Page 280 of Satan's Spawn
Which happens to be as Crayton is over me again attempting to remove my shirt.
“We should talk,” I tell him, pushing the tank top down.
“No more talking.” He grunts. “I’ve been trying and failing to avoid it for over twelve hours.”
“But…”
“No ‘but’ Rebecca,” he rolls off me. “I don’t want to think about what’s about to happen to me.”
“You don’t know anything will happen.” I try to reason.
He covers his face with his hands. “You seriously don’t get it.”
“Get what, Crayton?”
He shoots up to a sitting position, twisting to face me. “That life isn’t all rainbows and palm trees like you think it is. It’s fucked up, and cruel, and sometimes kids get raped by their mothers because of it.” He launches a pillow across the room. “Or serves sweet justice by having murderers go to prison for the murders they didn’t commit.”
“You think I don’t know how cruel life is?” I shout, rising to my knees and stabbing a thumb into my chest. “I lost the only man in the world who will ever love me.”
The twitch in Crayton’s eye tells me he got the reference.
“Instead of dancing with my father at my sweet sixteen, I was picking up my mother off the ground as we buried him. Then proceeded to lose some of my best years taking care of her as she spiraled.” My voice raises several octaves as I add, “AndnowI may be losing the only man I’ll ever love besides my dad. All because of some piece of shit who rapedme.” Plopping back on the mattress, I fold my arms with a huff. “So don’t talk to me about life’s cruelty…because I’m still getting knocked down by it every day.”
“I’m sorry, Little Ghost.” He crawls to my side, scooping me up in his arms. “I know this shit is hard on you too.”
“I am not the enemy, Crayton.” I curl deeper into him. “The world is...”
He looks down at me, content as he says, “Then it’s me and you against it.”
* * *
Crayton’s been pacingback and forth for over thirty minutes with his cell phone glued to his ear. Cillian was kicked out after fifteen of them, since all he kept doing was ordering Crayton to let him speak to Micah.
“What the fuck do you mean? That’s impossible.” Crayton kicks his dresser. “There’s no fucking way.”
“What’s going on?” I whisper, so Crayton puts the phone on speaker, where I hear Micah rambling mid sentence.
“My buddy in forensics said they found it in the crevice of your knife. Dried up but it was there.”
Crayton presses a palm to his forehead and spits out a “Fuck.”
“What did they find?” I ask them both, but only Crayton responds.
“Fucking blood, Rebecca. That’s what.”
“How? Your knife hasn’t been…used…since the dance.”
I’m aware of how bad it sounds saying that nonchalantly, but Crayton and Micah don’t seem phased by it one bit.
Okay, maybe Micah does.
“I didn’t hear that.” He whimsies. “Anyway, doesn’t matter, if the test comes back positive for Felix’s blood it’s enough for murder charges.”
Panic has my body launching off the bed. “What do you mean? We all know it was missing.”
“Yes…but what matters is what you prove…and Crayton only told you and Saint it was gone. His best friend and his girlfriend. You can guess how well that’ll go over in court.”
Any spark left in Crayton’s eyes dissipates with Micah’s words, leaving nothing but silent distance between him and the conversation, so I snatch the phone to take over.
