Page 106 of My Killer Blind Date

‘You thought they were trying to put you down,’ I say.

Zoe sags with relief. ‘You do understand me.’

‘No.’ My voice is ragged, broken. ‘I don’t.’

A shadow flashes across her face. She hits a crutch on the floor. I jump. Brooke moans.

‘We’re all supposed to be in it together, Margot!’ Her voice is thick with emotion. ‘The sisterhood? Women supporting women? You get it! You believe in that too!’

I look at Brooke, who’s thrashing against her bonds like a fish. Not a picture of women supporting women. How did Zoe get so twisted? How does she think any of this is justified?

‘I mean, men?’ she continues. ‘I expect them to be assholes. Fuck the patriarchy. But women—’ Her lips tighten. ‘I’ve been a victim my whole life. I had to fight to get my power. And these bitches wanted to put the shackles right back on us.’

‘No,’ I say quietly. Firmly. ‘They wanted to live their own lives the way they saw fit.’

‘Wrong!’ she shouts. ‘They were trying to shame any woman who didn’t live like them!’

‘So you killed them?’ I can’t accept it. This can’t be the Zoe I lived with for eight years, shared laughs and meals and clothes with. How did this happen? How did she get here?

Suddenly, her face crumples. She lowers her head and sniffs. ‘You have no idea how cruel women can be. It was my fucking parents, all over again.’

‘I met them,’ I fling back. ‘They’re nothing like you said. You made up some shit about being locked in the basement that wasn’t even true!’

‘Because the truth wasn’t enough for the social workers to take me seriously.’

‘And your dad wasn’t a pastor!’

‘He might as well have been.’

‘What is the truth? What exactly were they doing that was so terrible, Zoe?’

‘Trying to get me to conform, to clip my wings!’ she explodes, eyes blazing. ‘I can’t be trapped like that! It’s the same story, my whole life. No one has supported me. No one. All anyone has ever done is try to control me, reduce me!’

My lungs pump in and out like an accordion. I want to say, what about me? How can she say this? For eight years, we supported each other through shitty apartments, jobs, boyfriends. Did that mean nothing to her?

Her mouth twists. ‘Except for Deedee. He was the only one who really got it, who really fucking cared. And then they took him away from me too. But we found each other again.’

‘I thought we had each other.’ My voice cracks.

Her face softens, and for an instant I see her sadness. ‘We did, babe.’

‘And that wasn’t enough for you? I thought it was us against the world! And now you’re killing people? And mutilating yourself?’

‘My ashes had to be in my painting. My self-portrait. It couldn’t be perfect without a piece of me.’

‘Had to be?’ My voice rises to a hysterical pitch.

‘Yes,’ she snaps. ‘You saw it, didn’t you, my self-portrait? After Devin brought me the ashes, I was able to put on the finishing touches. It’s my best work yet …’

‘And whose ashes did you dump on the beach, Zoe, to make me think you were dead?’

She waves a frustrated hand, like she’s annoyed by the question. ‘I don’t know. Does it matter? Devin took some from work. What matters is my art, my voice finally getting listened to.’

‘Is that what you told yourself as you attacked three other women, too?’

For a second, we stare at each other. Then, her face contorts. She makes a small sound in her throat and a tear slips down her face.

‘I wasn’t going to kill anyone, Margot.’ She sniffs. ‘I swear it didn’t start like that. I was painting Kayleigh after that horrible day at the pregnancy center, because that’s my process. I paint my trauma. It was good too, I could feel it. But it wasn’t good enough. The galleries – they didn’t want me, OK? I knew if I was ever going to make it, I had to do something radically different. See? To make the best, most powerful portrait I could, I needed Kayleigh to sit for me.’ She flicks the tear away.