Page 25

Story: Did They Break You

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

REMI

I wrap my arms around my shins and stare up at the night sky.

The moon is full overhead, not a single cloud that I can see.

A breeze rolls through the cemetery and I shiver, even in my hoodie.

It’s a perfect night to hang out in a graveyard, and I wonder if my mom liked to do things like this when she was younger.

Or if I only picked up that hobby because her tombstone was the one place I could see that she’d ever been alive at all.

Silas hated talking about her after she passed, and he threw out most of her photos.

He didn’t want to see evidence of her addiction spiraling out of control.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The pot in my system I smoked out here with Van after all of our classes were done for the day helped calm my nerves. When he offered to walk me back to my dorm before he went off to meet Ryann, I felt safe telling him I’d be fine here alone.

And I do feel it. Fine. I nearly finished a book sitting amongst the tombstones; a horror romance with rich kids dying off one by one.

There are very few ways I love more to spend my time.

Besides, Sloane is in a night class, so no one is missing me, and no one is worrying about me and it feels good just… existing.

Until I hear footsteps.

My eyes fly open and my Chucks hit the grass, my hands in fists by my sides as I sit up straighter, every sense on alert. I cast my eyes around the cemetery, the single light pole glowing pale orange over the green grass and white grave markers.

Standing, I spin around, my pulse picking up speed even through the haze of marijuana.

Then I see him, a smile on his handsome face as he rakes a hand over his hair.

I run my tongue over my teeth. “What are you doing here?” I whisper, taking a step back from the bench between us. But my phone is in my bag—along with my book, my escape—and I dart a glance at it now. The soft haze of my high seems to leave me completely with his presence.

“Always so happy to see me,” he says quietly. His gray shirt is damp, sticking to his skin, outlining the hard muscles of his chest.

I take a step toward the bench, intending to grab my phone, but he beats me to it, reaching over the seat, snatching up my bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

I ball my hands into fists. “No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “Give me my bag, Cort.”

He adjusts it on his shoulder, clenching his fingers around the black strap. “Nah, come on.” He jerks his chin, like he actually thinks I’m going to listen to him.

I walk around the bench but keep my distance as I dart a glance at my bag. “Give it back to me.”

He smiles, his teeth flashing. I notice the slight imperfections and the familiar sight is, for one single second, oddly comforting.

Why are you thinking about his teeth, Remi?

“Things will be so much easier for you if you just listen to me.” He says the words softly enough but then his eyes flick to my arm, hidden by my hoodie.

I jam my hands into my pocket.

“You been staying away from that?” he asks quietly.

My pulse pounds in my head. “For once, don’t be a psychopath,” I say. “Give me my stuff, and leave.”

For a moment, neither of us speak.

A cool, late summer breeze flutters through the graveyard and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I wish I’d taken a shot with Van.

He’d had some vodka in a Diet Coke bottle.

I passed, thinking about last weekend.

I shouldn’t have. I should’ve asked to keep it when he left.

I realize Cortland has closed the space between us a second too late. Just as I go to step back, he grabs my arm, keeping me still. “You’re not doing that anymore, that right, Remi?” he asks quietly, leaning in close. “Hurting yourself?”

I can smell his sweat, and beneath that, his cedar scent.

I close my eyes, my head close to his chest, the way he has me yanked toward him. “Give me my?—”

“All you have to say is, that’s right, Cortland.” His hand tightens on my arm.

Warmth flushes through my cheeks.

“And you’ll give me my bag?” I ask, eyes still closed.

He glides his palm up my arm, then my shoulder, until his fingers curl around my neck as he pulls me even closer. “Yeah, baby.”

I swallow with those words, the softness in them. But I think of waking up in his room and I feel sick.

I just want to get out of here. Safe.

Reluctantly, I do what he asked. “That’s right, Cortland.” As I say the words, my body feels warm all over.

He pulls away from me, not moving his hand from the back of my neck. I open my eyes and look up into his, staring down at me.

“Have you been smoking pot?” he asks me, arching a brow.

I look at my backpack still on his shoulder. “You said you would?—”

“That was before I knew you were being stupid, Remi. Getting high in a cemetery, alone, what the hell is?—”

“I wasn’t alone,” I bite back, shoving my hands down further in my hoodie pocket as I lift my chin. “I was with my best friend.”

