Page 89 of Graves

“It wasn’t peaceful,” I snap. Heat rises in my chest, and the words spill out before I can stop them. “I ended up in the infirmary multiple times because I was almost beaten to death. I once nearly bled out after some asshole stabbed me in the gut. So don’t call it peaceful. It wasn’t a fucking summer camp.”

Angela closes her mouth and swallows hard. Behind the cameraman, Leslie steps closer. The guys on the couch stare at me in shock.

Did I go too far?

I frown, regret creeping in, and stare down at my hands.

“I’m sorry,” Angela says. “I didn’t think before I spoke. We… we can cut that if you want.”

I close my eyes for a second and shake my head. “No, it’s fine.”

“Okay…” Angela tries to recover. “That’s information that never reached the public before.”

“What would it have changed? The people who hate me would’ve cheered, and everyone else would’ve assumed I provoked it. There’s no point in playing the victim. I did my time.”

“Do you think five years was enough?”

I study Angela for a moment, trying to figure out where she’s going with this. I narrow my eyes warily.

“For Ben Jenkins’ family, your early release was apparently a huge shock.”

“It wasn’t a release,” I correct her flatly. “I was paroled early for good behavior. And I’m not the first person that’s happened to. I served my sentence.”

“Five years is very little for taking a life.”

“It wasn’t murder,” I correct her, rubbing my face. “Jesus, did you do any research or are you just trying to provoke me?”

“Some voices say someone like you belongs on death row.”

“Voices like Donna Broderick? I saw the show too. I can’t even count how many lies they spread about me. My lawyer is already considering legal action for defamation.”

“Have you ever apologized to the victim’s family?”

I roll my eyes toward the ceiling. If I weren’t on drugs right now, I’d probably stand up and walk out. “I wrote several letters—to Ben’s parents, his siblings. I know they received them, but I never heard back. Not that I expected to,” I add quickly. “They don’t owe me anything.”

“How would you describe your relationship with Ben Jenkins?”

I frown. “Even if that still mattered, it’s none of anyone’s business.”

“I’m only asking because you’ve been out for three weeks and there are already photos of you getting into a car with an unknown man. Is a new romance brewing?”

“If that was your real question, the transition was tasteless,” I mutter, loud enough for everyone to hear. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Angela is prepared. She holds up a photo. It’s from the night Koh got into the car behind me and we drove to the concert together.

“That’s Mike,” I lie smoothly—the story we agreed on. “My guitarist.”

“Mike Wrath?” Angela asks, surprised, turning toward the couches.

Mike, feet propped on the coffee table, nods.

“He was at my place. Then we drove to the Vanguard together.”

“Okay, and…” Angela retrieves another photo. “Who is this?”

It’s a blurry shot of Koh walking outside with Pixie.

“No idea,” I say, handing it back. “Who is it?”