Page 41 of Chaos at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 2)
Pamela waves her hand absently in my direction, her attention focused on the screen of her brand-new iPhone instead of on my face.
“If it's that important to you, take a card and order some shoes. I don't care.” She gestures at the credit cards on the table, but I know that if she's being that generous, it means they're all used up. I've never once had Pamela gift me with anything, not even a piece of something she's stolen. After a moment, she finally looks up at my face. It's clear from her expression that Neil hasn't told her shit—not even that he's possibly gotten an underage teen pregnant. “What? You think you can stay out all the time, ignore my calls, and I'll start showering you with gifts when you deign to return home?”
I just stand there for a moment, staring at her. Her nails are long and red, the pearls around her neck real, her hair coiffed and freshly dyed from a recent salon visit. Pamela's clothes are designer, the gin in her martini top-shelf. She even sits on a beautiful silk couch, but it all looks so strange, paired with the dirty off-white walls of the duplex, the water-stained ceiling, and the open kitchen with its ‘70s cabinets. We live in a shithole while Pamela drapes herself in luxury. She's the epitome of selfish.
“You know why I don't come home, right?” I ask, and Pamela laughs, casting her green-eyed gaze my direction. I hate that I have her eyes, that I have her lips, her curves. I hate everything that ties us together. She can't make me forget that once, when I broke a plate on accident, she forced me to sit outside in the cold in nothing but my underwear while I watched her and the Thing eat a hot meal inside with Penelope and Heather.
Pen tried to sneak me some chicken later, but the Thing caught her, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her away before she could unlock the sliding glass door. I always wondered what happened after that, but she never told me.
Now I know.
I recognized her outfit in that video as the one she had on that night. Everything about that dinner is engraved inside my skull, carved into my bone, a storybook in ivory without a happy ending.
The sound of the police cruiser pulling into the driveway is unmistakable, but instead of running to my room like I usually do, I stay right where I am, facing off against Pam.
“Why don't you tell me?” Pamela quips right back, raising a micro-bladed eyebrow in my direction. “Because you've been whoring yourself out to those thugs?”
A laugh slips past my red-painted lips as the door swings in and there he is, the monster himself. He smiles at me, clearly remembering our interaction on Halloween night, how I was covered in blood, how Aaron could barely stand, how Vic put a gun to his head.
My mind reels at the sight of him, my psyche cracking and splintering into ragged pieces. For a moment there, I can’t see straight. Fuck, I can’t see anything at all except that video, of Neil licking his fat lower lip, of him thrusting into my struggling sister.
Nausea roils in my stomach, and I bend over, vomiting right on his shoes. Pamela recoils with a gasp, clamping a hand over her mouth and spilling her martini all over the couch with a curse.
“What the fuck?” Neil snarls, stumbling back as I stand up straight, running my arm across my lips. Our eyes meet, and I hope he can see in them just how much I hate him. If I have to drag him to hell myself, I’ll do it, and I’ll enjoy the eternal torment, just so long as I know he’s suffering, too. “The hell is wrong with you?”
“You,” I say, feeling like my spine is made of steel, my heart forged in iron, my willpower wooden and immovable. I wasn’t able to be there for Penelope when she was alive, but I’ll be damned if I don’t avenge her now. Kill him, kill him, kill him, my psyche whispers, but as pissed as I am with Havoc right now, I trust in their plan.
Neil Pence will pay; it’s just a matter of time.
He sneers at me, kicking his foot and spattering the wall with vomit.
“Clean this shit up,” he barks at me, but I just smile back at him. The video of him and Pen is playing across my vision, my worst nightmare on repeat. I can’t erase that trauma, but I sure as shit can hone it into a sharp edge and spill blood with it. I feel twitchy right now, and if Heather weren’t here and counting on me, I’d probably just head outside and start running. I don’t think I’d stop until I collapsed.
