Page 15 of Haven't Killed in Years

Elyse blinked and released me. She turned to Porter, probably feeling his eyes boring into her soul.

“It was really intense,” he added.

“He does a good job,” she said.

“Oh my God, have you done it?” Porter glowed.

She smiled politely. “No, I don’t think it’s for me.”

Porter brought his hands to his face and rubbed his cheeks—the tactile sensation heightened by whatever he had ingested at the party so far. “This is so fucking cool. You were, like, there. What was it like?”

“Okay, buddy.” Dominic took him by the shoulders. “Let’s go sit down.” He pulled Porter back toward the window against his will.

“What?” Porter begged for me to back him up. “I was just asking.”

Go, I mouthed.

I could have followed them—taken my cue to exit—but I stayed. I walked to the edge of the balcony and leaned against the railing—staring out into the street.

“So what did you think of the tour?” she asked.

I turned back around to look at her; there was no longer a shadow to hide in. “It was…informative, I guess.”

“I bet.” She lifted a beer bottle to her lips and took a swig.

“Does it bother you?” I asked.

“What?”

“That Dominic does that.”

“No, not really,” she said. “It’s nice someone is still thinking about it.”

“Well, it’s not exactly paying homage to the victims. Honestly, it kind of glorifies the killings.”

She shrugged. “Gotta give the people what they want.”

“You seem jaded.”

She took another sip of her beer, drawing it out, exemplifying her jadedness. “I was eight. It’s like it wasn’t even me. Do you think you’re the same person you were when you were that age?”

“I don’t know.” I waited for her to react. Was that a weighted question? Did this girl know we’d been children together?

She raised her eyebrows, then smiled, relaxing them. “How do you know Dominic?”

“I met him at— I ran into him and he convinced me to go on his tour. It was only Porter and me. Things got a little…comfortable, I would say, and then he invited us here.”

“I swear he only does that tour to try to meet other freaks who want to talk about Abel Haggerty all day. No offense.” She smirked.

“Aren’t thesefreaksyour friends?”

“I’m sitting alone on the fire escape, aren’t I? They’re more Jake’s friends than mine. They only like me because my whole family was massacred. It makes me interesting.”

I didn’t really know how to respond. It did make her interesting, I supposed. Of course, I could have walked in there and stolen all her significance with one honest sentence, but I was only being petty. What she was saying was sad and I could tell it made her sad.

“They want to ask me all sorts of sick things,” she continued, “but they don’t want to scare me away, so it’s like a dance.”

“Why do you even hang out with them, then?” I asked.