Page 15 of Where Daisies Breathe (Star Meadows #2)
CLOVER
DEAR DIARY,
T here once was this house where dark things were kept hidden behind the rotting walls.
The trees that stretched toward the dreary sky made it almost impossible to see.
The fence that surrounded it was laced with the venom to burn anyone who dared touch it.
Warnings glared brightly, like metal flames that pierced anyone with the fear of being blinded who dared lay eyes on it.
But I ignored those warnings. I walked straight into the flames and now they’re burning. Embers are still coating my skin, slowly melting me, but I can’t pluck them off. Not yet. I have to push past the pain so I can end this.
That house, what’s inside, I’ve seen glimpses of it.
But it’s always through a haze of drugs because Jason always drugs me.
He feeds my body with the thing it craves the most before we enter the place that reeks of blood and sins so dark not even the shadows want to be near it.
The only thing that creeps around it is the ghosts of the girls who took their final breaths and the ones who sold their souls to live.
I’m the latter, but for me, it’s about finding the truths in death.
In Zoey’s death.
Although lately it feels like death is dragging a claw down my spine.
Most would run. But I can’t. I have to get to the truth. I have to find out what happened to my daisy friend.
I know she was in that house. I know she was one of those girls.
I know that Jason and the men he worships are destroying those girls.
Some of them “overdose,” while others stay drugged up, like me.
It keeps us controlled, so we comply and do what they want, which is anything from sexual stuff to luring in other girls.
It’s fucking disgusting and I want to watch them all burn.
But I still don’t know who’s all involved.
Jason and his friends are definitely not in charge.
I’ve heard them whisper about the bosses, ones that were masked and have power over this town.
Perhaps the mayor? The Sheriff? I’m unsure yet, but I’m going to find out ? —
“What’re you doing?” Jason’s voice slices through my writing trance, startling me so badly I drop my pen.
I hastily collect myself as I lean over and scoop it up off the floor. “I’m just writing in my diary,” I reply calmly. It’s a still of mine, remaining calm in terrifying situations. “I’ve been writing in it since I was like twelve.”
He’s leaning against the doorframe of my bedroom with his arms crossed, his gaze meticulously dissecting me. “What do you write about?”
“Lots of stuff. School. People I hate. Teachers I hate. My sister sometimes.” I close my diary and push to my feet.
“Did my mom let you in?” I make my way over to the dresser and set the diary inside.
It’s not typically where I keep it, but I don’t want him to know about the real spot because what is written on those pages will surely get me killed.
“No, your mom’s gone. I knocked, but you didn’t answer.” He’s watching me in a way that makes that claw stab into my spine deeper.
“I probably couldn’t hear you over the music.” I turn off the music and face him. “Why are you here? Not that I mind.” I plaster on my sugary sweet smile as I step toward him and place my hand on his chest. “It’s just that usually you call or text first.”
His expression is unreadable, and I have an unsettling feeling he’s thinking about my diary. But maybe I’m being paranoid, though. Why would he think anything of it? Girls have diaries. It’s a common thing.
Still, I question if once he’s gone, maybe I should burn it. But it’d be like burning my memories and all traces of me.
“I was actually over at your neighbor’s house,” he explains. “So I decided to stop by and see if you wanted to go to another party?”
My brows furrow. “You were at Jerry’s? Why?”
“He needed a favor,” he says with a shrug. “So, do you want to go to the party or not?”
It’s not really a question, though.
I can’t say no, because once I do, he’ll have no reason to keep me around. And the only way out is death.