The Killing Kind Page 12

  It’s true. I’m a ridiculous person. Like I’m the boiled-down cliché essence of every tortured fucking goth kid ever. I hate being a TYPE. A fucking category. But I am. I fucking AM, man. The only thing distinguishing me from the rest of Team Gloom is my look. I’ve got that All-American Girl thing happening. I was sort of proud of that. Thought it set me apart. It was the best disguise fucking EVER. No one could ever guess the truth about me or see the darkness inside.

  WRONG.

  I for sure thought I was fooling the fuck out of my parents. Especially my mother. I always thought she was fucking stupid and clueless, what with that bland, pleasant way of talking, sounding like a fifties housewife. Barely a working brain cell in her bubble head, I thought. Until today. Because it turns out the joke was on me.

  This is a lot of beating around the bush. The thought of actually writing it down makes me start shaking again. But fuck it, I’ll just spit it out. Came home from school and right away knew something fucked was happening. First clue was the extra cars parked outside. Came inside and saw all these serious-looking old fucks. I thought somebody had died. A grandparent, maybe. I got a little nervous and started psyching myself up to fake some grief. But then Dad gets up and says some shit that went something like, “Honey, we don’t want you to be mad, because we love you and this is all about how much we totally fucking love you, honey, and holy fuck, but we are so fucking worried and we just want to help you, okay?” And Mom starts bawling.

  And suddenly I get what this is. This is one of those intervention things. So I start yelling at them, becoming a fucking profanity machine. But their bullshit goes on and on. Nobody’s here to judge you, sweetie, they tell me. Could you please calm down, could you please fucking calm down? But I keep yelling. I’m fucking screaming. They’re not here to JUDGE me!? Who are they fucking kidding!!!?

  After a while some of them got all pissed off too and pretty soon everybody was screaming. The relatives. Some neighbors. Our family fucking doctor, for fuck’s sake. I was surprised a priest wasn’t there to conduct an exorcism. Seriously. That’s how crazy this whole overblown thing is. The hysteria just kept building and building until Dad slapped the shit out of me.

  No shit. I am not kidding. The bastard walloped me. And I got sent to my room, just like a little kid. That’s where I am now. Waiting. Fucking scared shitless how this is gonna work out. I can hear them all down there. Talking about me. Nobody’s gone. Somebody’s crying. Probably you’re wondering what this is all about. It all goes back to that video I uploaded. Yeah, that one. The rabbit thing. Some parent got wind of it and sent Dad a link. He started putting this whole intervention debacle together as soon as he saw it. He asked around about me. Talked to my friends. Somebody out there spilled some more of my secrets.

  I thought I could trust most of you. Thought making this a private journal would prevent shit like this. Guess I learned my lesson, huh? Somebody reading this has a big fucking mouth. I wish I knew who. Really. Because I’d fucking kill you. For real. Post a comment with your confession and I’ll be out the window and on my way to slit your fucking throat faster than you can say, “I’m a miserable, worthless fucking snitch who should be gutted like a pig.”

  This is the last entry most of you will see. I’m deleting everybody I don’t totally fucking trust tonight. FUCK YOU DIE!!!!!!!

  Note: Above entry contained seventy-three responses before the journal owner locked it. A sampling follows below.

  lord_ruthven: You do need help and you know it. This had to happen.

  Mixedupgirl: Fuck. I knew it was you. YOU’RE DEAD.

  lord_ruthven: Threats don’t scare me, Julie. You should know that by now. And anyway, your snitch is somebody else. I’d tell you otherwise. You should know that, too.

  Mixedupgirl: Yeah. I guess I do, at that. But I still fucking hate you.

  lord_ruthven: So delete me.

