Pretty sure there are tears streaming down my face, but what can I do?
The life of a boy that I hated, that I’ve come to love, is on the line.
I could never forgive myself if something happened to him.
“Dakota?” Tess asks, sniffling and red-faced, her eyes puffy and her hands shaking. Paul is standing just behind her, gaping up at me from behind his glasses. Fuck. And I’d thought my life was hard before? That was nothing compared to this. Why did she have to get my name right for once? Why couldn’t she have called me Mia this time, just to make this a little easier? I look at her, and all I can do is say how sorry I am with my expression.
I keep the words to myself. Well, those words anyway. There are other words that I have to say, or else Parrish will be the one that suffers. Because of me. This is all because of me. No wonder he hated me, no wonder he wanted me gone; I really did ruin his life, just the way he claimed.
And yet … the memory of his warm hands on my body, his lips against my own, I can’t shake that.
“Parrish left because of you,” I say, and then I throw the typewriter as hard as I can into the windshield of the car, destroying both. Small squares of safety glass scatter as Tess screams, clamping a hand over her mouth to cut off the sound. “Because you’re a bad mom.”
The words get stuck in my throat, sticky and gross and unnatural. Their shape is foreign and sharp; it hurts to say them. I’m not Tess’ biggest fan, not by a long shot, but she doesn’t deserve this. I don’t deserve this.
I try to convince myself that she does, that it’s her fault I’m here. If Tess hadn’t found me, then he wouldn’t have found me.
My biological father.
The Seattle Slayer.
One in the same.
I spend the rest of the day lying on my side and staring at the wall, hoping that if the Slayer—oh, I’m sorry, I mean Daddy—shows up here, that I won’t see him coming. I put my hands over my ears, even though the house is dead silent.
Dead. fucking. silent.
With Parrish gone, it feels like what little heart was in this place has gone with him.
“Please be safe,” I whisper, and not for the first time. If I believed in any gods, I would probably pray right now. As things stand, all I can do is repeat that mantra and hope that it sticks. “Please be safe.”
After throwing the typewriter into the windshield of my new car, I hopped down on the broken glass and walked right past Tess and Paul. Neither of them followed me. Neither of them has spoken to me.
The worst part of it all though is not knowing what’s happening to Parrish right now. I’ve checked and rechecked my phone about a million times; there are no new messages, no matter how much I wish there were. I end up lying there for hours, living and reliving the trauma on Tess’ face as I used her typewriter to destroy my birthday gift.
Well, look at that, you wanted your dad in your life, right? You got him.
Shoving up from the bed, I stumble into the pristine marble bathroom and fall to my knees in front of the toilet. When I try to vomit, nothing comes up, and I’m left choking over the toilet bowl with nobody and nothing to help me. Nobody to help Parrish, more like.
“Goddamn it, Dakota.” Chasm appears as if summoned, sweeping my green and black hair back for me as he squats down at my side. “What the hell happened today? There’s glass all over the garage floor.” I grip the toilet bowl, turning my face so that I can look at his.
I wish he could hold me the way Parrish does. I just want someone to hold me right now.
“Can we go into Parrish’s room?” I ask and Chasm grits his teeth, giving a sharp nod. I stand up and rinse my mouth out before letting Chas pull me across the hall by the wrist. Together, we lie side by side on Parrish’s bed. Still not touching. Definitely not touching. “I threw Tess’ typewriter into the BMW’s windshield.”
“You what?” Chasm chokes out, turning to look at me. I’m staring up at the ceiling, wishing it would get dark faster so I could see the glow-in-the-dark stars. The whole room smells like Parrish, that stupid dewy freaking clover and citrus smell. It’s honestly making me sick right now. “Why? Did he tell you to do it?”
“Did I mention that Parrish’s kidnapper is the Seattle Slayer?” I reply, as if it’s no big deal, as if people find out their sperm donor’s a notorious serial killer all the time. Just another pothole in the bumpy road of my life.
