Page 36 of Her Wicked Knights (Their Hallowed Queen #3)

Marley

They say that it gets easier.

When my parent's died, everyone had something to say. Most of it was unhelpful, but it was at least nice to know that people cared. Apologizing does nothing when you're not the one responsible, and apologizing for my feelings is stupid. And yet, that was what almost everyone said.

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"I'm sorry."

None of it did anything to change anything, or brought my parents back from the dead, or made the pain any less.

And I was stupid enough to believe them when they said it gets easier.

It's been almost a year, and it's not easier.

The pain is still there, like a bullet wound beneath a band aid.

I'm bleeding out, but pretending I'm fine, because what other choice do I have?

The days go by faster when I pretend I'm fine.

When I get out of bed and get dressed and go out with Audrey, I can pretend I am okay, even if I'm not really there.

Then the days pass instead of feeling like they're stuck in suspended animation, and I can hold onto the hope that maybe they were all right after all, that it does get easier, but it's just not yet.

That it will get easier in a week, or three or two months.

That is all that gets me through... all that got me through the rest of my senior year, through graduation, and through summer.

I quit working at The Dive, and I want to look for work somewhere else, but I've been too tired to go out and interview anywhere.

I just need something temporary, something to make the time pass.

I took a gap year because I'm not wasting my parents' money on classes I can't pay attention to, and I know I can't pay attention.

I've had a hard time focusing on much of anything the last few months; my thoughts tend to break away from every task I give them eventually, and I always end up thinking about that night, about who would do this, about whether they're together, whether dad had to watch mom die.

That alone would have killed him, and then he'd have died twice. God, I fucking hope not.

Hadley also took a year off college, which is weird considering she only had one year left.

I suppose I should be grateful to her for keeping me out of the foster system, but I overheard Mrs. Archer offering to adopt me if Hadley wanted to go back to college.

I expected her to jump at the chance, honestly, but for whatever reason, Hadley refused.

It's weird, given that she seems miserable.

We've never fought as much as we have in the year since she moved back home and took over the house.

She's always on edge, and I'm always tired, and it's just resulted in us circling each other like fighters in a cage, waiting for the other to make the first move.

"I'm staying out tonight." I tell her as I walk past her seated at the kitchen table with papers spread out around her. "Don't wait up."

"You're staying out?" Her head snaps up from whatever she was looking at. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Really?" I laugh, eyeing her. "Why? Cause you don't want me to have a life?"

It's petulant, but she's been stifling. I can't go anywhere without her texting me asking when I'll be back, if I'm okay, how far away am I, who's with me. Assuring my sister I'm fine has become a full time job, and I'm not fucking fine, but I need her to think I am or else she's insufferable.

"Because there's a killer out there, Marley. I didn't think I had to remind you, but you've clearly forgotten our parents were murdered!"

I gasp, faking shock. "What? No! When?"

Hadley rolls her eyes. "And before them, there was Jenny."

"I remember." I tell her drily. I remember standing right here when Dad came home to tell me, how devastated he was. He cared so much about keeping this town safe, and in the end...

Hadley swallows, and I don't doubt she's remembering the same thing I am. "There's another body."

This time, I don't fake my shock. "What?"

Hadley nods, nipping at her bottom lip like she's debating how much information to give me. "A girl. They haven't been able to identify her, but it's clear the remains are a few months old, and since no one's missing, she probably wasn't from here."

I want to ask what else she knows, whether it was someone close to my age, whether they were connected to our parents' deaths in any way. But the truth is, I don't think any of it really matters, does it?

"Let me know if you hear anything more." I shrug, spotting Audrey on the other side of the door just moments before she opens it and lets herself in.

Hadley bristles, but says nothing as Audrey saunters in, shaking the rain water out of her hair. "I need to borrow your blow dryer."

"You could have stayed in the car." I laugh. It's not like I need her to escort me like a damn child.

Like everyone else, Audrey has been clingy since my parent's died.

Everyone has been, none more than Hadley.

I broke up with Jake because he was fucking suffocating me, but I can't break up with my own sister.

At least Audrey hasn't been as bad. She cycles, recognizing that she's being too much and backing off every so often to disappear for a little bit and then coming back to start the cycle again.

"I came in because I needed the dryer." She laughs. "I got wet on the way out to my car."

"Fine." I laugh. "Let's go."

Hadley ignores Audrey, and Audrey ignores Hadley as we pass her to go upstairs. I wish my sister would ignore me like that, if only for a day.

"Think I'm gonna change my shirt, too." Audrey says, stripping her top over her head before we even get to my room.

"Audrey!" I chastise, using my hand to shield my view as I open my bedroom door. I'm used to her changing in front of me by now, but today she opted not to wear a bra, and I could absolutely live the rest of my life without seeing my best friend's tits.

"What?" She laughs, stalking to my closet. "They're just tits, Mars. You've got them too. Big ones, at that."

I cross my arms over my chest. The shirt I chose is low cut.

My skirt is short. The boots that stop just below my knee make it clear I'm dressing for me.

.. not because I want attention, not because I want to be flirted with, not because I miss Jake's touch.

I want to feel alive tonight, and part of that is feeling good.

And I feel as good as I can about how I look, a carefully constructed facade covering the mess I am beneath everything.

"Don't try and hide 'em now, babe." Audrey laughs. "You need to actually hike 'em up a little more. I mean, your tits enter a room before you do, so may as well make them stand tall and proud."