  Mixedupgirl: No. I can’t. And YOU should know that.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  March 23

  The world was spinning as she began to emerge from the haze, consciousness returning in slow, painful degrees. She was in a bed. She wasn’t alone. Someone was snoring. A warm body pressed up against her back. She pried her eyes open and saw that she was hanging over the side of the bed, one arm dangling toward the floor. A tall bottle of vodka sat on the carpeted floor, just out of arm’s reach. It was empty. She turned her head and saw more empty bottles. Her head was pounding, a relentless throb that made her want to cry. She heard music. Lady GaGa gave way to the Ting Tings. Emily had plugged her iPod into a dock at some point and it was still playing. Zoe looked at the vodka bottle. She considered grabbing it and throwing it at the dock, but just thinking of the effort it would require made her stomach roll. Then the memories of the evening’s debaucheries began to surface, and she groaned again.

  Jesus, what a night…

  She felt a hand on her hip. Long, manicured nails indented her skin. Bare breasts pressed against her back. Emily’s breath was warm on her neck. The slow, regular sound of her breathing indicated she was still asleep. And that was good. Because Zoe wasn’t quite ready to face her friend. Maybe would never be ready. Images from the night before taunted her. Riding Joe’s erect cock while Emily groped her body. Emily penetrating her with a strap-on dildo

  (Holy fuck, did that really happen?)

  from behind. The rest of the evening was a blur of booze, cocaine, and more sex. She couldn’t keep her hands off Joe. It’d been so long since she’d touched another guy and she just couldn’t get enough. And Emily was only too happy to allow her to have her way with her man. They stayed up for hours and hours. The sun came up and they kept going. Eventually, though, the sheer quantity of booze consumed overwhelmed the coke. Zoe didn’t remember passing out, but she knew it couldn’t have been that long ago.

  The digital clock on the nightstand near her head showed the time as 8:19 a.m. How long had she slept? An hour? Maybe two? Jesus. She thought of Chuck and felt a dim sense of alarm. She had been gone all night. He must have come home and wondered where she was. Had he come snooping around during the night? Things had been crazy, but she was sure they’d never been interrupted. And the blinds were shut tight. No one could know what was going on in here.

  On the other hand…

  She stared at the empty vodka bottle again for several long moments before shifting her focus to the array of brown and green beer bottles scattered all about. Someone had made a booze run during the night, but she had no idea who had done it. And if she couldn’t remember that, what else might she be forgetting?

  Oh fuck…

  She started panicking. Maybe Chuck had come by during the night after all. He hadn’t been happy with her last night, but he wouldn’t just ignore her absence, not for this long. He would have worried. He would have come looking for her. She thought of him coming into the room and seeing her bouncing up and down on his best friend’s dick. She cursed her stupidity. Yes, she’d been upset last night. Had been upset and anxious for a while. But that didn’t excuse what had happened. Bottom line, this whole escapade was a colossal lapse in judgment. She had no business letting something like this happen—not, at least, until she was well and truly done with Chuck.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up slowly, groaning as the ache in her head flared brighter. She whimpered and scanned the floor for her clothes. The pain was bad, but the need to get dressed and out was more intense. It wasn’t just the need to see Chuck and know the full extent of the damage done. That reluctance to face Emily after the things they’d done together was growing by the moment, verging on becoming something much more intense. Fuck. She might have to spend the remainder of the vacation avoiding all contact with her best friend. And that sucked, but she didn’t see how she had a choice. Or…did she?

  Nobody forced you to do any of those things.

  This was undeniably true. She had come to this room of her own free will.

  Guess wha
t else? You fucking loved every second of it.

  Also true. Acknowledging this only intensified her conflicted emotions. There were implications in last night’s mad romp she wouldn’t be ready to deal with for a long time.

  So, yeah, she needed to be gone from this fucking den of iniquity, but where were her fucking clothes? She got to her feet and shakily wandered about the room. Her shorts and halter were in a pile of discarded clothes on the other side of the bed, mixed in with Emily’s clingy black dress and Joe’s jeans and underwear. She stooped to retrieve her things from the pile and let out a startled yelp as a fist thudded against the other side of the closed door. A voice called out her name. Female. Annalisa? The knock came again, louder, much more insistent. The voice became shrill as it called out her name again and then Emily’s name.

