Page 5 of Her Name in Red
The whispers grow louder, swirling around us like poison. “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.” I want to scream at them to shut the fuck up, but my throat feels tight, choked with words I can't say.
“Speak her name in a mirror, and she'll appear,” some asshole mutters as he walks by. I clench my fists, fighting the urge to knock his teeth out.
Maren doesn't flinch this time. She just stands there, taking another long drag. The smoke curls around her face like a veil, making her look even more ghostly. Her eyes never leave mine, and I feel like I'm drowning in them. They're the color of a storm-tossed sea, like those damn North Sea videos.
“Look into her eyes too long, and you'll drop dead,” a girl whispers to her friend as they hurry past. I want to tell themthey're wrong. But are they? There's something in her gaze that makes my heart stutter, makes my breath catch in my throat.
“She's cursed. She's crazy.” The words echo across the quad. Maybe they're right. Maybe Maren is cursed. Maybe we both are.
My fingers twitch at my sides, itching to reach out and touch her. Maren tilts her head slightly, just like she did that night a year ago. It's a small gesture, barely noticeable, but it hits me like a freight train. Something inside me snaps, and suddenly I'm drowning in memories.
I want to go to her. No, I need to go to her. My feet feel like they're made of lead, but I force myself to take a step forward. The whispers fade into white noise as I focus on Maren, on the curve of her neck and the way her lips part slightly as she exhales another plume.
I want to hear her say my name. I wonder if her voice still sounds the same—that husky, slightly raspy tone that used to make my skin tingle. Will it be cold and empty now, like her eyes? Or will there still be a hint of the girl from before, buried beneath all that pain and darkness?
My heart's pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. I open my mouth to speak, to call out to her, but no sound comes out. It's like all the words I've been holding back for a year are stuck in my chest, fighting to get out but unable to break free.
I take another step, and another. The distance between us shrinks, but it still feels like miles.
She watches me approach, her eyes never leaving mine. There's a challenge in her gaze, daring me to come closer, to bridge the gap between us. I want to. God, I want to. But my feet won't move any faster, and time seems to stretch out infinitely.
And then, just as I'm about to reach her, just as I'm close enough to see the flecks of silver in her stormy eyes, Maren's lips curl into a smirk. It's not a happy expression. There's too much pain and bitterness behind it for that.
Before I can react, before I can finally force the words out of my throat, Maren turns on her heel. The movement is fluid, almost graceful, like a cheerleader spinning out from sticking her landing.
Just like that, she's walking off, her sneakers crunching through the leaves. Her dark hair swings with each step, hypnotizing me. I stand there, frozen, watching her retreat.
She doesn't look back. Not once.
I watch until she disappears around the corner of the science building. Only then do I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding.
The whispers are still going, but now they're about me too. I hear my name mixed in with hers, speculation running wild. I should care. I should be worried about what this will do to my carefully reconstructed reputation.
But all I can think about is the way Maren looked at me. Like she could see right through me, like she knew every dark thought I've had this past year. And that smirk…was it an invitation? A challenge?
I shake my head, trying to clear it. This is dangerous territory. Maren Marino is like nitroglycerin—beautiful, powerful, and liable to blow up in my face if I'm not careful.
Chapter 2
Maren
Isit at the dining table, my fingers tracing patterns in the condensation of my untouched drink. The ice cubes clink softly as they melt, reminding me of the sound of a knife scraping against bone. I suppress a shudder.
Celeste talks like nothing is wrong, like we're just having a normal family dinner. As if this house hasn’t seen me at my worst. Multiple times, in fact. It’s the fact that she keeps this house and stays here that really sets me on edge.
“It's been a year, Maren,” Celeste says, her voice dripping with false cheer. “Don't you think it's time to move on?”
I stare at her, wondering how she can be so fucking oblivious. The steak knife in my hand trembles slightly, and I set it down before I'm tempted to use it. Again.
The house is exactly the same. Same wallpaper, same crystal chandelier, same fucking china cabinet full of pristine plates that have never seen a real meal. It's like walking into a time capsule, and it makes my skin crawl.
But I know better. I can still see the bloodstains on the carpet, even though they've long since been cleaned away. I canstill hear the wet thud of the knife plunging into flesh, over and over and over again.
My skin crawls. I want to claw it off, peel away the layers until there's nothing left but raw, exposed nerves. Maybe then I'd feel something other than this numbing emptiness.
“Maren? Are you listening to me?”
I blink, dragging my attention back to Celeste. She's staring at me expectantly, her perfectly manicured nails tapping an impatient rhythm on the table.
