Page 39

THIRTY-EIGHT

LUCIUS

The boutique hotel at the edge of Lake Loche was small and discreet. The kind of place where people escaped for a night, leaving behind only rumpled sheets and conversations that never reached their conclusions.

As we stepped inside, the receptionist barely looked up before assessing us, her eyes moved between us. Probably asking questions are we lovers? Strangers? Something in between?

I kept a foot of space between Freya and me. I didn’t look at her. Didn’t speak. She must have noticed.

I stepped forward. “Hi,” I said, my tone even, detached. “Do you have two singles available for tonight?”

The receptionist’s nails tapped sharply against the keyboard, each click breaking the painful silence between us. Her eyes lifted for a moment, studying me. “We have one twin room left.”

I barely hesitated. “We’ll take it.”

Freya said nothing.

As I handed over my card, the woman glanced at the name on it just a second too long.

“Business or pleasure, Mr. Lockwood?” she asked, the corner of her mouth quirking upward before her eyes flicked to Freya.

“Business,” I said, the word crisp, meant to sever the conversation.

She hummed, unconvinced, then wrote something down on a notepad before slipping a small piece of paper beneath my card.

“I finish my shift at seven,” she murmured. “Your room is 202.”

I didn’t react. Didn’t care.

But beside me, Freya stood still, her breath quickened, but she didn’t show any emotion at all. Was she jealous? Angry? Hurt?

She didn’t acknowledge the receptionist, barely offering a stiff, polite smile before turning toward the stairs.

I knew this hotel. I knew my way.

And Freya must have noticed that, too.

Soon, we got to the door of room 202. I pushed it open and stepped aside, allowing her to enter first.

As she did, she stopped halfway.

A soft chuckle escaped her before she caught it. She pressed her hand to her mouth, but not before I saw a smile in her eyes as she took a look at the king-sized bed.

I closed the door behind me and locked it.

Of course, there were no twin beds.

Of course, this was another mistake I had made tonight.

I set the disks down on the desk near the TV, pressing my palms against it, just a beat too long before straightening.

“I’ll check if they have other rooms,” I muttered, already turning for the door.

“Can you just stop?”

Her voice lashed through her, fraying at the edges. I stilled, fingers curling into my palm.

“Why are you doing this?” she demanded. The shake in her voice was barely there, but I heard it. “If this is your way of making me feel bad—fine. You win. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”

My jaw tightened. My hand hovered over the doorknob.

But I didn’t turn it.

“Freya, you don’t have to apologize.”

She moved closer, leaning against the door beside me. “Why?”

I exhaled, staring down at the floor. I couldn’t look at her.

“You…” The word barely left my lips before my fists hit the wood. Frustration. Guilt. Things I couldn’t say, wouldn’t say.

“I’m not doing this tonight.”

“Please.”

Her hands pressed against my chest.

“Tell me.”

I closed my eyes. This was a mistake.

“I promised I wouldn’t lie to you,” I murmured. My throat felt tight. “And I can’t lose you.”

Her breath hitched. “What’s going on?”

I stepped back, running a hand through my hair before sitting on the edge of the bed. The window stretched before me, the lake beyond spread under the night sky.

“I know what’s on one of those tapes, Freya,” I said finally. “I just don’t know how Hector got it.”

I heard the shuffle of her steps as she moved closer, then the dip of the mattress as she sat beside me.

“Would it break us apart?” she asked.

My fingers curled into fists against my knees.

“You’d just be more afraid of me,” I admitted.

She inhaled sharply. “Is that why you didn’t want me going to Hector’s room?”

I shook my head, my eyes locked on the window. Her hand closed around mine, tighter than before, her nails pressing into my skin. I didn’t pull away.

“I’m not proud of what I did,” I said at last, standing, forcing myself to put some space between us. I crossed the room, reaching for one of the disks.

“Did you kill her?”

Her voice barely wavered, but I heard it. The fear. The hesitation. The way she wasn’t sure if she wanted the answer.

I turned to face her.

“No,” I said quietly.

She stared at me, waiting.

“It’s not Adeline on the tape.”

I watched her expression shift. She stepped forward, taking the disk from my hands without a word. Then, slowly, she walked back to the bed and sat down. Her fingers hovered over the edge of the disk, hesitating.

“What’s on it?” she asked.

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

Because the truth was a monster that had been waiting far too long to come out. I walked to her, took the disk from her hand, and then walked back to the table.

“They all have dates,” I said. “Only two are from 2007.”

I chose this hotel because I knew it had a disk player. I knew we would be able to watch. But more than that, I knew that once she saw me at my worst, she would never be able to look at me the same way again.

I turned the TV on and the disk player, exhaling slowly. “Maybe let’s start from the beginning.”

She nodded, slipping off those ugly shoes she liked to wear, then moved to the middle of the bed. Crossing her legs, she placed her hands nervously in her lap and fixed her eyes on the screen.

I walked over, sat at the edge of the bed, and let it play.