  Zoe groaned and managed to croak out a husky reply. “Hold on!”

  She hopped into the shorts, the effort causing her to fall against the wall behind her. The insistent knock came yet again. Louder. Faster. Harder. Just like the relentless beat of the club music spewing from Emily’s iPod. Zoe wanted to scream. It was all too much. She finished dressing, stabbed the iPod’s pause button, and wobbled over to the door.

  Emily stirred behind her. “Mmm…” She yawned sleepily. “What’s going on?”

  “Dunno.”

  Zoe opened the door and blinked against bright sunlight. She held a hand to her brow and squinted at Annalisa’s livid expression. “Hey. What’s up?”

  Annalisa pushed past her into the room. Her friend looked like she was about to blow a gasket. She was shaking. Zoe was pretty sure she’d never seen her quite this angry. Watching her survey the room did nothing to still Zoe’s fears. It was too easy to see it all through Annalisa’s eyes. The naked bodies. The empty booze bottles. The tray on the table with still-lingering traces of white powder smudged across its surface. All that and the odor of sex still heavy in the air.

  Annalisa turned to look at her. “So you’ve been here all night?”

  Zoe grimaced at her tone and said, “Yeah.”

  “Having a little party, right?”

  Zoe shrugged. “I guess.”

  Emily sat up in bed and stretched her arms high over her head as she yawned again. She was still nude and made no effort to cover herself. “Look, what’s the big fucking deal? Seriously. Zoe’s a grown-up. She can do what she wants. Who the fuck are you to judge?”

  Emboldened by Emily’s sharp tongue, Zoe felt a bit of her own defensiveness fade. Some of the shame seemed to vanish as well. “Yeah. So I had some fucking fun last night. So what? Nobody got hurt.”

  Annalisa did not look chastened by this reproach. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Zoe. Somebody did get hurt.”

  Zoe frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “You need to see Chuck.” She clapped a hand around one of Zoe’s wrists and began to drag her toward the door. “You need to see what happened last night while you were off playing with these creeps.”

  Emily raised a middle finger. “Fuck you too, bitch. I’ve never fucking liked you. Stupid whore.”

  Annalisa paused with her hand on the door and turned to face Emily. “I’m glad you said that, Emily. I always thought you were only pretending to like me for Zoe’s sake. Now I know.” She glanced at Zoe. “We all know.”

  Zoe’s head was throbbing again. “Can we please just stop this?”

  Emily sneered at Annalisa. “Boring cunt.”

  Zoe was pulled out into the bright sunlight. The door to her own room was standing open. She made Annalisa halt just outside the door, laying a hand on the other girl’s shoulder and turning her toward her. “Look, I’m sorry Emily was so mean. She didn’t mean any of that. I’ll…talk to her about it.”

  Annalisa’s expression softened some. “I appreciate the thought, but there’s no need to play peacemaker, Zoe. Honestly, it’s a relief. I’m so tired of the game. She’s a user. The only sad thing is how totally fooled she has you.”

  “You’re not being fair.”

  Annalisa shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. But let’s leave it for another time.” She nodded at the open door. “This needs dealing with now.”

  Zoe frowned, feeling anxious again. “Is it…really that bad?”

  Annalisa didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to—the grim look on her face said it all. Zoe’s anxiety increased as she followed her inside. The bathroom door stood open at the far end of the room. She heard water running. And an intermittent splashing sound. She brushed past Annalisa, stopped at the door, and put a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

  Chuck was in there, attired only in his jeans. He was leaning over the sink and splashing cold water on his face. He looked at her and tried to smile, an effort rendered grotesque by his swollen lips. His face was bruised and abraded in several places. There was more swelling around both eyes. His bare torso bore similar signs of abuse. Someone had kicked the living shit out of him.

  Zoe’s eyes watered. “God. Chuck…what happened?”

  He shrugged and stood up straight, gingerly patting his face dry with a white washcloth. “Got jumped outside a bar across the street at three in the morning. Couple guys in ski masks. It looks worse than it is.”

