towards one of the staircases. "This one!" he yells from across the hall, his voice weirdly warping as it travels through the empty walls.

"Wait up." Diego runs to him, beckoning to the rest of us to follow. Hunter shoots off in their direction, all of them casting furtive glances at the malicious clock on the wall.

Right now, we have time. But not forever.

My legs unwillingly carry me forward, the weight in my chest rooting me to the spot. I can't. I'm stupid. I could have changed everything — when I had time. And I thought I did, and I was most definitely wrong, wasn't I?

"Alison?" I turn around to face Emilie.

Her blue eyes are shining with something I can't decipher, and her glossed lips are pursed. All her makeup is gone, it probably smeared when she was crying over my unconscious frame.

I deserved that, too. All along I'd been nothing but unconscious to everyone, except me. I could have made a choice, and I — I didn't. Now it's too late. Now she's dead.