Page 150 of Soul So Dark

Easy…

“Honestly,” Luca continues, “after the surgery, I hit rock bottom. I remembered what happened, and what I did, and all I could think about was you, and—” he pauses when his voice catches, “andMom.There’s not much left of her…” Luca trails off.

He must not be bullshitting me, after all. He speaks in a gentle, even tone, letting me take in his words instead of poking and prodding and looking for a fight. I hate that I don’t hate Luca. Maybe because I’ve lost too much of my family already. Or maybe it’s because it feels like the Luca I hate isn’t even standing in the same room as me.

“So, yeah, I didn’t mean to dump all this on you right away,” he says after a heavy silence. “I have to get going, but if you’re not busy tomorrow night, I’ll come over again.” He heads for the door, glancing over his shoulder as he goes. “Adrian said something about smoking ribs and I told him I’d bring dessert.” He opens the front door. “Anything you want. And none of that dry, crumbly shit. I promise.”

He flashes me a smile I haven’t seen since we were kids and then pulls the door closed behind him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Dallas

SHELBY (3:32PM): I’m at the store, do you need meds? I’ll get you Gatorade. Can you eat yet?

ME (3:37PM): Doing better, I’ll try to eat today. Thank you.

I don’t have a stomach virus like Shelby thinks, but my nausea and lack of appetite cover it well. That, and the fact that I haven’t left my bedroom in over two days. How many Plan B pills can you take and not vomit them back up? I took three—so far, so good.

I missed class on Friday. By some miracle, there was one slot left at the student clinic and I had a birth control implant placed that afternoon. And then I missed Shapeshift. I would say I spent the evening crying over it, but I’d already been crying for close to 24 hours by then. I’ve stopped, but it’s only been replaced by hours upon hours of staring off into space, disassociating, falling asleep, and then waking up periodically to do it all over again.

When I close my eyes, I see Bowen and the smile that tugs at his dimpled cheeks, so wide that his eyes look closed. But then his face distorts and twists into the monster that took such pleasure in torturing me. I see the ceiling of my car and I can’t move, pinned beneath his weight while he squeezes my throat so hard I can’t breathe. But then I start seeing other things, too, like Evie’s face the last time I saw her, Colson screaming in the dark, Colson covered in blood, Colson trying to warn me…

Colson could wash the blood off of him, but the blood on my back seat is still there, and it won’t wash off.

And then I see another face, one that makes my chest cave and my heart ache. But as soon as I open my eyes, it washes away like dust in the rain.

I haven’t used my phone for anything except texting my roommates, almost like I’m afraid to look at anything else. But I know I can’t stay like this. Eventually, I have to come out. I stare at my home screen, at the photo of the four of us at Maddie’s 21stbirthday a few weeks ago. And then, after a couple of minutes, I do something that I know I shouldn’t.

I couldn’t find Jesse before because I didn’t know his name, and I won’t find him now because Jesse never existed. But there is a Bowen, and I know that he exists. I type his name into the search bar and, eventually, his face appears on my screen, sending another wave of nausea through my gut. I tap his name and steel myself for whatever I’m about to see.

To my surprise, his page looks oddly familiar. It’s similar to mine. I scroll down and study the posts, mostly streams of him and his friends gaming. They shit-talk each other back and forth, primarily referencingCall of Duty.He even shares posts from AJ.

GhostW@ke.

Before I realize it, I’ve watched a solid three months of Bowen and his friends playing each other in various skins like Cyber Bunny and Nicki Minaj. It’s clear who he is.

Osama bin Laggin.

I’d be jealous of how clever it is if I didn’t want to vomit.

There’s another handle that shows up more than the others, a guy named Jay Rhinehardt.

Finding Chemo.

Also pretty good.

I click on Jay and scroll through his feed. My breath catches when I see a photo of him and two other men in uniform, standing in front of a car withCanaan Policeemblazoned on the side. What’s more,I recognize them.

Jay was at Blood Horse with Bowen, and so was his brother, Wells. The other man is older, but has the same last name, probably their father. And they’re all Canaan police officers. My hand is shaking and I have to put down the phone. But the longer I stare at the screen, something sparks in my brain, giving way to a brief moment of clarity.

Your brother tried to take what belonged to me.

This time I don’t wince at the thought of his voice. This time, it connects two memories, fitting perfectly like a key into a lock. Because right after I hear Bowen’s voice, I hear Evie’s.

Col doesn’t like him…he was really upset when he found out I was going to ride with him, so I didn’t.

I keep staring at the posts, mulling over the whirlpool of details swirling through my mind. Miraculously, it spurs me to pull back my comforter and sit up for the first time in 24 hours. And,fuck,I feel like Dracula stumbling out of his coffin with a stiff back.