"You're ridiculous." I laugh, but she's not entirely wrong. Maybe if I swap this bra out for something with more lift, I'll have some support somewhere.

Unlike my friend, I turn around as I change my bra, opting for a lacy black one I only wore one other time, when it had very much been a choice for Jake's benefit. The lace sticks out of the cut of my top, almost like it was meant to, and I cock my head, appraising my appearance.

"Hot." Audrey confirms. "That's an outfit you wear when you want to get fucked. Who will be the lucky man... or woman?"

"Not woman." I laugh and then realize what I said. "Not man either. I'm not trying to get fucked. Life's done a good enough job of that lately."

"Fair." She sighs. "But still, you should make the most of tonight. It's been a while, right?"

"Since going out, yeah." I agree. This is the first time I'm going out like this. There's a bar that serves minors somewhere, and I'm not too proud to try my luck tonight with something that will force me to feel good, even if only for a little while.

"Well, good thing I brought drinks to start us off." Audrey finally selects a shirt from my wardrobe and pulls it over her head, appraising her image in the mirror from all angles before turning to her purse. She pulls out a handful of mini liquor bottles. "Jack or Jim?"

"Is whiskey the only option?" I laugh.

"Tonight, it is." She shrugs, decides to hand me the bottle of Jim, and opens one for herself.

I hesitate for a moment, watching her. "Do you want me to drive tonight?"

"No." She shakes her head. "You won't drink enough if you drive. You need to cut loose."

I won't drink at all if I drive, which is why I'm asking now. "You're not going to drink that much?"

"Not too much." She shrugs. "I'll stay sober enough to drive your luscious ass back to my house so that Hadley won't give you a hard time for coming home wasted."

I cringe. Wasted is not what I want to be. Giving up control like that sounds more terrifying than relaxing. I just need to take the edge off, to get right on that sweet spot between tipsy and drunk, dance this 'luscious' ass off, and sleep ‘til noon.

"It's fine." She rolls her eyes, tapping her bottle against mine in cheers. And then I tip my head back, swallowing all the liquid before hardly letting it touch my tongue.

******************

I cross quickly from stone-cold sober to what I can only assume is drunk, and it's not terrifying.

It's glorious.

I've spent my entire life living by an arbitrary set of rules. When your father is the sheriff, you hold yourself to a higher standard. And I hate disappointing people, so I don't often make decisions that could result in someone being disappointed with me.

Underage drinking is illegal, but what's the worst thing that happens? I get arrested and spend a night in jail? I get charged? Have to pay a fine or do community service?

I've served my community plenty over the years. And it's not like I have grand plans for the future anyway.

One year ago, my life was perfect. I had a boyfriend I loved, friends who were always there when I needed them, and loving, accepting parents.

Now, all that's gone.

Jake turned into a bit of a psychopath who tried to assault my best friend, the rest of my friends have drifted apart despite the fact none of us went away for college, and I have to go to the fucking cemetery to feel like my parents are near.

So, I think that taking the chance to relax for once in my life is well-deserved.

I'm sweaty and breathless, and unable to hold onto a single thought. They're all slippery, and it's a nice change from the way my mind has been obsessing over the same things for months. It's nice to clear the mental image of my parents' bodies, of them in the casket...

"I have to pee!" Audrey yells over the girl who somehow managed to end up between us. I don't know when she got there, given that Audrey and I were just dancing together.

"I'll come with—"

"Stay!" Audrey commands, smirking. "Just keep dancing! I'll get us fresh drinks on the way back."

The girl in front of me grins and closes the space between us, and Audrey disappears into the crowd, so I do exactly what she said. I just keep dancing... with the girl, by myself, with whoever appears behind me and plants a hand on my hip, syncing his body with mine.

It's like the music overrides everything else.

I've noticed that before, that I can turn the music up loud enough to drown out my thoughts.

But fueled by the alcohol, it's practically witchcraft.

I'm not poor Marley tonight; I'm fucking powerful.

It's why I don't bat the hands away from my body, why I let his touch skim along my curves, which are on full display in this top, touching, but never groping.

Hot breath on my neck has every nerve in my body on fire, and still, I just keep dancing, and still, he keeps pace. His touch isn't possessive or presumptuous, not inappropriate but something like worship. Reverence.

Fuck, it feels good.

I'm not the type of girl to have a one-night stand, I don't think.

Jake's the only person I've ever had sex with.

He's the only one I've ever even kissed, unless you count that time with Tripp, which is not the same thing at all.

But if dancing can feel this good, what would it be like to do more?

To feel those hands on my skin without fabric between us, to see the desire in his eyes?

I spin so suddenly, I get a little dizzy as the world blurs around me, looking for the man who's been dancing with me.

I don't see him, though, because he's too close.

All I can make out is a grin, and then his mouth is on mine, one of those hands cradling the back of my head as he tips it back to deepen the kiss.

It's explosive, passionate, lust driven by alcohol. But he doesn't taste like alcohol. He tastes like cinnamon as his tongue slides against mine, and heat curls through my veins, desire flooding me to my toes.

I think I sway as he kisses me, weightless and unable to feel my feet beneath me. It's like I'm floating, and I don't even care if my feet never touch the ground again.

I don't know how much time passes like that. I don't care to know. I don't care about anything other than this moment.

When his lips leave mine, it's so sudden that I nearly fall over as his body disappears from before mine.

By the time I find my footing and open my eyes, there's no one there at all. I scan the floor, looking for anyone who could have been the mystery man dancing with me, the one whose touch felt somehow electric.

But there's no one so much as looking my way.