Preston ruffles his hair into place as he crosses the room and comes to a stop in front of me, too close and I can smell him—I hate the smell of him. “I hate doing that because then I have to wait around for a couple of hours to pick you up.”

“Don’t you have anything in town you need to do?” I subtly lean away from him, his scent becoming too nauseating.

He shakes his head. “Not really.” He reaches for his car keys on the coffee table. “But I do have shit to do over at Dan’s.”

My mood plummets. “Dan the pervert?”

He nonchalantly shrugs, swinging his keychain around his finger. “You say pervert. I say a guy who just likes to have fun.” He winks at me. “Just like me.”

“He pays women for sex.” I say it like it changes something, when it clearly doesn’t.

“Money, food, a roof over their head—a lot of people trade stuff for sex.” There’s accusation in his eyes.

Please someone get me the fuck out of this goddamn place.

I notice how red his eyes are, which means he’s more than likely stoned and that having any form of argument with him is a lost cause. I sigh, giving up, and back toward the door. “Fine, I’ll just hitchhike a ride.” I both love and hate the idea of doing this. Love it because of the thrill. And hate it because I love doing things like this—love the danger because it’s all I have left anymore. Risks. Well, really they’re not risks anymore because what do I have to lose?

Preston rolls his eyes. “Don’t be overdramatic. I’ll drive you to school, but you’re on your own for the day because I have shit to do.”

Finding my own ride anywhere else means probably hitchhiking, since I don’t have any friends, except for maybe Greyson, who I still talk to at work and hang out with sometimes, but I don’t think he has any class today and I hate asking people for favors—it’s bad enough I have to ask Preston.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” I force a chipper tone as I turn for the door, ready to get the day over with.

The last month has been really intense, especially with my parent’s case being highly investigated due to Luke coming forward and giving them information about Mira Price, his mom. I haven’t talked to Luke about it because I can barely look at him as it is, without feeling both agony and something else that I don’t think I’ve felt before. The case still hasn’t gone anywhere. Mira Price has been questioned and detective Stephner, who’s in charge of the investigation, is trying to get enough evidence to get a search warrant for her house. When I asked why Luke and I couldn’t just testify, he said he wasn’t sure if a song would hold up in court—they needed more. DNA proof or something better. I wonder what the hell would be left in her house after all these years—I’m sure she’s destroyed any evidence—so I’m pessimistic at the idea that an arrest will ever be made. However, what the case has done is spark tons of media attention, which has made my life a living hell, people like Stan, the reporter who harassed me through phone calls, popping up left and right. It’s nerve racking, especially because any of the text could be from the real killer since there’s two people out in the world that did it and they could still be lingering around, watching me.

What if he finally comes looking for me?

During one brief, semi-intoxicated meltdown, I told Preston my fears about this, which led to me stupidly divulging more than what I intended, like what went on between Luke and I, which he uses against me. So not only am I constantly looking over my shoulder, but I have Preston reminding me of what I’ll have left if I leave him—absolutely nothing. Still, sometimes I want to take the nothing.

I try not to think too much about it, though, as I head out the front door with Preston close behind me. When I reach Preston’s old grey Cadillac parked in the driveway, he steps around and opens the door, holding it open like a true gentleman, but he’s not. Something that he proves to me with his next move, when I veer around him to get in the car and he grabs my hip and pulls me against him.

I try to picture myself standing on top of the tallest building and soaring off of it with my arms spanned to my side as he presses himself up against me and kisses the back of my head.

“I was thinking that maybe tomorrow we could do something fun for your birthday,” he says, his fingers wandering downward toward my lower hipbone and pins and needles start to stab at my skin.

“My birthday was over a month ago,” I say flatly. Shut down. Shut down. “And honestly I don’t want to celebrate the day I came into this world.”

“God, what the hell is wrong with you. You’re always so down all the time.” He dips his lips to my ear and nibbles at my lobe. “Don’t I do everything for you… give you everything you want?” His fingers slip underneath the waistband of my pants and brush my skin. “Let me do something special for you or better yet, let’s do something together.”

“I’m not in the mood to sit around and get high while you cop feels.” I want to run. Take off down the road and never stop. Outrun what I’m feeling inside. The confusion. The disgust over this and the last couple of months. The obligation, something I know Preston will remind me off if I tell him to quit touching me.

His fingers dig into my skin, his flirty mood shifting to anger—I’ve said the wrong thing again. “Why can’t you be more grateful? Jesus, sometimes I think it might be best if I just kick you out. Just let you go live on the street. You could be a whore and make money that way.”

“Maybe I should.” I bite down on my lip as soon as I say it because I don’t want to be homeless right now, not with everything else going on. “Fine, if you want to do something for my birthday, we can.” I attempt to clean up the mess I made while I focus on picturing what it would be like to come to the end of the fall and crash. Would it feel like I was flying for a moment? Or would I just fall? Would I feel the pain when I hit the ground? My bones breaking? Or would I blackout before I even made it there?

“Good girl,” he says. “You’re always so good at doing what you’re told.”  Then he kisses my neck, sucking on it before pulling away and my heart accelerates rapidly, but I remain dead on the outside and let the images of me splattered on the ground completely take over and consume me, but then they shift into something else, which happens sometimes. My mind goes from being on that ledge to falling into Luke’s arms.

Safe.

It would be so much easier if that feeling had stayed, but I know all too well that nothing good ever does.

Luke

There are always two things on my mind. Booze and money. Or booze and gambling. It’s all I can focus on because the moment I stop and I let my mind catch up with life is the moment I think of her. Violet Hayes. The one girl who wrecked me in what I once thought was a the best kind of way possible when she broke me down, made me only think about her—made me want only her. But then it was taken away. Or stolen away by what my mother did. I should have known that I couldn’t escape my past—that leaving to go to college wasn’t enough to get away from the madness that is my mother. That she would find a way to have control over my life, like she used to when I was a kid. I should have known it wasn’t over yet.

After Violet moved out of the apartment two months ago, I called the police and reported what facts I knew about the murders. It was only a little bit, but I knew I owed Violet at least that much. But the phone call hasn’t led too much, unfortunately. The police haven’t found any real hard evidence to arrest my mother, but they’re trying to and I keep my fingers crossed everyday that something will happen.

I think part of me hoped that by telling the police, Violet would come back to me. But she didn’t. And the more time goes by, the less I think she ever will. If I was stronger, I’d go to my mother’s house and search for evidence myself, even though I have no idea where anything would be. But I wonder, what could be hiding in the chaos of that house. That perfect, clean house upstairs, covers up the years of crap she’s held onto that’s piled up in the basement. But the idea of going there and seeing that woman…feeling that kind of rage with her there… it makes me afraid of what I might do to her. So the wall remains between Violet and I, building higher and higher with each moment while I die a little bit more every day.