Roseanne
My head lays in Hyeri's lap as her fingers rake through my hair. She rocks in time to the melody of her unsteady voice. 'No one here can love or understand me...' she sings. Her voice wanes to a shaky hum.
I know I've done something I can never take back. Something I would never want to, even though most people would feel regret. But I don't. I feel relieved. I've finally opened the gate where a monster lay rattling its bars on the other side, begging to be freed. Now that it's out, there's no way to close back in.
And I don't want to.
"My parents will fix this," Hyeri whispers as she presses a kiss to my hair. "I'll tell them what you did for me. They'll help us. You can come home with me."
My hands are wet. Sticky. I raise them into a sliver of moonlight from the window. They're covered in crimson blood.
When I lower my hands, I see the body on the floor. The Artistic Director of Ashborne Collegiate Institute.
And my one wish is that he'd rise from the afterlife so I could do it all over again.
'I'll arrive late tonight...' Hyeri sings, 'Blackbird, bye, bye.'
"Blackbird," a different but familiar voice says. I surface from the murk of memory and dreams that never let go. When I open my eyes, Lisa is there, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hand sweeps the hair from my face. "Just a nightmare."
I blink and take in my unfamiliar surroundings. Light spills from the ensuite bathroom to illuminate a slice of the guestroom, decorated in hues of deep gray and white and pops of yellow that lose their cheerful brilliance in shadow. Moments come back to me from the haze of strong painkillers. Memories of agony as Jake rotated my arm. The pain in Lisa's eyes as she held my hand and reminded me to breathe. The relief of the bone sliding back into place. The way Lisa rested her head next to mine when it was over, as though every moment had carved a deep slash across her heart. When she rose and looked at me, there was both distress and regret in her eyes, and I couldn't tell which one was worse.
And even now, they still linger in her eyes.
"What time is it?" I ask as I sit up a little with a groan. My shoulder aches, but there's a certain comfort in having my arm strapped across my body in the sling.
"Eleven-thirty."
"I feel gross," I say as I look down at my leggings and the button-up flannel shirt that I've just slept in for the last few hours. I haven't showered in well over a day, not since the morning of Harvey's house of horrors. It's as though she haunts me through the film that coats my skin.
"Come on." Lisa offers a hand to help me sit. "I'll start you a bath. Might help some of the soreness."
She leaves me at the edge of the bed and heads to the sliver of light, as though she knows I need a minute to get my bearings. I hear the faucet squeak, the water rush into the tub. For a long moment, I just linger in the dimly lit room until I conquer my inertia and join Lisa in the bathroom.
I say nothing as I stop at the vanity to stare at my reflection and try to will the tears away despite the sting in my eyes and the knot in my throat. Deep purple bruises follow the curve of my eyes, the imprint of Harvey Mead's bootprint even more vibrant in my skin than it was when I first saw it in the car. Dried blood still rims the edges of my nostrils. My nose is sore and swollen. Fortunately, however, it's still in the right place. Which is good, because I already look like a fucking dumpster fire and I don't need a broken nose to add to the current shitshow.
