Retrocognition

50 | peaceful

"Are you sure about this, Blythe?" Zach's concern is evident in his tone, as well as written all over his face, etched onto the lines of his features. "We could go to the police right now and let them take care of everything. You can be free of all of this. I don't know if this is a good idea."

"Yes, I'm sure," I snap, shooting Zach a pointed glance. "I don't want to go to the police until we have a confession. I can get Jacob to admit the truth. I just need a little more time. I'm not going to be free until I'm certain he will be taken far, far away from me, where he can never hurt anyone again."

"But why?" Zach questions exasperatedly. "It's not safe, Blythe. I don't agree with putting yourself in such a vulnerable position. Especially not if Jacob really—"

"I'm not asking for your permission, Zach," I retort, cutting him off sharply mid-sentence.

It's strange having Zachary d'Angelo in my dorm room. It's a scenario I never quite pictured taking place, though I suppose I should be getting used to living through the unexpected. After all, I've been witnessing visions of a dead girl's murder. And her potential killer is my boyfriend.

"You could get hurt, Blythe." Zach's tone is as serious as his expression. His gaze is almost pleading, as if begging me not to go through with this. "What if—"

"I am hurt!" I don't mean to yell. In fact, I hadn't planned to speak at all. I act on autopilot, all of the emotions I've been burying within rising to the surface and spewing over like a volcano erupting for the first time in years. "You don't get it, Zach. All of this—everything that's happened? It has me fucked up. He was my boyfriend. He touched me and kissed me and . . . and—" My voice breaks before I can finish my sentence. I shake my head, fighting off tears for what feels like the millionth time today.

"Don't you see what he's doing to me? You think I don't know the risks of going through with this?" I gesture to my appearance, which has become so sickly I can hardly stand to look at myself. My skin has paled immensely, appearing translucent in the sun. Dark bags have formed under my eyes due to my nonexistent sleep schedule. I've lost weight because I can't keep anything down. I've become a walking corpse.

"I can't sleep," I admit, voice trembling, "because every time I close my eyes, all I can picture is him. His hands on me after what he did to her. The way he just walks around innocently, thinking he got away with . . . I have to do this, Zach. Naomi needs justice. I need justice."

Zach nods, though he keeps his jaw clenched tightly. He thinks I'm crazy. Which is fine, because I feel pretty crazy.

"Why didn't you tell me?" My voice is barely above a whisper. "Didn't you think I deserved to know?"

"Blythe—"

I don't let Zach finish his sentence. "What if he had done the same thing to me?" I question. I'm shaking, tears blurring my vision and distorting Zach's image as I stare him down.

"I—" Zach stops short, regret clouding his features as he shakes his head. "I didn't know enough to confirm Jacob killed her, Blythe. And as of now, we still don't know if he did or not. I was still trying to put the pieces together. I just knew he was dangerous. I knew he did something to Naomi that night. I tried to warn you as much as I could. But I would have never let him hurt you."

"But he did." Those three words send me over the edge. I break, falling apart at the seams. It takes all of the strength I can muster to contain my emotion, holding myself together long enough to ask, "Why do you even care, Zach? You don't even know me."

Zach is silent for a long moment, regarding me with sad eyes. It feels like an eternity passes before he admits, "I knew I had to tell you to be careful around Beckham the first night I met you, because I suspected he'd raped Naomi and at least a few other girls before that night. I didn't have to know you to not want you to have to go through that. No one should have to go through it . . ."

I stare down at my comforter. I can feel Zach's eyes on me from where he is perched across the room atop my desk chair.

"I'm going to need help," I say after a moment, glancing up at him once more. "It's too risky to be completely alone with him. I'll need someone hidden, but close."

"I won't let him hurt you again, Blythe," Zach murmurs faintly. "I promise."

I rise from my mattress wordlessly. I hesitate for a moment before tentatively crossing the room, approaching Zach slowly. I feel as if I am being drawn to him by some invisible force, one that I can't fight off—one that I feel lingering in the air any time I am near Zachary d'Angelo, pulling me toward him beyond my control. He stares up at me pleadingly, as if silently asking me the question that seems to be on both of our minds.

I stop moving only when I'm standing directly in front of him, close enough to touch. He answers my unspoken question by cautiously extending a hand to me, reaching out for my own. His fingertips meet mine, sending a spark of electricity up my arm and down my spine. Gently, he lifts me onto his lap, simply holding me as I curl up into his chest. Neither of us speak as I rest my head against his skin, closing my eyes as Zach runs a hand down my hair soothingly.

For the first time in over a month, I drift off to a peaceful and dreamless slumber.