Vacant (Empathy #3) (8 page)

IT’S BEEN FIVE DAYS AND I haven’t heard a thing from Hannah or Tom. My dad called asking me what happened at the pool and if I’m okay. I have no idea how he knows about it but I have learned to not ask questions and just accept he knows all. I assured him it was nothing and that Hannah is fine and was grateful for my help, which appeared to sate him and Mom. The truth is, I could tell them anything and they would take my word for it because they think I’m fragile after everything we went through. They didn’t understand how easily I took the news about Ryan’s death, or the fact I was nearly murdered because of him. They talked about therapy, which was laughable after a “psycho” therapist was the cause of all the drama. Mom really laid the guilt on when she told me how Ryan killed her parents but I didn’t know them and although I feel empathy for her, I still can’t feel disdain for Ryan like she wants me to. He’s very sick, yes. He has dark urges and acts upon them but just because he acts out his thoughts doesn’t make me not love him or feel an ache inside at how lonely and difficult the world must be to him. He didn’t ask to be this way. He didn’t start out with a choice, he was born this way. I know I sound soulless. I’m not condoning the lives he took, I’m just not ready to hang him for being created differently to the rest of the world. I keep most of my thoughts to myself when it comes to Mom. A nod and fake smile is my go-to response when listening to her talk.

Do you ever feel the pressure before a storm hits? The muggy air and tension simmering in the atmosphere almost electrically charged just waiting to crackle? That’s how I felt today when I woke up. I’d been for my morning run and ran straight into Randal, literally, almost knocking myself clean out. He felt like crap and apologized profusely but it was my fault. I’ve been lost in my mind with Ryan talking to me. I’m going to have a nasty bruise and more than likely a black eye; fabulous. Randal dropped his phone, smashing the screen. He groaned, complaining he needed to call someone important about a piece of art work so I loaned him my cell and waited to get it back outside the art studio after an afternoon of painting. I recreated that night at the pool in blurry watercolors; it was the first time I’d painted something other than Ryan’s image. It was risky and dark to get so much pleasure from dabbing and stroking the red from the palette on to the canvas to indicate the blood spilling from Hannah’s head but it was worth it.

I take this piece back to my dorm to display proudly on my wall. Randal was late and the thickening feeling of unease I woke up with made me antsy. Screw it, he can bring it to my room.

The halls are buzzing with activity. Weekends are always loud in the dorms. Faces I don’t recognize fill the lounge area; Hannah must be having an ‘I survived’ party. I make it to my room without having to talk to anyone and just as I put the key in the lock, her voice pierces my ears. Urgh, so close.

“Looks like someone vandalized the crappy painting in the reception area.” She smirks.

That freaking bitch. I loved that painting
.

“C
REATE A NEW ONE USING HER BLOOD FOR THE PAINT.”

“So that’s the payback for me sleeping with your boyfriend, huh? I thought you must have blocked it out when you didn’t come screaming at my door.”

Her eyes narrow and she looks around to see if anyone heard me. Ha, she’s embarrassed.

“Shut your lying mouth. He wouldn’t touch you.”

I raise a brow. “You saw the picture, Hannah. A picture speaks a thousand words.”

“Yeah? Well your picture is trash, just like you.”

I inhale and plaster a smile on my face, opening my art bag and pulling out my new masterpiece. “I have one we can replace it with.” I hold it up in front of her face. “What do you think?”

Her face blanches, mist forming over her eyes. Her jaw tightens. “You’re dead, do you hear me?”

“Y
OU’RE FUCKING DEAD, BITCH,”

Ryan’s voice growls in my head.

She grabs the painting from my hands before I can react and darts down the hall. I give chase, gaining an audience. I follow her out into the night and wince when she throws my painting to the floor. Tingles race up my spine but for some reason I feel completely serene.

LOOK AT HER AMONGST THE sheep. They are all beneath her and yet she forces herself to fade into the background. For me, she will always be the only thing I see.

“You shouldn’t tiptoe through your life, Cereus. Leap and run into it. Only then will you know what you’re truly capable of,” I murmur, watching her from the cloak of the trees.

A couple of girls snigger in her direction and her shoulders sag. Why is she letting these insignificant ants hold power over her? My disgust is potent in the air around me. How dare she let those fucking cunts make her wilt under their torment? She should embrace her nature and bloom in the thirst for their blood. She looks at her watch and shakes her head, darting forward like she’s late for something. I follow her back to her dorm and debate whether I should approach her. I hate the distance I have to put between us but if Blake or the police get wind of my pulse they’ll lock me away again. I know I can trust Cereus; it’s trusting myself to walk away from her again that is proving difficult. Maybe she’ll leave with me, give up all this and her family.

Shouting and bodies pour out from the entrance Cereus disappeared through only minutes before. A blonde girl screeches, holding a picture she then throws on the floor and stamps on it. Cereus appears moments later and the girl attack her, slapping her round the face and grabbing her hair trying to tug her to the ground. My hackles rise in an instant, the knife in my back pocket burning a hole. I step from the trees and let my feet carry me, stopping when I see the delight on Cereus’ features. Her lips curve into a smile as she licks blood from the wound inflicted from the slap the girl gave her. Cereus backhands the girl across the cheek, knocking her to the ground then her foot flies forward, kicking the girl in the stomach. She gets three kicks in before someone pulls her away. She’s stunning to watch.

“Surrender to who you are, let go of what they want you to be,” I urge as her inner demons give her a tranquil appearance on her beautiful face. She’s composed and holding her hands up to gesture that she’s done.

“You fucking bitch. You think you’re so perfect but you’re a nobody.”

“You know what, Hannah? Nobody is perfect so if I’m nobody I guess that would make me perfect, huh?” Cereus grins and waltzes back inside.

The crowd dissipates leaving a few to help up the girl who got her ass handed to her. Someone yells for campus security and that’s my cue to leave, but I’ll be back.

WATER, DEEP AND DARK. HANNAH’S lifeless eyes bore into mine. We’re underwater, it’s murky. I try to swim for the surface but her hand reaches for me, trying to keep me under.

I jerk awake and find myself at my desk in my running gear. Randal is standing there in the middle of my dorm room staring at me, making me startle. What the hell? I must have voiced that because he chuckles and motions to the door. “It was open. I’m just returning your cell.”

I look at the clock and squint. Three am? Shit! I remember putting my running gear on after the spat with Hannah but not actually taking a run. I must have been more affected from her attack than I thought.

“Why are you returning my cell at three am?” I ask groggily.

“The tide’s coming in fast, Cereus.”

“What?”

“The sun will be up soon. The emptiness inside you, use it as fuel. Run.”

“You want me to run with you?”

“Looks like you’ve already been for your run.” He looks down to my feet and I follow his gaze. My trainers are caked in mud. I look up, confused, and my room is empty. I rush to the door and swing it open then search the corridor. Ringing draws my attention, and slamming the door closed I wake in my bed with a start.

The sun burns through the open blinds, engulfing the room in light. My cell is on the floor near the door, ringing. What the actual hell? Did Hannah cause me mental damage? I don’t remember getting into bed.

I drag myself up and over to my phone. It’s Mom. I press ignore and look around the room. The clock glares at me. Shit, it’s nine am and I have a class at nine thirty. I throw on some clothes and make my way to class.