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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

TATUM

Highland University

Twelve Years Ago

I slam her head into the back of the chair, and searing pain shoots through me. I’m bleeding, but in the shadows, I can’t see enough to tell how bad it is. I’m still hanging on, still attached at least, but it’s bad. I’m dizzy from the pain. The sound around me is fading and fuzzy.

I’m going to pass out. I really think I’m going to pass out. I stumble backward in a vengeful fury. The boys just stand there, half of them with their hands covering their own dicks, like it’s them who has been attacked, not me.

I turn back to her, seeing red. Nothing makes sense except the fact that I’m going to kill her. I can see nothing else. I grab hold of the chair she’s in, using every bit of my strength to swing it around and to the ground. It cracks with the blow, and then light explodes. Bright white light everywhere. No. Fire. Fire is everywhere. Shit. She’s on fire. She landed close to the in-ground firepit, but not in it. Not on it.

What is happening?

She rolls around, half her body still attached to the chair, flames engulfing her hair and skin and clothing.

The vodka. It was on her hair. Her clothes.

It was everywhere.

She’s screaming, but I can hardly hear it. Like I’m underwater. My entire body trembles as I watch the scene unfold.

I stagger backward, watching in horror as the boys rush forward. We have no water, no way to put it out. Matteo takes off his letterman jacket and whips it over her, trying to suffocate the fire while the others shout instructions, telling her to roll, to run, to stop moving, to hold still. Matteo’s jacket ignites with flames quickly, and in a panic, he drops it on top of her.

Her screams are animal-like, even as dulled and muted as they are to my own ears. No one is looking at me. No one sees the horror on my face. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It wasn’t supposed to…

I was supposed to play god tonight. The fire took her before she had the chance to beg for her life. Before she had the chance to say she was sorry for her mistake. That she wanted me so badly she couldn’t help herself, perhaps. Before the boys gave me the apology I’m owed. I was supposed to be in charge tonight, and I lost that chance.

My body is strangely numb, like I’m not really here. Like this is all a dream. A nightmare. My worst nightmare.

It takes far too long, but it is over far too quickly. Her body is still burning, but her screams have stopped. The air is filled with the scent of charred flesh, like an unintentional barbecue.

When they look at me, I fix my face. I can’t show them this wasn’t intentional. I can still salvage this if I make it look like this was my plan all along. If I let it, this can be my most valuable lesson ever.

I step forward, owning my power, shutting out the pain I feel, the blood that’s dripping down my legs, and breathing in the scent of her searing flesh as if it’s my favorite smell in the world. I point down at her, my body numb at the waist, my muscles shaking like I’ve had a long workout. I can’t let them know it, can’t let them see it. They can’t see my weakness.

“ Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me. ” Each word is its own sentence, each syllable spoken through gritted teeth. “Have I made myself crystal clear?”

The boys stare at me in outright horror, most of their bodies black with soot and ash from trying and failing to save her. Matteo’s hands and arms have fresh blisters across them.

“Good. Now, then, let’s get the fire put out and find somewhere to bury her.” I turn my back to them, kicking her hideous bag out of my way. A book goes flying out of it and into the dirt: The Catcher in the Rye .

Stupid little bookworm.

I need to sit down, or my legs are going to give out. My vision has started to blur, and I’m afraid I’m going to lose consciousness. I move back to my bag to find something to wipe myself off with and assess the damage she did. I drop to the ground and squeeze my eyes shut, one hand on my head as a sound rings in my ears. I can’t breathe. My chest is tight.

I reach into my bag, looking for something, anything. By the time I realize the ringing in my ears is the sound of him screaming, it’s too late.

I turn back just in time to see Matteo charging at me, the empty vodka bottle held in his hand. I spin toward him a second too late, a second too slow thanks to my sluggishness, and the bottle connects with my head. I feel it shatter, feel my head hit the ground.

Then it all goes dark.