ANATOMY OF A GIRL

part twenty-five

Sapphire saw the same haunting, wicked image on repeat. Red-blonde hair that shone like a halo in the light of the moon's rays― No, it wasn't possible. It wasn't possible for the person controlling the water to be Flair. Zak must have been delusional, drunk out of his mind, or high on fumes. Maybe he remembered what he wanted to. Saw what he wanted to. Anything to push the blame toward someone else and off of him. The memory had to be false ― a trick of the light, perhaps.

Yet, the memory felt as honest as anything she'd ever known. She couldn't deny that it had looked like Flair. Long legs and feminine curves, hair golden and fiery. Sapphire couldn't breathe. Something hard balled in her throat and stuck there.

The others looked at her expectantly. She couldn't form words. They were heavy and tangled. She was choking.

It was Flair, but could she tell them that? Did she want to? Would her body let her? Her head spun and spun and spun. She felt bile rise in her throat as her stomach churned and churned. And the worst part ― that it made sense. Not for her to kill him, of course. But everything else. They hadn't found the rock with Arlo's blood on it ― but Flair could pull rocks from miles away and leave them as dust. And the way the water swirled, rising impossibly high. The sheer power required to pull that off. Flair had that power, buried deep within her. Would she have been able to pull it out from inside her? What pushed her to find that power?

But what if Sapphire was wrong? What if she'd imagined that flicker of golden hair?

She'd checked everyone's memories from that night. Except Flair's. Because Flair couldn't have done it. She didn't do it. A shadow seemed to pass over her as something silky and cold and reptilian whispered behind her ear. Blinded by your friendship with the girl. No― She didn't believe the voice or the memory. She didn't believe her eyes or her uneven thoughts. She didn't believe what she was told were truths. Rights, wrongs, lies, truths. She couldn't decipher which was which in the tangled mess that had become their lives. Life was never easy, but should it have been this hard? This unfair?

She was still for a long time. A wax figure slowly melting from within, her heart a violent and raging flame. The others grew more anxious with each moment that passed. Something bit at her stomach. The words pressed on her skull. She couldn't keep this within herself. This secret would surely kill her. She couldn't lie to them. She wouldn't. She'd tell them the truth, even if that killed her, too. She'd rather take Death's hand while chocking on the truth than drown in bitter lies.

She could do it. She had to. The words burned as they left her throat. "Flair," bile rose higher. Her heart squeezed. Was that Death? Her heart in its hand? "I saw Flair."

And she fell, as Death tugged at the strings of her heart and the light behind her eyes.

There was a hollow silence that held her with fangs and claws like a living thing. The claws dug in, and as her insides drained, she lost her grip on reality. Strong hands gripped her from behind and what could've been hours later, she found herself in his arms, as her head burst in flashes of black, reds and blues. She saw Tera bleeding out on the floor of the bus, and Hana with a lone shard of glass through her temple, and Thorn drenched in sticky red. And she watched as each of them fell slowly, slowly, into a dark oblivion. It grabbed for them with greedy hands. She saw Arlo with lungs of water, and Flair, with hands around his throat. Veins pulsed in his forehead. No. Not Flair. Not her.

She could barely hear Flair beside her. Her words came out as a jumble. "No, I wasn't―" a sharp intake of breath. She seemed to collect her thoughts. Why did she need to? "I didn't kill anyone. Especially not Arlo. It's me, guys. I wouldn't. Zak must have seen wrong... How can you be sure it was me?" Flair's panicked voice rose.