Page 131 of Saving Her

Another scream carries from inside the room, a heavy thud following.

“All I’m asking for is ten minutes.” Sarah twists the door handle. “I can deal with this.”

Maybe she can. Maybe it would’ve been better for her to manage the recovery from the very first day we returned from Greece. Maybe all I’ve done is fuck Penny’s life even more.

But I can’t bring myself to give Sarah permission to take over. All I can do is turn on my heels and stride back where I came from, my pride and a truckload of hostility clogging my fucking throat.

8

Penny

I throwthe bedside lamp across the room, the shade fracturing on impact, the base smashing before it falls to the carpet in fragments.

Abi’s gone.

Dead.

It’s all my fault.

I left her with a stranger.

I gave up when I should’ve been protecting her, and now her death doesn’t even make sense. She didn’t kill herself. She wouldn’t.

If the news report featured Lilly maybe I could digest the information. Lil was always the weakest. The one unwilling to fight.

But not Abigail. She had fire in her soul. Determination in her belly. She wouldn’t take her life when she’d just returned to her family.

I refuse to believe the lies, my pulse ramping higher the more my mind conjures memories of her parents on the television. Their tears. Their anguish.

I grab the bedside clock and haul it across the room, the weight thunking into the plaster to leave a dent.

The past returns to haunt me. Images of Abi pummel my mind. I can still feel her. Can still smell the sweet vanilla of her shampoo.

I yank out the top drawer of the nightstand and throw that, too, this time releasing a war cry as the projectile leaves my fingers.

The outside mania quietens the voices within. It soothes the rage. Momentarily.

I scream as I throw another drawer. And another.

“Penny?” The door opens, making me pause as Sarah cautiously glances inside. “Can I come in?”

“No,” I pant, my chest heaving.

She ignores me, walking forward, her steps cautious as she closes the door behind her.

“Get out.” I grab the last drawer in the nightstand and heft it at the wall, the hardthwackno longer bringing relief.

“Talk to me.” She continues toward me, not stopping until she reaches the side of the bed. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I shake my head, stumbling backward to the window.

I want to tear my hair out. To scratch at my eyes. To claw at my skin. I want anything and everything to take away the violence inside me, the toxicity molding into my DNA.

“What hurts the most?” she asks.

That’s the thing—I don’t even know. Is this grief? I’m not hurt. I’m livid. The anger is marrow-deep. It accompanies every inhale. Every thought. It’s in the past, the present, the future. I’m surrounded by punishment. The shadows creep closer with each heartbeat.

I let Abi down.

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