What She Left Behind ✔️

chapter thirty-two

A/N: This section contains a detailed, although not overly graphic, depiction of sexual violence that might be triggering for some people. Please read at your own discretion.

Raelyn's face comes into view. Her eyes aren't teary. Her cheeks aren't caked with smudged makeup. Yet I don't think she's ever looked more crestfallen.

She positions the webcam so that it's farther away from herself. A fake smile inches its way up the sides of her face, resembling the Joker's painted-on grin. She laughs, but it isn't her laugh. It's not the contagious melody that once sent me into my own fit of giggles. No, the noise that escapes her lips is dark, foreboding, and devoid of humor.

"So this is it, y'all. This is my final encore." Raelyn moves out of the frame. I hear the clanking of glass. Seconds later, she reappears with a bottle of something brown.

Jose Cuervo.

"Oh, my god," I murmur, wishing I hadn't chugged that beer. I can feel it sloshing around in my stomach. I swallow hard, attempting to keep it from coming back up.

Are we about to watch Raelyn kill herself?

"This was my shit in high school," she says, holding up the handle. "My best friend, Gemma, and I would drink until we blacked out. This one time, we got so violently ill that we were up the whole night puking. We had to convince her parents and my grandma that we had both caught the flu." She twists the cap off and brings the bottle to her lips. She takes a long, healthy swig and then exhales, as if the tequila is actually water and she's dying of thirst. "Tonight, ladies and gents, I'm hoping I do a little more than just black out."

"No," I whisper, pausing the video. I wrap my arms around myself. "No, no, no."

"Shh, it's okay." Griffin pulls me into his arms. I bury my face in his chest, fighting back tears. "I'm right here, Gemma. It's gonna be okay."

Beside us, Bowie, who is as pale as a sheet, arches forward and clicks the play button.

"Let's start with story time," Raelyn's voice infiltrates the speakers once more. "I used to hate telling stories, but now that I have a small human, I've gotten pretty good at it. Not as good as her, of course. For a six-year-old, she sure knows how to entertain."

For a split second, I see regret flash in her emerald eyes. I will her to put the bottle down, to put a stop to this before she takes it too far.

But that won't happen. I already know how this story ends.

"Anyway, I'll begin by sharing some background information about him," she goes on. "He was someone I didn't know very well, but someone I trusted. Someone I cared for. Someone I didn't think would ever hurt me in such a profound, fuck-me-up-for-the-rest-of-my-life kind of way. He did, though. He hurt me, and I guess that's why we're here. That's why I'm recording this stupid video that I don't know if anyone will ever see. Most people just leave a note, right? I'm not much of a writer." She sucks down more tequila. A third of the bottle is already gone. "Hey, maybe I should give Best Friend Gemma a call. She's the next Hemingway in the making."

"If you think that's even a little bit funny, Raelyn...." I cling to Griffin tighter, furious that she would joke about something like that.

"Actually, um, I wouldn't mind calling Gemma right now. It would be nice to hear a familiar voice," Raelyn murmurs, looking down at her bottle of Jose Cuervo. "I can't... I can't do that, though. If I call Gemma, she'll try to talk me out of it. In all honesty, she's probably the only person that could."