He glances around the cemetery. “He a ghost?”

I roll my eyes but despite my annoyance, I almost laugh. I bite it back, but when Cortland’s eyes come to mine, I think he saw it because his own full lips tip up into a smile, that lip ring gleaming under the moonlight.

“Yeah, you remember that?” he asks quietly. “I’m funny sometimes, huh?”

More of that unbidden warmth rolls through me, and I have to look away. I see our feet, toe-to-toe, my white Chucks and his black sneakers. “No. You’re an asshole.”

His fingers flex around the back of my neck. “I’m trying not to be one now. Let me walk you back.”

“No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “You never learn, Cortland.” I meet his gaze, that sickness and self-loathing thick in my blood.

A bone in his jaw jumps. He knows what I’m talking about. “You asked me to. You wanted me.”

“I was drunk ? —”

“Yeah, you know, that’s a funny thing, Remi.

” He yanks me closer and I stumble forward, my palms splayed on his chest as I tilt my head to look up at him.

I can’t tell if he hates me, wants to bury me in this cemetery, or both.

“I was drunk that night , too.” He laughs, shaking his head.

“No one ever let me use that as an excuse. Especially not you.”

My blood runs cold. “You said you recorded?—”

“You really think I’d do that?” His eyes narrow.

I scoff, shock replacing my fear. “You’re serious?”

He runs his tongue over his lip ring, looking up at the sky a second. “This is pointless.” He jerks his head. “I’m walking you back?—”

“You’re not walking me anywhere.” I start to grab my bag from his shoulder, but he releases me and steps back.

“Stop fucking with me, Remi. I’m taking you back and?—”

“Give me my fucking bag.” My hands are fisted by my sides as I stare at him, a cool breeze running over the back of my neck. “You’ve messed with me not once but twice now?—”

He steps toward me, cutting off my words, and some of my bravery ebbs away. He stares down at me with a clenched jaw, a vein ticking in his neck. “Keep your voice down, Remi.” He glances around us, and for a split second, I see worry in his gaze.

It doesn’t make me feel better, even though I know it should.

He comes closer, and I try to take a step back, but he wraps his arm around me, tugging me close to his hard body. “You know what happened before I took you to my house? You remember that, Rems?”

My heart thuds too fast in my chest and I try to think, as I’ve done all week.

But I can’t. I don’t know. The tape cuts off in my head and it’s more definite than the memories I keep locked away in the basement of my brain.

I can’t ask Sloane either; she’d know I didn’t look out for her.

That I left her before she decided to go to Asa’s.

“Yeah, you don’t.” He huffs a laugh, his fingers digging into my side over my hoodie. “Some guy pushed you in the bushes.”

My blood runs cold.

“I assume you have no idea who that might have been?”

I know Van would never do that, and besides, he was with Ryann. There are no other guys I’d willingly kiss.

My stomach twists into knots.

He leans closer, his brow to mine. “So would you rather me touch you, or some fuck boy whose name you can’t even remember?” he whispers, his breath caressing my lips.

“Neither a fuck boy nor a psychopath,” I say back, but it lacks conviction.

“So fucking stubborn. So goddamn mouthy.” He tilts his head and my breath hitches, thinking he’s going to kiss me.

Please don’t.

Please don’t, because I just might kiss you back.

“I’m not even sure you’re telling the truth, baby. I mean, you lied once already.”

My stomach somersaults at his words—the truth in them—as I think about the morning after that night. The glass shattering. Silas’s bleary eyes. His cold words.

Cortland arches a brow but he says nothing for a moment, just watching me. Then he leans back and shifts his arm so it’s around my shoulders, adjusts my backpack with his other hand. “Let’s go before I bury you out here in this graveyard.”

I furrow my brows, wondering if he really does know the truth. But he wouldn’t. How could he? “When you say things like that, just so you know, you sound more like a psychopath and not less.”

He shrugs. “Good thing you already know I’m the worst.” He pulls me closer.

I let my feet shuffle toward him, not resisting. Then I turn my head to look up at him as he squeezes me to his side and try one more thing.

“Maya wouldn’t like this.” There’s jealousy threaded through my words, and I hate that.

He stares straight ahead, adjusting my backpack over his shoulder again, like a nervous habit. “Yeah,” he agrees. “But despite your bullshit, I do.”