Wrath - 4 (17 page)

Hadn’t she already proven that?

After al , she’d
made
him want her.

Now she could make him go away.

She could make him sorry.

He’ll be sorry. They’ll all be sorry.

Harper awoke with a gasp, the words stil pounding in her ears.
They’ll all be sorry
. For a moment, caught in that foggy zone between sleep and waking, the sentence had no meaning.

And then it al came flooding back.

Beth.

Miranda.

Even Adam, who had turned his back on her.

She only remembered flashes of what she’d dreamed—the screams, the silence at the end, and the feeling of satisfaction.

A cold sweat dotted her brow. As the disjointed memory of the nightmare crowded back into her mind, Harper lay stil , flat on her back, staring at the cracks in the ceiling and trying not to be afraid.

She could stil hear the screams.

It felt like a beast lay deep inside of her, waiting for her to relax control, so it could awake and unleash its wrath.

Harper liked to believe she was in charge. Everything she did, she did by choice.

But there were Miranda, and Adam—the two people who knew her best—and they didn’t think she had a choice.

You can’t help it. You are who you are.

They thought she couldn’t help but spread her poison.

And remembering the rage that had coursed through her as she slept, Harper couldn’t help but wonder: Maybe they were right.

I was right. I
knew
I was right
.

Miranda stuffed the last Hershey’s Kiss into her mouth and checked the clock. Six thirty A.M. She’d now official y been up al night—and had the empty bags of candy to prove it.

She’d actual y gone to bed early, craving those moments before sleep when she was free to think about anything she wanted, and she could let her mind wander to Kane. In the dark she could indulge her wildest fantasies about what he might say, and how they might be together.

But her mind kept veering away from happy thoughts. It took her back toward Harper—and al her lies.

He says he just likes you as a friend
.

Forget him, he’s an ass
.

You’ll never have him—just move on
.

It’s for your own good
.

Al those months, Miranda had assumed Harper was just avoiding the obvious, ugly truth: Miranda wasn’t good enough. Kane was out of her league. She’d even thought Harper was being
sweet
. Such a good friend, she’d thought, to soften the blow, obscure the truth.

As if Harper knew anything about truth.

She’d taken away the one guy Miranda had ever truly wanted and handed him to Beth. She’d excused herself with one lie after another, enjoying everything she’d ever wanted while Miranda was left feeling worthless and ugly.

But now that the lies were finished and Miranda had Kane al to herself, she was certain: It wasn’t hopeless. There was something between them, even if it was only a kernel of possibility.

And what was she doing about it? Scheming and strategizing how to satisfy her deepest desires? Funneling her empty rage into a plan that would final y put Harper in her place?

Of course not.

She was eating her way through a pound of candy. She was disgusting herself.

Suddenly, Miranda felt the lump of chocolate within her transform itself into a volcano, about to erupt. She needed to purge herself of the calories and, along with them, the helplessness that must have announced to the world,
I’m nothing. Walk all over me
. She had to purify her body and herself, and then, as the sun rose, she would be ready to face the new day Face Harper. Take care of business.

Taking care of business
. Adam gritted his teeth at the memory. That’s what Kane used to say before he went out with a girl he was planning to dump.

And then he would smile, as if it real y were a business transaction. As if it were nothing.

And here I am,
Adam thought,
dwelling and agonizing and analyzing. Like a girl
.

So which of us is the freak?

He’d forgotten to shut his blinds the night before, and this morning the sun had woken him. Not that he was getting much sleep these days, thanks to her.

His blood stil boiled at the thought of the wasted hours sitting on that train in stony silence, pretending he couldn’t hear her weep behind him.

She brought this misery on herself, he reminded himself.

She wasn’t his problem anymore.

He didn’t care.

He shut his blinds and, when that didn’t make a satisfying enough sound, slammed his fist into the wal .

It hurt so much, he did it again.

No more, he thought. No more dwel ing on Harper, letting the anger drive him through the day. And, while he was at it, no more Beth. No more mooning, fol owing, begging, pleading. She didn’t want to forgive him? Fine.

He had his dignity, and it was time Beth understood that.

Forgetting how early it was, he punched in her cel number—for the last time, he told himself. It rang and rang.

“I know you’re screening,” Adam said harshly after the voice mail beep. “And don’t worry. I won’t be bothering you anymore. If you want to be a bitch about al this, fine. I’m out.” He hung up.

He’d cal ed her a bitch.

It felt good.

And, then, a moment later, it didn’t.

“Look, I’m sorry about what I said,” he began gruffly, after the beep. “You’ve just got to know, the way you’re acting—” No, that wasn’t right. He hung up again. Climbed back into bed and closed his eyes.

But he couldn’t go back to sleep.

Unfinished business and al .

“I know it’s crazy, cal ing you again, but how the hel else am I supposed to talk to you? You’re so damn sure that everything—” He hung up again, almost threw the phone across the room. This was humiliating. He hated himself for doing it. Hated her for putting him through it. And yet—

“Beth. Look, I’m sorry. Please, just cal me back. I—I love you. Please.”

