Jessie Kensington thought she had escaped her troubled past when she faked her death and started a new life as Violet Arrowood. But three years later, she finds herself at Vanguard University on a scholarship, trying to build the future she always d...
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Friday 18th March 9:08pm
I slip on the wet tiles, rounding the corner toward the bathroom. The floor is slick beneath my feet; I don't know if Mikey is home or not. My vision blurs, and the only thing I see is the bathroom door and a trail of red footprints.
"Mikey!" I try to scream, but my voice catches in my throat, barely escaping. This has to be a nightmare—I've had it before. Silent screams, no one to help. The kind where you run and run but can't move, everything in slow motion.
The door is stained red as I push it open. It's everywhere. On the floor, my clothes, in my hair. Everywhere. I rush to the sink and shove my hands under the faucet, desperate to wash it off. I stare at my hands, avoiding my reflection, scrubbing until my blood blends with his—until I can't tell where mine ends and his begins.
"Jessie?" Mikey's voice echoes down the hall.
I can't speak. I can't do anything but scrub. His voice gets closer, and I want to warn him.
"Jess? Where—what the fuck!"
His hands grab at me, but I pull away.
Get off. The blood is all over me.
Get off get off get off. I don't want to be touched. Not by him, not by anyone. I need this blood off me. I need him off me.
Mikey grabs my shoulder, spinning me around to face him.
"What did they do to you?" he hisses, his teeth clenched, green eyes laced with poison.
I don't answer—I can't. What I did has stolen my voice, my soul. I shake my head and back away until my spine presses against the wall.
He moves toward me, but I hold up a hand, blocking him. Something sticky pulls at my chest. My hair, tangled in blood-soaked strands, clings to my skin. I run to the basin and shove my head under the faucet.
The sharp scent of blood, like rusted coins, fills the room, mixing with the harsh hiss of the water.
"Get in," Mikey orders. I obey, stepping into the shower, letting the water pour over me. I turn the temperature up—it's too hot, but I don't care. I need it to burn away everything that just happened, everything I just did.
"Dammit, Jess. Not that hot!" Mikey wraps his hand over mine, trying to stop me. I grip the handle tighter, forcing the water hotter. He grunts, pulling at my top. I turn to face him as he helps me out of my clothes. They're sticky, suffocating, clinging to me in ways only blood can.
I lift my arms, and he rips my red-stained tank top off, letting it splatter onto the floor. I grip the wall as I look down. The water mixes with the blood streaking down my stomach, making the room spin. I swallow the acidic bile clawing up my throat. The washed-out red pools at my waistband, and I tug them off with my free hand.
