ROUGH DRAFT of Loser || WlW

Forty-Four

 I can't stop fidgeting with the case on Brittany's phone. Popping it off and on until my fingers go numb.

Grace was right. Brittany was in on it the whole time.

I thought I'd hit a new low when she went missing but when I found out she'd been lying to me for months a new monster of emotion was unleashed. I held it together in the car and then cried through the night until my dad forced me to go to school.

A tinge of embarrassment creeps into my chest as I think about the night we found Jack's body in Brittany's front yard when she was going to blow Kyle. And I stopped the whole thing. Spent the night in a jail cell with my hands cuffed behind my back for her. For nothing.

Grace even told me that Brittany met with him that night.

I can imagine Kyle's smug grin. That's probably why it took so long for Brittany to bail me out; she was too busy sucking his dick.

But why are they teaming up together? What are they getting out of this? Trevor and Claire were more popular and well known in the city but could Brittany and Kyle have been jealous enough to murder their own siblings?

My eyes are on fire as I blink up at the Principal who has drawn focus to the center of the room. Her words are foreign in my ears. The bustling of students comes to a halt.

"And, as you all know, the murderer has claimed his fifth victim, Brittany Davis,"

I make a noise in the back of my throat. The kid next to me stares, wide-eyed. Right, I'm still a suspect.

"The mayor is putting the city on temporary curfew until the police can get a grasp on who might be committing these horrendous acts." She clears her throat. "Until then, the student body has put together a video honoring the victims. Thank you."

The lights are dim as she walks to the reserved bleacher in the front.

A video starts playing with a slow acoustic song in the background. Pictures of Claire leading the cheer squad, accepting awards, and going to prom slide onto the screen. Sniffles are popping up through the crowd as the students pass around a tissue box. Next up is Trevor, then Jack, they even found pictures of Grace.

Hot tears push at my eyelids as the pictures of Brittany slide into view. I grip the phone tighter and clench my jaw to keep the emotions at bay.

The music stops and a new picture slides into focus, except it's of me. My Junior yearbook photo is staring back at me. The word 'Murderer' is painted across my face, red and dripping like blood.

I choke. My heart lodges itself in my throat.

Everyone is looking at me. The heat of their stares is heavy on my back.

The principal is running toward the tech room, yelling at someone to take the video down, but half of the school has erupted into giggles by the time she gets there.

I don't think. I don't care if they give me detention for ditching. I push to my feet, pull my backpack over my shoulder, and race from the room, wiping tears from my cheeks as I go.

The sun is going down by the time I get home. The house rattles as I slam the door. I can hear the shower running. My dad's getting ready for work.

Zachary pops his head out. "Hey, Jo. You okay?"

"I'm going to bed." I push past him and lock myself in my room.

Only a few minutes pass before there's a light knock on my door. "I'm going to work, kiddo. Call me if you need anything," my dad says through the door.

I don't respond. I can't stop the sobs long enough to take a full breath. The front door closes as I glance down the hallway. I make my way to my dad's bedroom and pull the hidden bottle of tequila from his safe and move to the kitchen before pouring it over ice.

I drink it straight.

"That's how alcoholism starts." Zachary's voice comes from behind me.

"It's not the time," I snap.

He sits at the kitchen table. "I get it, Jo. Let's talk it out."

"Fuck talking." I pour myself another glass. I haven't told anyone about the message from Kyle yet. I don't want to talk anymore. I'm tired of talking.

I storm out of the kitchen, clutching the bottle in one hand and my glass in the other.

Zachary mutters something as I slam my door.

It doesn't take long for the tequila to hit. My stomach twists into a knot, my forehead lined with sweat. I gag, sprint to the bathroom, and make it to the toilet as I puke.

I wipe my mouth and sit back, letting the cold tile seep through my jeans.

I'm staring at the bathtub, my head propped against the wall. I can't believe I convinced myself that my mom was the murderer. I can't believe Brittany got me to open up about my past.

The room spins as I stand. "Fuck," I mutter and I bump into the sink. "I drank too much."

I stumble to my room and pull Brittany's phone out.

Fuck her privacy. I google 'Davis Family Murder Allegations'.

Sure enough, the first link reads 'Mayor Davis Comments on Attempted Murder by Oldest Daughter'.

I chuckle once and shake my head. I can't believe I let her play me like that. I should have told Hodge in the beginning.

I stumble from the chair and rip Officer Hodge's card from my corkboard. "No time like the present," I mutter, flipping to Brittany's messages.

The messages from Kyle are still open as I stare down at Officer Hodge's business card. I never noticed Kyle's cell number listed under Hodge's. I click on Kyle's name on the phone.

My eyes dart between the numbers five times before I let out a small gasp. The numbers don't match.

I race from my bedroom, crashing into the wall as I make my way toward the living room.

"Zach, could you drive me somewhere?" I shout. He doesn't respond. I have to go to the police station. I want to talk to Hodge in person. Of course, Kyle could have two numbers but I'm clinging to anything that might make Brittany innocent. I make my way to the kitchen and flip the lights on. "Hey, Zach?"

There's a note on the counter.

Hey, Jordan.

I can't keep lying to you. I relapsed again. I'm sorry. I love you and Dad very much. I'll get clean this time, I swear. And I'll come back for good.

Love, Zachary.

I read the note twice, the alcohol and tears blurring my vision.

It's not until halfway through the second time I notice something.

Brittany's voice is loud in my head.

Who writes their H's like that anyway?

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