I
love you
. He’d never said the words aloud. But with Kaia, he’d thought … not that he did, of course—not now, not yet. But maybe someday. Or so he’d imagined.

Just goes to show he must be even stupider than people thought.

Reed pushed the pedal to the floor and the speedometer edged up to 55.The truck couldn’t go any faster. It was a piece of shit, just like everything else in his life.

What had he been thinking, to imagine a girl like that would take him seriously? Her life was like a Ferrari—and his was a clunker that couldn’t even hit the speed limit.

The night before, he hadn’t cared. A few drinks, a few joints, and nothing mattered. But this morning, neck and back sore from sleeping on the guys’ couch, it was al he could think about. He’d been stupid enough to forget who he was and ignore who she was, and he’d let himself get burned.

His guitar rattled around in the back and, suddenly, Reed made an abrupt U-turn, his tires screeching as the truck veered around and headed off down the highway, away from town and into the desert.

He would find a quiet, empty spot and play until his voice went hoarse and his fingers bled. And maybe then he would be able to purge her from his system. Or at least purge the reckless surge of anger that shot through him every time he thought of her and what might have happened.

If only he hadn’t picked up her phone.

If only the truck would go faster.

If only he hadn’t used up al his stash.

Things were easier when you didn’t have to think.

When you didn’t have to feel.

I feel nothing,
Beth thought, watching the tiny red light flash on her phone.
I see his name flash up on the screen, again and again, and I feel … nothing
.

It was just after dawn and she was at work. These days she was always at work, she thought bitterly, plunging the first batch of fries into the deep fryer and switching on the coffeemaker. She couldn’t complain too much; it’s not like she had anywhere else to be.

The phone rang again—she stuffed it into her bag.

It was easy to hide out in the diner, losing herself in the mechanics of wiping down the counters and mopping the floors. Sometimes, she even thought she’d reached some kind of Zen state, where she could accept whatever happened and move on.

The phone rang a third time and, without warning, the wave of rage swept over her. It beat against her, pummeling her with the whys she couldn’t answer.
Why me?

That was at the top of the list.

She pictured Adam rol ing around in bed with Kaia, while they were stil together. She pictured Kane and his lying smile, touching her, stealing her trust. She pictured Harper whispering poisonous nothings in Jack Powel ’s ear. It wasn’t fair, she raged, stomping from one end of the kitchen to the other.

And when another part of her responded:
Life isn’t fair,
it only fueled her anger.

Beth began refil ing the ketchup jars, wiping off the lids. And she instructed herself to calm down. She’d never felt like this before, so helpless and so powerful at the same time, and she didn’t know what to do with it, or how she was supposed to get herself under control.

Maybe deep breaths.

Counting to ten … or a hundred.

Closing her eyes, sitting down, forcing her body to chil .

It al might have worked—but instead, she tightened her grip on the ketchup bottle, and then, without thinking, flung it across the room. It shattered against the wal , spraying glass through the air and leaving a garish smear of red dripping down the stained tile.

Beth should have felt horrified or panicked, afraid of herself—or for herself.

But she didn’t.

She just felt better.

Reed was al about avoiding the hassle. School sucked, but it’s not like there was anything you could do about it, right? So he floated along, attending the occasional class, laying low, sneaking out for a smoke when it al got too much. He stayed under the radar. That would have been his motto, if he’d ever bothered to formulate one.

That, also, was too much effort.

So when they pul ed him out of class, he was stumped—and also a bit stoned, which wasn’t helping matters. He hadn’t done anything. He never did anything. So why haul him down to the vice principal’s office and stick him in front of the administrative firing squad?

Best not to speak until spoken to. More words to live by.

So Reed slouched in the low-backed wooden chair and stared at them: the principal, the vice principal, that French teacher al the girls were so hot for. They didn’t scare him.

And then his father stepped into the office.

Shit.

“If you admit what you’ve done, I may be inclined to go easier on you,” the vice principal final y said.

He’d done nothing, so he said nothing. And he tried not to look at his old man.

“Mr. Powel found the evidence,” the vice principal continued. “You can’t just weasel out of this one, Mr. Sawyer. Just tel us why you did it. And who helped you.” Reed laced his fingers together and put them behind his head, sliding down in the chair. He didn’t have to speak out loud for them to receive his message:
Get to the point
.

“Does this look familiar?” Vice Principal Sorrento dropped a can of spray paint onto the desk. “Mr. Powel received a tip that led us to search your locker. Imagine our surprise when we found a number of these.” He pursed his lips, as if it pained him to continue. “It’s obviously what you used to doctor the bil board.”

“I don’t know anything about that.” Damned if they were going to pin that lame stunt on him. As if he’d waste his time. If Reed wanted to say something, he’d say it—he wouldn’t need to hide behind an anonymous prank. And if he had nothing to say, he’d shut up.

“Are you denying that we found these cans in your locker, young man?”

Reed snorted. “For al I know, you found them up your ass.”

“If they’re not yours, perhaps you have an alternate explanation to offer?” the principal jumped in, before Sorrento could lose his shit.