Page 45

"Fine. Just one ride, then. We don't have a lot of time, anyway; I have another surprise for you."

"I don't want to. I don't want either one."

"Well, too bad," Tate says. "This day isn't about you. This is my day, and I want to go on the ferris wheel."

"Isn't every day about you?"

It comes out of my mouth before I even think about it, like a habit or a reflex. Like when you're in the car, and you're suddenly pulling into your driveway, but you don't remember how you got there.

Suddenly, I'm watching Tate pull his lip ring through his teeth—the same teeth he flashed earlier, covered in blood, as he slaughtered my former classmates—and I don't know how we got here.

Beside me, Silas laughs.

Tate smiles. "Yeah, baby. Every dayisabout me."

I try not to flinch as he steps toward me and picks me up, throwing me over his shoulder.

"I don't like this," I tell him.

"Really? I like it," he says, leaning down and biting my upper thigh hard enough to leave a bruise.

"Ouch!" I kick against his hold. "Fuck, Tate! That hurt!"

He laughs and keeps walking. Blood rushes to my head, and I close my eyes, thinking maybe I'll just pass out or better yet, all of this is just another one of my nightmares, and I'll wake up in my own bed.

"I'm going to set you down now, okay?"

When he sets me down, we're in the line for the ferris wheel. The carnival must be closing soon because most of the other rides have already shut down for the night.

"You can lean on me, if you want."

"No, thanks, Tate. I tried that once, and you let me down."

Tate scoffs. "You know what? That'd be funny if it weren't a figment of your fucking imagination."

"I would never touch her,"I say.

He whips around and grabs me by the throat, eyes consumed by rage as he squeezes…tightening his grip by the second until—

"Hey…" Silas grabs him by the wrist and shoves him off of me. "What are you doing? There are people around."

I gasp for air as Silas pulls me into his side, but it's a little too late. A nearby officer heads our way.

"Is everything okay here?" he asks.

"Yeah, we're good," Tate says.

"Wasn't asking you," the officer says. "Are you okay, miss? Are either of these men bothering you?"

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. He's taking in my disheveled state—the filth, the injuries. The bikini top isn't so out of place at the lake, but it is in the middle of the night.

"If you're under duress, you can tell me. I'll make sure you get somewhere safe."

I consider it for a second. I think maybe he's right, but I also think if I tried to leave with this police officer, I'd end up stabbed and watching him shoot Tate and Silas in front of me.

I also think I'm fucking insane because when I do speak, I sign my own death warrant.

"I'm fine," I tell the officer, burrowing further into Silas's side. "They're not bothering me."