“This is Oscar,” a boy’s voice said. “Today, I’m hiding in Addie’s room to scare her.” He chuckled. “She won’t know what hit her.”

The camera turned to him. A blonde-haired eight-year-old with a gap between his teeth and bright blue eyes. He grinned before swinging the camera back toward Adeline’s bedroom.

“Okay… where to hide, hmmm.” He scanned the room, then aimed the camera at the closet. “Gotcha,” he giggled before slipping inside.

“If my calculations are right, she’ll be here in five minutes,” he whispered. “Shhh.” He pulled the closet door shut, leaving just enough space to record the room.

The footage fast-forwarded, and after six minutes, the bedroom door flew open, and Adeline stormed inside. But before it could fully close, a man in a gray suit followed her in and shut the door behind him.

“Adeline, listen to me,” he shouted. “You can’t do this to me.”

“To you?” she shot back, jabbing a finger between them. “What about me?”

“This isn’t just about you. Don’t be selfish,” he snapped, gripping her shoulders. “This could ruin my family.”

“And what about mine?” she shouted, shoving him away. “What about your promise to bring my sister back? What about your promise to leave everything to be with me?”

“Adeline,” he whispered, reaching for her, but she pulled away.

“Or was I just a toy to you? A game for you and your fucked-up friends?”

“You wanted it,” he scoffed. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she slammed her fists against his chest. “I did it for you!” she sobbed. “Because I would do anything for you.”

He leaned in, voice dropping to a chilling hush. “Then get rid of it.”

Her breath hitched. “I can’t, Jack Blackthorn. You know I can’t,” she whispered, trembling. “This baby hasn’t done anything to you.”

“That baby will ruin everything.” He grinned. “And you know what to do.”

Then, without warning, he shoved her onto the bed.

“If you don’t,” he sneered, “I will.”

“Stop,” she gasped, pushing against him.

A sudden crash.

“No!” Oscar’s voice rang out from the closet. The door burst open, and the camera tumbled to the floor. The little boy ran at Jack, screaming and shoving him. “Don’t touch Addie!”

Jack barely flinched. He grabbed Oscar by the collar, lifting him off the ground. “You little brat,” he snarled. “Your father will hear about this. I won’t tolerate this behavior.”

Oscar kicked and thrashed, but Jack carried him out and slammed the door shut.

Silence.

On the screen, Adeline lay crumpled on the bed, her sobs barely audible. Then, after a few minutes, she forced herself up and moved toward the door, until she noticed the camcorder on the floor.

She knelt, fingers brushing over it, then slowly turned the camera toward her face. Her mascara was smudged, her lips quivered, and her eyes, her eyes were hollow.

Static.

I turned to Freya. Tears streamed down her face. She looked at me, her voice barely a whisper.

“She was pregnant,” she choked out, pressing her palms against her stomach. “What if that happened to me? Would you do the same?”

I moved closer, taking her hands in mine, and pulling her toward me. “Never.”

She collapsed against my chest, sobbing, arms wrapped around me.

Then, suddenly, the screen shifted.

The gray static turned black, and Adeline appeared again.

“Hi,” she said.

Freya and I froze, our eyes locked on the screen.

It felt like she was speaking to us. And maybe, in some way, she was.

“My name is Adeline Ravenshaw,” she said. “I was born Adeline Oxton, but after my mother died, her best friend, Rosalind Ravenshaw, adopted me. And Rosa… if you’re watching this,” her voice cracked, “I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

She exhaled shakily, wiping at her tears before continuing. “I know this will break a lot of people. I know it will hurt. And I am so, so sorry. But there was no other way out.” She swallowed. “Not for me.”

Her breath hitched, then she sobbed, her whole body trembling. “Not everyone dares to come forward and admit they fucked up. And I’m not that person either. I am so fucking afraid.” Her voice rose, breaking into something raw and desperate. “But it hurts. It hurts so fucking much!” Then, just as suddenly, her voice dropped again, quiet this time. “It hurts when you lose hope. When no one listens. When there’s no one left to listen.” She inhaled sharply, fighting to keep going. “You try to be loud. You do things you’re not supposed to. But all they say is that you just want attention. But I don’t,” she whispered, before suddenly screaming, “I’m in pain! It hurts!”

She let out a broken laugh, shaking her head. “And then these thoughts start creeping in. Like… what was my life? What’s left of it?” A tear slipped down her cheek. “Some people come into your life to be your friends. Some to be your lovers. And then there are the rare few who become your soulmates. But when every single one of them turns their back on you, when there’s no one left but you… it’s hard. It’s hard to talk to yourself. It’s hard to be all you have.”

She chuckled through the tears, a quiet, bitter sound. “And I’m not proud of what I’ve done. I’m not proud of the secrets I’ve kept. This was supposed to be the best year of my life, and instead, it turned into a nightmare. Maybe my story didn’t deserve to be heard, but I wanted to say it anyway.”

