Page 200 of Because I Killed Him
Even in its brevity, the message makes it all too clear what Edmund must be feeling, and worse, how deeply I’ve hurt him.
Still, he hasn’t removed me from his entourage. The badge glows on my Bond home screen like the last brick in a wall doomed to crumble from the start.
I push myself up in bed, wincing as my leg shifts. The sound of running water drifts from the lavatory, where Charlotte is showering. Given the situation, the Pinkies granted her special permission to stay with meovernight at the hospital. We talked about Charles, the video, Rosamund, the fallout, everything except Edmund. I couldn’t bring myself to say his name.
My hand reaches toward a side table, brushing the small, delicate daffodil he twisted from the wire of a champagne cork the night we first kissed. I take the flower gently in my palm and turn it over, the petals cool and slightly bent. I remember how Edmund asked what shape I wanted, how I told him to choose, and how it was as if he looked straight through my chest, saw the shape of my heart, and twisted the wire to match it.
Charlotte steps out of the lavatory a moment later, a towel wrapped around her wet hair. “Tattletale’s still cranking out articles,” she murmurs, dropping her bathrobe to the floor. Beads of water cling to her dark skin as she moves toward the vanity, where a Pinkie is already waiting to help her get dressed.
I sink back against the pillows with a tired sigh. I don’t need to read the articles; I already know what the Tattler is calling me:Guillotine Girl.
The name is everywhere, plastered across Quill and every other Grandmaster site. The Tattler hasn’t stopped posting for more than an hour at a time, and each update is hungrier than the last. First came the footage from the Cloning Theory exam: the moment the edited locker room clip was played, and the way I, Edmund, and the rest of the students reacted when I decapitated Charles. But now the Tattler has released the full, uncut locker room video. The truth.
Charlotte scrolls through her Bond, her eyes flicking across the updates. She frowns as the Pinkie fastens the last hook on her dress and gestures for her to sit for makeup. “Just a second,” she mutters, still reading.
Then her expression brightens. “The Tattler says Charles’s parents are pissed—like lightning bolts shooting from their eyes pissed.”
“At whom?”
“Rosamund. Apparently, Charles’s parents are pushing Phillipa to expel her.”
I don’t need to ask why. The video exposed their son attacking me outside a sanctioned duel, and now the Blackwell name has been tarnished. Rosamund twisted the whole thing into theater, turning Charles’s death into a petty grudge grenade. I pity his parents, today more than ever. But Idoubt it’ll come to anything. Phillipa is already knee-deep in damage control. She called Dad before I could form a single sentence through my tears, spun the story her way, and promised repercussions. Rosamund will be sent to a mandatory therapy institution over the summer. Phillipa promised the video of Charles’s death would stay within campus borders and warned of penalties for anyone caught spreading it.
But her threats haven’t slowed it down.
If there’s one small grace, it’s that—for now—the story hasn’t left Grandmaster. The campus is its own world, loud, brutal, and all-consuming, but it has borders. Beyond them, life goes on. Politics churn. Markets rise and fall. Bogart streams his daily broadcast to millions and wouldn’t spare a breath talking about me.
That’s good.
Because soon, Dad will announce his run for Governor of the Rainbow District, and the last thing I want is to be the reason his poll numbers drop.
Charlotte is fixated on her Bond again, scrolling as the Pinkie leans in to apply foundation across her cheek. She remains still, her mouth set in a thoughtful line. As I watch her, I wonder about her experiences. She was part of Edmund’s world for a full year before her breakup with Jack. I can’t help but think she’s holding puzzle pieces I don’t have, pieces that might explain what Edmund is thinking and why he hasn’t cut me loose. Why am I still part of his entourage, even now, when he knows I killed his cousin?
“Char,” I murmur. “Did you ever meet Charles?”
“No. Edmund never even mentioned him.”
That surprises me.
Charlotte lights a cigarette, still reading. “Honestly, if you’d said his name back when you told me you killed a Blue, it wouldn’t have meant a thing. I had no idea who Charles was until the Tattletale articles started dropping. Word is, Charles’s mom was the sister of Edmund’s dad, Lionel.”
I nod slowly, more confused than before. Charles feels like a ghost no one ever spoke of, yet his death was enough to tear everything apart.
“What about the rest of Edmund’s family? Did you meet any of them?”
Charlotte draws on her cigarette, then blows out a steady stream of smoke. “Yeah, his grandmother. She and Edmund are really close. I alsomet his older brother, Richard. Totally the opposite of Edmund in every way. And Richard’s eyes… those things are scary as shit. Between you and me, I sometimes wondered if Phillipa had a secret side piece—if Richard wasn’t really Lionel’s son but the son of some other guy, someone less lion-hearted.” A wry smile tugs at Charlotte’s mouth. “Edmund and Richard got along well when Jack and I were together, but Dickie said they had some kind of falling out around the time that Edmund and Irene got engaged. Don’t know the details.”
She drapes an arm over the headrest of her chair, eyes narrowing in thought. “I met a couple of Edmund’s cousins, too. Mixed bag. Some were decent. Some were assholes. But Edmund seemed okay with most of them.”
My mind drifts back to Charles, and he’s almost become faceless. Why is he the one cousin no one knew about or mentioned? Something about it feels off.
While the Pinkie finishes Charlotte’s makeup, she returns to reading Tattletale. She scans in silence for a moment, her expression turning severe, then stubs out her cigarette in the ashtray with a curse.
“What is it?” I ask.
“The Tattler says two students were arrested last night. A Purple called Mendoza and a Green called Linwood.”
“PatriciaLinwood?”
