little voice in the back of my head screamed. It wasn’t supposed to be this bad.
He’s not real.
He is.
He’s not he’s not.
A cold finger brushed down my cheek.
Then how can he touch you?
Bloody Miles stared at me, his mouth curving into a wide grin. The blood stained his teeth, too. Miles never smiled. Not like that.
I dropped to the ground as Bloody Miles lunged at me. The world went dark. I heard footsteps. Art yelled something I couldn’t understand.
Fingers grabbed my shoulders and tried to pull me up. I balled my hand into a fist and lashed out, connecting with something fleshy.
A groan.
The fingers released me.
“Damn. She clocked you, Boss.”
“No shit. Can you carry her?”
“I can try.”
I squirmed away, but Art’s spicy aftershave drowned out the smell of alcohol and pond scum. One big arm snaked around my shoulders, the other behind my knees. He lifted me up. “She’s shaking so bad—I can hardly hold on to her.”
“This way. I’ll take her home.”
Warm air moved past my face. I didn’t open my eyes, because he would be there.
The truck door creaked open. I cracked my eyes open to see Art buckling me into the passenger seat.
“Go back to the party.” Miles climbed in the driver’s side. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”
No, Art! Don’t leave me alone with him!
But Art nodded and turned away. Miles started the truck.
“Alex.”
I stared out the window. Where was he?
“Alex, please look at me.”
I didn’t.
“What’s going on?” His voice rose and cracked. “What are you afraid of? Just look at me!”
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. I could smell pastries and mint soap, crisp and sharp in the cold air. Miles let out a quick breath, but didn’t relax. His glasses slipped down his nose. A bruise already bloomed across his right cheekbone. His eyes flickered back to the road.
“What’s wrong?” he asked again. “What did you see? There was no one out there besides you and me and Art.”
I shook my head.
I couldn’t tell him.
He could never know.
Chapter Sixteen
M y mother opened the door.
“She just . . .” was all Miles got out before she yanked me from his arms.
“What happened?” She pushed me into the house. “What did you do?”
“He didn’t do anything, Mom.” She pushed me onto the bench in the hall. The room spun, threatened to disappear. I realized she’d been talking to me, not Miles.
“We were at the bonfire, and she said . . . she started talking to someone else,” said Miles. “She fell down screaming, and we got her up and I brought her here.”
My mother stared at him. “What’s that mark? Did she hit you?”
“Yes, but . . .”
She rounded on me, eyes flashing. “Thank you,” she said over her shoulder to Miles. “I’m very sorry for your trouble. If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.”
“But wait—is she okay?”
My mother closed the door in his face.
“Mom!”
“Alexandra Victoria Ridgemont. You haven’t been taking your medicine, have you?”
“Mom, I—I thought I was—”
She stormed into the bathroom and returned with my prescription bottle, thrusting it into my hands. “Take them. Now.” She bent down and pulled my shoes off like I was four. “I trusted you to take those on time. I thought, after years of this, I could count on you to do it yourself.” One of her nails scratched my heel. “I can’t believe you hit him. What if his parents decide to press assault charges? I can’t believe you were so irresponsible. Are you still seeing things?”
“How am I supposed to know, Mom?” I had to force the words through the knot in my throat. I wiped tears from my eyes. I clawed open the pill bottle and choked down the medicine.
“Go into the living room. I’m calling Leann.”
Leann Graves, my therapist. The Gravedigger.
My stomach convulsed.
“I’m fine, Mom, really,” I said, voice wavering. “I’m okay now. It snuck up on
He’s not real.
He is.
He’s not he’s not.
A cold finger brushed down my cheek.
Then how can he touch you?
Bloody Miles stared at me, his mouth curving into a wide grin. The blood stained his teeth, too. Miles never smiled. Not like that.
I dropped to the ground as Bloody Miles lunged at me. The world went dark. I heard footsteps. Art yelled something I couldn’t understand.
Fingers grabbed my shoulders and tried to pull me up. I balled my hand into a fist and lashed out, connecting with something fleshy.
A groan.
The fingers released me.
“Damn. She clocked you, Boss.”
“No shit. Can you carry her?”
“I can try.”
I squirmed away, but Art’s spicy aftershave drowned out the smell of alcohol and pond scum. One big arm snaked around my shoulders, the other behind my knees. He lifted me up. “She’s shaking so bad—I can hardly hold on to her.”
“This way. I’ll take her home.”
Warm air moved past my face. I didn’t open my eyes, because he would be there.
The truck door creaked open. I cracked my eyes open to see Art buckling me into the passenger seat.
“Go back to the party.” Miles climbed in the driver’s side. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”
No, Art! Don’t leave me alone with him!
But Art nodded and turned away. Miles started the truck.
“Alex.”
I stared out the window. Where was he?
“Alex, please look at me.”
I didn’t.
“What’s going on?” His voice rose and cracked. “What are you afraid of? Just look at me!”
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. I could smell pastries and mint soap, crisp and sharp in the cold air. Miles let out a quick breath, but didn’t relax. His glasses slipped down his nose. A bruise already bloomed across his right cheekbone. His eyes flickered back to the road.
“What’s wrong?” he asked again. “What did you see? There was no one out there besides you and me and Art.”
I shook my head.
I couldn’t tell him.
He could never know.
Chapter Sixteen
M y mother opened the door.
“She just . . .” was all Miles got out before she yanked me from his arms.
“What happened?” She pushed me into the house. “What did you do?”
“He didn’t do anything, Mom.” She pushed me onto the bench in the hall. The room spun, threatened to disappear. I realized she’d been talking to me, not Miles.
“We were at the bonfire, and she said . . . she started talking to someone else,” said Miles. “She fell down screaming, and we got her up and I brought her here.”
My mother stared at him. “What’s that mark? Did she hit you?”
“Yes, but . . .”
She rounded on me, eyes flashing. “Thank you,” she said over her shoulder to Miles. “I’m very sorry for your trouble. If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.”
“But wait—is she okay?”
My mother closed the door in his face.
“Mom!”
“Alexandra Victoria Ridgemont. You haven’t been taking your medicine, have you?”
“Mom, I—I thought I was—”
She stormed into the bathroom and returned with my prescription bottle, thrusting it into my hands. “Take them. Now.” She bent down and pulled my shoes off like I was four. “I trusted you to take those on time. I thought, after years of this, I could count on you to do it yourself.” One of her nails scratched my heel. “I can’t believe you hit him. What if his parents decide to press assault charges? I can’t believe you were so irresponsible. Are you still seeing things?”
“How am I supposed to know, Mom?” I had to force the words through the knot in my throat. I wiped tears from my eyes. I clawed open the pill bottle and choked down the medicine.
“Go into the living room. I’m calling Leann.”
Leann Graves, my therapist. The Gravedigger.
My stomach convulsed.
“I’m fine, Mom, really,” I said, voice wavering. “I’m okay now. It snuck up on
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