Page 87

All the adrenaline leaves me.

I haven’t cut myself since Cort broke up with me. I haven’t thought too much about dying. I’ve said no to boys and while I’ve been drinking and smoking too much, I’m not lying to my friends anymore. I’m not living in fear of Silas.

But now it seems like it doesn’t matter.

Cortland ripped my heart in two and I tried to stay whole this time, but it’s all for nothing. Because Chase is slamming my head against the shower door again and his fingers are slipping between my thighs and it. Doesn’t. Matter.

Until I hear a voice.

See light spilling into the room as my eyes snap open.

“Chase?”

My head is against the shower door and Chase’s hands are still in my hair.

I straighten as Chase’s grip loosens, my mind hazy from the alcohol, or being slammed against the door, or maybe that voice.

All I know is that one second Chase is touching me and the next... he isn’t.

I look up, my palms still on the shower door.

Cortland is staring at me.

He’s dressed in a black sweater, a collared white shirt underneath.

I furrow my brow, confused. Am I seeing things?

But then I’m distracted. He’s got a baseball bat in his hand.

Before I can wonder why, before I can question it, he steps more fully into the bathroom.

And he swings.

He shatters the mirror above the sink, and I flinch, stumbling back in my heels, leaning against the wall, trying to breathe. Glass falls to the white countertops, all over the tile floor.

Chase scrambles back too, reaching behind him, yanking up his pants and pulling something I can’t see from his back pocket.

My vision is blurry and Cortland is coming closer, glass crunching under his black boots, and?—

“Cort?” I whisper, my heart hammering.

“Just a minute, baby. I’ve just gotta take care of something.”

“Hey, you don’t wanna do this, man. You don’t wanna fucking do this.”

Cortland keeps coming closer, even as Chase holds up one trembling hand, trying to get Cortland to be reasonable.

But he should know better.

Cortland is anything but reasonable.

“I told you to leave her alone,” he says softly. “I told you I’d stay away, if you stayed away.” He drags the top of the bat on the ground, through the shattered glass on the floor. “But you must be one dumb motherfucker.”

Chase still has one hand up, one behind his back.

I’m seeing double of Cortland, and I don’t think it’s such a bad thing, as hot as he is. With that white collared shirt under his black sweater and that baseball bat in his hand and his tongue running over his lip ring...

“Cortland, I want you,” I mumble quietly.

Chase laughs, but it has a nervous edge. “See? She’s wasted, and she fucking wants me, man. I tried to get her off but?—”

“That’s. Not... true.” My words are sluggish. “Cortland, that’s just not?—”

“I know, baby. I know.” He doesn’t look at me though, his eyes still on Chase as he keeps dragging the bat on the floor.

“I was just making sure she was gonna leave us alone, Cort. I was just gonna make sure?—”

Cortland raises the bat, his fingers wrapping tight around the base of it.

I’m sinking further against the wall, my shoes sliding beneath me, palms splayed behind me.

“You don’t wanna fucking do this,” Chase says, taking a step toward my boyfriend, which seems like a really horrible idea, when he’s poised to swing. But I see, for the first time, he moves his hand from behind his back.

The lights overhead reflect on something and I realize?—

“Knife!” I scream the word, pushing away from the wall. “He’s got a knife!” I straighten, the room spinning, and I lunge for Chase just as Cortland growls, “Remi, no!”

But it’s too late. I’m grabbing the blade and trying to jerk it from his grip. I can’t really feel it because everything is so numb but some part of my brain knows I’ve been cut, and I feel something warm on my palm, dripping over my wrist.

I don’t let go, though. I’m used to knives.

I keep grabbing it, digging that blade deeper into my skin, and it gives Cortland the opportunity to swing.

And he does.

Hard. The bat connects with the side of Chase’s head, and I don’t have to fight for the knife anymore.

It falls to the floor with a clatter, and Chase topples to the ground, his chin hitting the toilet on his way down.

Cortland is still holding the bat up like he wants to swing again, his eyes shifting from me to Chase, then back.

I glance down at my palm.

There’s so much blood.

Cortland’s gaze follows mine and as soon as he does, he’s dropping the bat.

But Chase is stirring.

Cortland sinks down to his knees in front of me, grabbing my wrist to examine my hand. “Oh, Remi. Fuck, Remi.”

Chase is still moving, and I try to tell Cort that but he’s staring at my palm, then pulling his phone from his pocket. Chase is snatching the knife from the tile and he’s angling it over the side of Cortland’s neck and just like that night...

I can’t speak.

I can’t move.

I can’t do anything as Cort says into the phone, “Something’s happened to Remi,” and just as Chase raises the knife to plunge it into Cort’s neck, Chase says, “Yeah, and I’m the one who fucking did it.”

