𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

𝟏𝟒 | 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐲𝐚𝐝𝐬

Micheal

The song "I Like It" by DeBarge played throughout the car, its smooth melodies wrapping around me like a warm blanket. I nodded my head to the rhythm, keeping my eyes fixed on the road ahead while trying to ignore the unsettling feeling of eyes watching me from the corner of my vision. The beat of the song, combined with the substances I had taken earlier, created a soothing sensation that flowed over my skin, an experience I struggled to put into words. It felt both comforting and disorienting, as if the world outside had blurred into a gentle haze. Nothing invaded my mind except for the vivid moments unfolding around me—the way the spring sunlight filtered through the trees, the sound of the city in the background, and the soft hum of the engine.

My high was perfect.

I felt grateful for the moment, no longer trapped in the thoughts of my childhood experiences that had haunted me for so long. Eventually, I grew tired of the feeling of Matias just staring at me, so I turned to face him, a blank expression on my face.

The only reason he was sitting beside me was that I didn't want anyone questioning why I was going to Antoinette's recital—I could easily make it seem like Matias had forced me to take him. Although ballet was the last thing I was interested in, a part of me felt compelled to support Annie after she had helped me the other day. On top of that, I was curious about what exactly captivated every single man about Antoinette's dancing. Three years ago, I had seen her perform, but now she seemed to enter every conversation about entertainment in New York,

Though now that I thought about it, Annie's name seemed to weave its way into countless conversations lately, and I found myself increasingly unsettled by it. As psychotic as it might sound, I didn't like the idea of others thinking about Annie as much as I did; it felt like an invasion of something that should be mine alone. With that in mind, I certainly didn't appreciate the fact that Ryan Weston—of all people—had thought about her enough to send her those hideous yellow flowers. The very thought of it left a bitter taste in my mouth, stirring a mix of protectiveness and jealousy I couldn't quite shake.

I also hated the fact that she kept the flowers in her room, prominently displayed on her vanity, where she had to see them every day. Although I knew it was an innocent gesture on Annie's part, I couldn't shake the urge to rip the flowers apart right there in her room. But deep down, I understood that doing so would hurt her feelings—and potentially make her cry.

I now realized that Mayor Weston and his family should've been the first people I targeted, not the Brantleys. While a part of me wanted to prolong their punishment, something deep inside urged me to act.

"So," Matias finally spoke up, nervously rubbing his hand over his jeans, "I overheard cousin Mattie telling my mom that you had an anxiety attack the other day." His voice was tentative, as if he was unsure how I would react to the mention of it,

Truthfully, I wished he hadn't brought up what had happened the other day. I believed it was more accurately post-traumatic stress disorder rather than just an anxiety attack, or at least that's what the psychiatrist in prison had told me after the incident where I nearly shanked my cellmate for touching me. I did my best to forget about what happened that day in Janae's office, because thinking about it would inevitably lead me to memories of my father, the senator, and every other person who had touched me.

Consuming drugs to forget probably wasn't the best option, but as I had said before, it was the most effective one I knew. Annoyance shot through my mind at the fact that Matthew was going around telling people what had happened. There was no doubt in my mind that he'd gotten the idea from his wife—probably under the deluded impression that family support would somehow make me feel better. That theory was absolutely wrong; being around each person in the Benedict cult only made me want to stick my nose further into cocaine.