Never Have I Ever

Chapter 7

The whole thing is upside down, completely trashed. My things are strewn everywhere in amongst ripped paper and miscellaneous household items. I look up for a moment, trying to work out who’s missing. Jack wordlessly swipes to a different picture, displaying words written in lipstick all over the walls, bust mostly on the one closest to the adjoining door to Thomas’ room.

Hoe. Slut. This girl is a liar. This girl is a cheater. This girl has no friends. We all hate her. Arrogant. Narcissist. Psychopath. Cantankerous bitch. Irresponsible. Domineering. Obsessive. Patronizing.

The closer it gets to the war, the smaller and closer together the words become, before it looks like a fan of blood painted using a red lipstick. I give Jack his phone back, biting my lip and bristle with energy. I walk inside, slowly, purposefully, with a strange grace I only ever carry when I’m in a certain mood. I storm up the stairs and slam the door open, surveying the wreckage. My diary is the only untouched thing in the room, but even as I watch I notice it’s doused in gasoline.

“Move and it all goes up,” says Camila from behind me. I notice telltale splashes of oils all over the room, and a few cans of hairspray in the piles. “Including you. There’s enough propellant gas in there to have us both murdered. Hands where I can see them.”

“Castillo, what the fuck?”

“I told pretty-boy Fields to take those pictures before I doused the place because I knew how you would react. We did this whilst you were out with Thomas. Maybe you should try putting your faith in people you can actually trust. Even Celia was in on it. She told Thomas a load of crap about Jack taking your relationship far too seriously and then helping. We were all in on it. And unless you meet my demands, you are going to die.”

“What happened to you?” I ask, turning around, hands still above my head. “Why’re you acting so weird?”

“I realised our situation, Titania. We’re going to die, except for the three who survive, Summerfield. The threat of death changes people, Titania Summerfield. And you would know.”

“I didn’t agree to some talk about of feelings on death.”

“But I know what yours were. Especially after Andromeda. Your cousin. Remember her? The one who’s mother took you in? The one that died in mysterious circumstances. Chelsea didn’t stumble across us last night. She’s been looking for you.”

“Cut the bullshit. What am I doing so you’ll fuck off?”

“I’m getting there,” she says, brandishing the lighter and telling me to shut up. “She’s part of a group who hunt down people that may be useful to them. They hunt down potential people for a certain part of the government that specialises in assassination and terrorism, basically. This whole game, this time at least, is a ploy to work out which of us are eligible to make it through. But because she knows too much, Chelsea has to die. There’s been a few bets placed on the winners and I’m damned if I’m not going to make it through.”

“If that’s your motive, feel free. But I have what you want. He’s mine unless you back off. Leave now, play the game fairly and pretend you don’t know anything, or I will turn him against you forever. He’s the only one not part of your twisted scheme, and I have faith in my own plans.”

She lights a flame on the end of her lighter, and it flickers between us. I lash out, kicking the stick from her hand further away from both of us, down the stairs, and she stares after it as I crack an elbow into her temple. She collapses and I pull her into the empty bedroom.

I begin the long, tedious job of trying to clear everything up.

A few hours pass, and it’s live-in able. I take a few pictures and open Instagram. Jack has sent me the ones from before, and I upload the two.