Mindfuck | Amber Freeman

E L E V E N

11 | Gone girl

Tara had agreed to the plan, which shocked me, and I didn't understand why she would. She looked broken— worn down, mascara running under her eyes, and the light in her eyes that once held so much joy and light was distinguished. I imagined I looked the same way.

I thought she'd hate me. Think this was all my fault, and it was, wasn't it? Partially, anyway. But she didn't. She'd give me comforting gestures whenever Amber wasn't looking, ranging from looks to holding my hand even for just a second.

Mindy and Chad were in the hospital, in dire condition, but still alive. They'd pull through, and they'd think that it was all true. That Sam was the killer, and I couldn't imagine the betrayal they'd soon feel.

Or maybe I already did, because when I found out Amber was the killer, it felt like I was being stabbed in the heart. It hurt so bad, I couldn't think straight.

So here I sat, in the investigation room, by myself, completely breaking down. I couldn't breath, couldn't think. All I knew was pain and tears. My mom was beside me, letting me soak her shirt with my tears and rubbing my back.

My dad was on the left of me, talking to the detective.

My mom griped me tighter, holding my head and stroking my hair. All of our stories checked out, and the detectives believed us so easily. Not once did they have a doubt.

Amber would get away with this, and I doubt she'd stop killing. The look in her eyes as she slit Sidney's throat was never something I would forget. Or the way she jumped around and laughed, nothing but pure glee surrounding her.

Killing, it seemed, thrilled her.

One week and four days had passed, and I hadn't left my room unless I had to go to the bathroom. I hadn't had contact with anyone, expect my parents and brother.

I felt empty. Like I had no soul, no heart. Everything was bleak. I felt no joy. The only occasional thing I could feel was sadness, and anger. But what confused me was my anger was only directed towards Richie.

Not Amber.

Despite what she did, I couldn't hate her. I wanted to, I knew that I needed to. She killed my friends, how could I not? Isn't that the question. I kept asking myself that same question, wondering what the hell was wrong with me, because I still loved her.

She was my best-friend, and I've always felt more for her. Maybe that was why, because a friendship so deep couldn't just be erased, no matter how heartbreakingly betrayed you are.

It was all a mindfuck.

There was a knock on the door. I already knew who it was going to be. Jayden had come in everyday at this time, as soon as he got home from school, to come into my room and try to make me laugh.

"Come in," my voice sounded monotone. I sat on my bed, my knees pulled up to my chest and my back resting against my headboard.

"Why did the bike fall over?" Is the first thing that Jayden said as he walked into my room. He'd always enter with a horrible joke, and an even horrible answer.

"Why?" I answered.

He grinned, his eyes lighting up. "Because it was two tired."

For some reason, I smiled, and then I laugh. I laugh so hard I have to grab my stomach and then I double over, my hands coming up to my face. I sat up, my hands coming back down to my lap. "I think I'm going manic."

"You look like it." He answered, jumping up onto my bed and crossing his legs together. "Actually, you just look like a rat."

"Hey," I scowled, lightly slapping his leg.

He wasn't lying, though. I hadn't had a shower in four days, and my hair was probably horribly knotted in the bun I had it in. There were dark patches under my eye from lack of sleep.

"I'm sorry." He sighed, and then looked up with a smile. "My mistake. A raccoon."

"You're such an asshole." I chuckle and lean back again. "You're right." I sigh and stand up, walking over to my dresser.

"Yeah, take a shower." My brother slipped off my bed. "And sitting around in your room forever isn't going to do any good. Promise me you'll try to be more interactive?"

As he held up his pinky, I grinned and shook my head at his ridiculousness, but I interlocked our pinky's and promised I would try my very best for him.

Being at school felt weird. It felt foreign. Like I hadn't been in so long, when really, it's only been a single weekend. I thought I'd be use to the stares and whispers, and despite my best efforts, I just couldn't block it out.

The paparazzi and news anchors had died down over the stretch of the week, but they hadn't spoken to me, so whenever they saw me, they flocked around me like a bunch of bloodthirsty geese.

"You nervous?"

Tara came up next to me, staring at the school building, just like I was. "Amber here?" Was all I could ask.

"It seems like we all came back today. That's a coincidence if I've ever known one."

There was a pause of silence. It was eating at me. There were a lot of questions I wanted to ask Tara, because I still didn't quite understand. "Do you hate me a little bit?"

Tara turned to me, a confused look on her face. "Why would you think I hated you?"

"Because it's my fault, you know," my voice got quiet.

"Scarlett, do me a favor and never fucking blame yourself, okay? It wasn't your fault. It will never be your fault. Amber and Richie are too blame." She grabbed my hand. "And you don't even have to bother asking the other question. I agreed because you mean so much to me. Okay? I knew what would happen if I didn't, and you're my best friend. My sister. Of course I want vengeance, but at the price of all of our lives, it's not worth it."

She let my hand go quickly and I could hear someone approaching. I sucked in a breath. I wasn't ready for this, I don't think I'd ever be. I hadn't seen Amber since the night of— it.

"Tara." Amber smiled, then when she saw no one was looking, it dropped. "Go."

Tara gave me a look, and I nodded the slightest bit. She glared at Amber before walking off into the building. "You don't need Tara as your guard dog, Scarlett. I'm not going to do anything to you."

"There's nothing more you could do," I didn't look at her as she came up beside me. I could hear her sigh of irritation, but she composed herself. "You do not get to feel irritated, Amber!"

She sighed, dropping her crossed arms and nodded, her once agitated face going back to her usual calmness. "You're right. I'm sorry for getting mad, but I'm not sorry for what I did."

"That much is clear."

"Come on, let's go. Class starts in five minutes, we wouldn't want to be late." She grabbed my hand, and I let her, for a various number of reasons— but the most prominent one being she still comforted me, her touch, at least.

My body still recognized her as my protector, the person I had feelings for, even though my brain had changed opinions.