She pressed a shaking palm against her lips, trying to hold back a sob before continuing.

“This is the story of Adeline Ravenshaw. The girl who was never a friend. Never a lover. Never a daughter. Never a sister.”

She sniffled, her voice hardening.

“I’ll start with Jack Blackthorn. The man who was supposed to love me. Who was supposed to be my lover? Instead, he took my heart and tore it apart. Then his friends—Hector Cruz Smith and Victor Aracelis—who forced me to break, who stole my soul.” Her body shook as she cried, but she kept going. “Two weeks ago, Jack came to me, saying he wanted to take things to the next level. And I never thought that level would mean sharing me with them.”

Her sob ripped through the screen.

“Every time I said no, every time I felt their hands—“ she broke off, shuddering. “My body betrayed me. It wanted more. And I hate myself for that. I hate that I let it happen. But most of all, I hate that he knew and did nothing.” Her expression twisted with pain, her fingers digging into her arms. “And I stayed silent because I loved him. But this isn’t love. This is poison. Some people are just poison, and they infect you little by little until you lose yourself completely. Until you give up.”

She wiped at her tears with the sleeve of her sweater, trying to steady her breathing.

“To the people watching this—the ones who claimed to care about me, who said they loved me—but never cared enough to stop me.” She inhaled sharply, her voice colder now. “To Luna Aracelis, who called herself my friend but only tried to kiss me because she heard I was ‘easy to experiment with.’ To the friend who knew something was wrong but pushed me anyway until I broke apart. She wasn’t there to pick up the pieces, only to tell me I was selfish. That I was easy. That I was a bad friend who didn’t understand.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “If crying makes me selfish, then fine. I’m selfish. If saying no means I ‘don’t understand,’ then I guess I never will. But if I was a bad friend for not doing what you wanted me to do, then maybe you were a bad friend too.”

She paused, pressing her fingers against her temples as if trying to ground herself. But she kept going.

“To Lucius Lockwood, who watched me from afar, waiting for the day I’d love him back. I’m sorry I never gave you a chance. I’m sorry I never wanted you. I’m sorry you believed the rumors. That you believed the lies.” Her voice wavered, breathless now. “I’m sorry I never said yes to your stupid little notes. And if that makes us both liars, I just want you to know—it wasn’t you. It was me. I wasn’t ready to be heard.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled over.

“And I know—I know I let this all happen to me. I never said a thing. But one person saw it all and turned his back on me.” She exhaled sharply, gripping the edges of her seat.

“To Cassius Blackthorn, who stood there and watched, then told me to smile. Who gave me advice I never wanted. Some people can’t be saved with pretty little words. Or pretty little lies. Or by keeping secrets. Some people just needed to be held.” Her lips quivered. “And you let me go when I needed you the most.”

Her sobbing grew uncontrollable. Her hands pressed against her stomach as she rocked slightly, her shoulders shaking.

“To my baby,” she whispered. “I am so, so sorry, sunshine.”

She cried harder, gripping her stomach like she could hold onto something that was already slipping away.

“The world is not ready for you. For us,” she wept, her lower lip trembling. “People don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you.”

She pushed herself up, taking the camcorder with her. The screen jolted as she carried it to the bathroom.

The bathtub was already half-filled with water. She set the camera down on the floor, the frame tilting slightly as she stepped closer, turning the faucet on. She moved to the sink, her fingers curling around the ceramic. Slowly, she reached for the razor. The first cut was at the corners of her lips. She hissed as she moved the razor in pain. Blood dripped onto the white sink, making it red. Then she simply walked to the bathtub, letting the robe slip from her body.

Fully naked, she stepped in, lowering herself in the water.

The blade met her wrists. And a scream ripped through the silence as the metal tore through her skin. Blood spread in the water, curling around her like a red ink in a pool.

The video kept going.

Freya screamed.

Her whole body shook against me, her face buried in my chest. “Turn it off! Turn it off!” She pushed at me, but I couldn’t move. I just kept watching.

Adeline lay in the bathtub, her body limp, her face pale.

But she smiled. A twisted, carved smile that she had never worn in life.

“You all killed me,” she whispered, choking on her breath. “You stripped me naked while I screamed.” Her chest rose and fell weakly. “You slit my wrists and let my blood run cold.” Her eyes fluttered shut. “You watched me,” she murmured, “made me smile while I was dying.”

The blade slipped from her fingers. The water turned red.

“It’s time,” she whispered with her last breath.

A final tear rolled down her cheek.

“It’s time that no one will ever hurt me again.”

I closed my eyes, letting Freya’s palm slap my face, letting her shake me desperately to pull me back to senses that were no longer there. A tear slipped down my cheek.

Even if none of us had killed her, we did. We were the reason she ended it.

The closure we all searched for turned out to be the worst kind, the kind that left nothing but emptiness. She didn’t just die. She was taken from herself, piece by piece, while we stood by, too selfish to see that it wasn’t about who lost her.

It was about her losing everything.

Her life.

Herself.