Page 85 of Play Dirty
Michaela takes a deep breath in. “June was afraid, not of Nico but of Brad.” She steps closer. The name lands like a thunderclap. “I saw them in the library. The video wasn’t actually of Asher, behind her. It’s Brad. I’m sure he was messing with her, but I have no proof, only what I heard.” Her voice cracks. “I didn’t think anything of it then, but then the video. The Pulse… the lies...” She inhales sharply. “It’s Brad. I know it’s him.”
My knees nearly buckle. My lungs won’t fucking work.
“You didn’t turn in a killer,” she whispers. “You turned in someone who is innocent.”
Lightning flashes overhead as I stand there, soaked and shattered.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper.
“Now you do.” She says. “So fix it. Don’t let him get away with it.”
With that, she walks away, and I stay. My gaze moves towards the sky as it rumbles. I cry in the rain with nothing left inside me but the devastating truth.
Nico
I toss and turn on the cold cot. They have the audacity to call a bed. I wasn’t expecting a firm mattress, but this is just the icing on the cake. The cell is cold, and it stinks. The guys besides me won’t stop fucking talking, and no one will give me any answers.
Nothing.
I would say the temperature within this small space bothers me, but it doesn’t. The kind of cold that I’m talking about is the one that lives inside me, right behind my ribs. Where my heart used to be.
They haven’t asked me any questions either… nothing. Just left me here to wait.
Wait for what?
For proof of a crime I didn’t commit? Punishment? For someone to believe me?
I stare at the concrete wall across from me, cracked and grey. Like me.
I close my eyes and all I see is her face.
Shiloh.
I don’t see the version I kissed or the way that she trembled beneath my touch. I see the version that I watched. That left.
The version who used me… that stripped me bare, only to hang me out to rot. She chose to believe whatever version of the truth she managed to conjure up and silence me without a thought.
Shiloh
By the time I make it back to the dorm, I’m drenched to the bone— my hair clings to the back of my neck, my shoes squelch with every step. My body is simply too numb to care, until I spot a black bubble mailer sitting on the doormat. My pace quickens– my head darting to the sides, trying to find the person who left it there.
It looks like a package, but I’m not expecting anything.
My pulsespikes as I draw closer. Slowly, I bend to grab it. Inside, it's hard, nothing soft – no package labeling. Unlocking the door, I step inside. The silence is jarring, but if the package didn’t leave me startled, the box on my bed does.
I contemplate walking out — but I'm done being scared… I want the truth. I’ll start with the only certainty I know.
Brad.
Slowly, I walk over to the bed, closing the door behind me. My hand shakes as it moves towards the red bow resting over the white box. My heart slams into my ribs as my fingers hover over the edge before ripping the top off.
Inside the larger box, there is a smaller white one, sleek and luxurious.
I open it.
Inside, there’s a folded note with a delicate black lace mask with sharp edges like wings. And beneath it… a black slip dress. Silk and backless, with a slit running up the side. There's also a note. Focusing on it, I open the envelope. It is handwritten, ink smudged slightly as if it had been sealed in a hurry.
‘Only if you plan on getting your hands dirty. Tonight at eleven. Velarium.’ - Anonymous