  Zoe wiped tears from her cheeks with the back of a hand. She stepped into the bathroom and cautiously touched one of the welts on his face, eliciting a small wince. “Jesus, Chuck. You poor thing. I’m sorry.”

  More tears came then, followed by a sob, then still more sobs. She was shaking. Chuck pulled her into his arms, allowing her to press her damp face against his warm neck. He stroked her hair and patted her back, whispered words of reassurance. She’d already felt pretty damn guilty, but hearing and feeling his sincerity only made it worse. She thought of what she must have been doing while Chuck was being assaulted and felt like pure shit. He’d only gone to that bar because of his frustrations with her. This was all her fault. The sobs intensified and pretty soon she was wailing like a baby. Chuck just held her and rocked her very gently, cooing in her ear until she began to calm down.

  She moved back a step, but stayed in his arms as she looked up at him and blinked away more tears. “What did the police say?”

  Chuck’s expression turned stony. “Police?”

  “You did call the cops?”

  Chuck shook his head. “No cops.”

  “Are you shitting me? You can’t be serious.”

  Annalisa snorted behind her. “Oh, he’s serious. We’ve spent the last hour going round and round on this. Got fed up and said I’d call them myself. Would’ve done it, too, except Chuckles here threatened to smash my BlackBerry into a million little pieces. Can’t have that.”

  “Why on earth wouldn’t you call the cops? They might have killed you, Chuck.” Zoe started trembling again as she said this. Because it was absolutely true. Chuck could easily have died while she was off screwing and snorting half of Colombia up her nose. The thought brought the enormity of it all home again, causing fresh tears to spill. “Oh, Chuck.”

  He cupped her face in his hands. “Hey, look at me. Listen to me, okay? I’m fine. I’m not dead. Sure, I look a mess, but it’s nothing permanent. They got my credit cards and all the cash I had, but I’ve already canceled the cards, and Dad’s wiring some money.” He forced a laugh. “How old-school is that? We’ll have to go to a Western Union. It’s kind of funny when you think about it.”

  The crease in Zoe’s brow deepened. “No, it’s not. It’s not funny at all. I want you to call the cops, Chuck.”

  “No.”

  “Goddammit. Why not?”

  “I’m trying to tell you. The money’s covered. And we’re on fucking vacation. I’m not about to let anything ruin that. The way things stand, we can still get to Myrtle Beach today and get on with having a good time. We can put this bullshit behind us and have a great vacation. Or“—a smirk indented a corner of his mouth—“I can call the cops and it’ll become this huge stinking deal.” He s
hook his head. “Fuck that. Me? I’m ready to hit the road.” He ruffled her hair. “Looks like you had a rough night, too. Take a shower. We’ll grab some breakfast and get moving again. What do you say?”

  Zoe stared at him without speaking for a long while. It was clear a part of him really believed in what he was saying. But something still didn’t feel right. He was putting a lot of effort into making this thing go away. It was odd. This was no mere petty theft he’d endured. He’d been violently assaulted.

  Still…

  Chuck had always been good at talking people into doing things his way, a talent handed down to him from his big-shot father. She had been sure she’d developed an immunity to his manipulations, but now she wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t sure about a lot of things. She stared at his wounds and her heart ached for him. Some remaining ember of the passion she’d once felt for him began to flare back to life. It was stupid, but she couldn’t help it. She looked at his beaten face and wanted to help him heal.

  Make him whole again.

  She sighed and summoned a smile. “Okay. You win. No cops.”

  He grinned, then winced in pain. “Awesome. You won’t regret this, Zoe. I promise.”

  He pulled her into his arms again and she hugged him back with all her might. She looked over his shoulder and saw Annalisa’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. There was a look of intense disapproval on her face. Regardless of the sympathy she obviously felt for Chuck today, she just as obviously still didn’t like him. It’d take more than one savage beating at the hands of masked strangers to change that.

  Zoe tilted her head and stared at the ceiling.

  There was no judgment there.

  None she could see, at least.