Fate's Exchange (Twisted Fate, Book 1)

Chapter Fifty-Three

Alyssa

We snuck around the school, avoiding the police, and Deryk picked us up from the street instead of the parking lot. The moment he saw me, he jumped out and grabbed a blanket from the trunk of his car and draped it over the backseat before telling me I should duck until we were at least a couple blocks away. I wanted to ask why he wasn't questioning why they were going so far out of their way to help me, but he never said anything, and I was too numb to form words.

Sneaking around to get away reminded me of how wrong the day had gone, and everything inside of me simply shut down.

When we reached my house, it was still light. Neither of my parents were home, but the light on the answering machine was already blinking.

Suzie guided Deryk to the couch and left him with the remote while she came upstairs and coaxed me into the shower. Telling her what the officer said about my clothes, she ran downstairs to get a plastic bag, and then made sure they were out of sight by the time I was ready to be wrapped tight in a terry robe and placed in bed. The only thing I managed to say before she went downstairs to wait for my parents to arrive was to ask if she would drop the clothes off so that my mother never had to see—I didn't want her to have to imagine what I'd gone through, though I doubted that could be avoided.

My parents woke me when they returned, after Suzie explained the details of why the police had called to tell them they should come home. Thankfully, she remembered to let them know my phone had been crushed in the attack, so I didn't have to answer the, "Why didn't you call us instead of the police?" questions. Once they saw that I was alright, but too drained to talk, they left me to go back to sleep, leaving the bedroom door open enough so Scruffy could crawl into bed and they would still hear me if I needed them.

During the night I could sometimes hear them outside of my bedroom like my mother was trying to come check on me and my father kept her from doing it, but as far as I could remember, she never did.

When I woke on Saturday, I knew only that the week had finally played itself out.

As time passed, the memories of the in-between and the voice began to fade no matter how much I thought of it. David was dead. Tina—whose friendship was so out of reach it felt lifeless—was gone. And in a strange twist of fate, Suzie had become my tether to sanity while Tina hadn't made or accepted contact.

Did she know about David and just not care, or had she cut all ties before finding out?

*****

Over the next week, aside from the hour-long discussion with the detective regarding what I saw, I didn't leave my room unless I had to go to the washroom. The mark on my neck faded within three days, but now I felt like I deserved to bear the reminder of my crime—living. Today was David's funeral and I couldn't go, not that I had the energy. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his sightless gaze accusing me for his death. If it wasn't too far to travel, I doubted the guilt nesting on my shoulders would allow me to attend.

How would I say goodbye when all he deserved was I'm sorry? Not that that would ever be adequate, but still. After all my chances, I finally deserved to face the judgement the voice had always threatened. Why aren't I dead?

I pulled the covers over my head. I had been awake for four hours already today, an hour longer than yesterday. At first, my parents had catered to me, bringing me food that I never touched and paying for me to stream movies that I didn't watch. I wanted to sleep, and it was never enough.

"I'll always be with you."

Pulling the blanket off my face, I looked around without lifting my head, but nobody was there. I'd been hearing odd sounds all week, ever since I got home and stood in the shower to wash the rest of David's blood from my body. No matter how hard I looked, there was never anyone there. The pain and anger I felt—the guilt that plagued me—had finally driven me insane. At least being in an institution would numb the pain with whatever medication I was served to get rid of the 'voices in my head'. A retreat from my feelings would be so much easier than living through the debilitating aftermath of the death of my first—and only, if what I felt was any indication—love.