Fuck. You.

I scream as Chase’s hand comes down, snatching my own from Cortland’s grip and tackling him to the ground, forcing him onto his back.

I feel a sharp pain in my left side and I scream again, convulsing on top of Cortland.

Cortland is yelling, then more people crowd the doorway.

“Fuck.” Storm’s voice.

He hurries into the room, grabbing me from Cortland, hefting me in his arms. My side hurts and I wince but I try to get down, get away from Storm.

“Stop fighting, Remi,” he says, holding me tighter, cradling me like I’m a child.

But I’m kicking and screaming and trying to get to Cortland as Storm steps back, just as Cortland grabs the knife and knocks Chase to the ground, angling it over his face, his knees pinning Chase to the floor as the latter holds up his hands, trying to shield his face.

“Let me get to him! Let me fucking get to him!” I scream in Storm’s arms, that pain in my side growing sharper, but Storm holds me tighter, watching with his jaw clenched as Cortland is ready to plunge that knife into Chase’s neck.

“Remi?” Van’s voice, panicked. “Fuck, Remi, let me?—”

But his words are cut off as Brinklin steps inside, sinking to his knees, darting his fingers out to wrap around Cortland’s wrist.

They’re fighting, Cortland trying to bring the knife down. “He hurt her,” he snarls, his eyes on Brinklin’s green ones. “ He fucking hurt her. He. Hurt. Her.” He’s saying it over and over and over, and Storm steps back, edging against the wall, holding me closer, and this time, I’m not fighting.

Cortland isn’t hurt.

He’s not hurt.

He won’t get hurt.

“You wanna go to prison?” Brinklin asks quietly. “That’s what you want? Be away from her forever?” I see the veins in his forearm, his shirtsleeves rolled up as he stares at Cortland. “We’ll deal with him. For now, drop the knife, Cortland.”

Cortland closes his eyes. I see his chest heave.

Storm says nothing, and neither do I, watching, my pulse thrashing in my ears, warm blood spilling down my wrist.

Finally, Cortland drops the knife to the floor, right beside Chase’s head.

Brinklin snatches it up.

But Cortland doesn’t get off Chase.

He cocks his fist back and drives it into his nose. Once. Twice. He doesn’t let up. Chase is screaming between each hit but Cortland goes again. And again. And again.

“Cortland.” Storm’s voice.

I can barely breathe.

Cortland pauses with his elbow back as he stares at Chase, crying underneath him.

“That’s enough, baby,” I say, the words raw.

Cortland swallows, then looks up at me.

Chase screams, blood spurting on his face as Cortland stands, backing away, toward me. I’m pinned between Storm and Cortland, and I see Van’s eyes meet mine as he stands in the doorway, watching.

Brinklin gets to his feet, pocketing the knife and stepping back, beside Van.

Chase rolls over in the glass from the mirror, whimpering as he does.

After a second, he struggles to his feet, gripping the counter with a bloody hand, nearly stumbling before he gets upright, one hand still on his nose.

He glares at me, his face pink, matching his shirt.

Then he turns away, only to find Van and Brinklin blocking his path.

He glares at Van, spits on the floor between them.

“Move, you fucking incestual?—”

Van and Brinklin both move without waiting for what he’s going to say, slamming Chase against the wall. The tattoos on Van’s biceps flex as he hits Chase with a closed fist. “What was that?” he goads him.

Chase dives to the left, trying to get away, but Brinklin grabs him from behind, hooking his arms under Chase’s, locking his hands behind his neck, so Chase is defenseless and Van stares at him, his hands shooting to his throat.

“Get off me,” Chase snarls. “Get the fuck off me. You are all fucking crazy! You’re crazy. You deserve that stupid b?—”

Cortland moves again, ripping Chase from Brinklin’s arms, and all four of them go down to the ground, Cortland’s hands around Chase’s throat as he slams his head against the glass on the floor and Brinklin pins down his legs while Van hits his torso, the sounds of Chase whimpering echoing in the bathroom as me and Storm watch, breathless.

I grab Storm’s arm, blood all over his black shirt, but I don’t think Storm minds being a little bloody.

His mouth comes to my ear, my heart in my throat as I watch them beat the fuck out of Chase, blood covering his body.

“This is fun, huh, little wolf?”

I keep staring, trying to breathe, trying to think, because if they don’t stop fucking with him, they’re going to…

“They’re going to kill him.”

Storm laughs against my skin as I watch the carnage. “Maybe so.”

But Brinklin stops it, leaning away from Chase’s legs. “That’s enough,” he says quietly as Van cocks his fist back again and Cortland’s hands are still around Chase’s throat.

Everyone stills.