Page 78 of What Rough Beast

“Micah?” Ava asks, looking over her shoulder at me, her lips glistening with wet. “What’s he talking—”

“Go to my favorites,” Ethan directs Hailey.

“Now is not the time to trot out the titty parade—” Hailey begins, but he cuts her off.

“Fucking do it!”

She sighs, holds the phone up to his face to unlock it. “Uh-huh,” she says, faking boredom as she scrolls, not quite able to keep the quiver out of her voice, the pain that’s always been there, but hidden. “Meredith, Carrie, Allie, Brooke, Jade—oh, look, Emily Vaught, surprise, surprise. And—”

Hailey stops, goes cold, looks up at Ethan. “What the fuck is this?”

“Hailey, please,” I say, but her eyes are on him.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“I didn’t do shit,” Ethan says. “Look at the info.”

Hailey hesitates, glances at Ava.

“What . . .” Ava’s voice is wavering and thin, her whole body shaking. “Hailey, what—”

Hailey taps Ethan’s phone, closes her eyes. “I’m sorry, Ava,” she says. “I’m sorry this is the last thing you’ll see.”

Forty-Six

Ava

Hailey Wagner doesn’t get emotional. She doesn’t cry, and she sure as hell never apologizes. She might lose her shit all over somebody, but you always know she’s in charge, that she’s choosing to lose her shit. But right here, right now, whatever is on Ethan’s phone hit her somewhere deep enough that there are tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, chin jutting out proudly even as she apologizes. “This wasn’t what I—”

“Show her,” Ethan says, licking blood from his lips as he stares down the barrel of the gun, dead-eyed.

Behind me, Micah shifts. “Ava, don’t—”

Hailey turns Ethan’s phone, and there aren’t stars in the sky anymore, no pinpricks of light in the darkness. Everything is black, goodness doesn’t exist, and hope is nothing more than the denial we conjure in the face of truth.

It’s me, on the ground, unconscious, mouth open, dirt smeared on my face. My shirt is hiked up, bra pulled down, breasts exposed. Underneath it is the metadata, date and time, the night of the party, the hinge that my life turned on. Under that is a location—Ethan’s house—and below that, the source.

Shared with you by Micah Harding.

Forty-Seven

Micah

I’ve done things, bad things. I’ve fucked girls whose names I didn’t know and walked away smiling, mutilated another human being and ran home crying. I’ve been an asshole and a criminal, a piece of shit and absolute motherfucker. But I have never, ever been ashamed of myself the way I am right now.

“Ava . . .” It’s a choked sob, her shoulders tightening when I say it.

But there aren’t any words other than her name, soaked in tears. It’s all I have. There aren’t excuses or reasons, no pleading or apologies. I can’t defend the despicable. I can only wait for her judgment.

“Sorry,” Hailey says again, her eyes meeting Ava’s. Something passes between them, a message between two girls who have never been friends but, in this moment, are allies. Ava reaches for the phone, fingers shaking.

“Ava . . .” I try again, but she holds up one hand, and I fall silent. I watch as she taps on the info, which takes her to the text message I sent only to Ethan that night, along with the pic.

Solid hundred points.

Leaderboard, baby!