Page 123 of The Deceptions
Something that feels like relief slams into my gut. Why? I haven't a damn clue. No part of me should feel anything for them anymore. They betrayed me. Murdered me, for fuck's sake! So, why is my skin crawling at the sight of Hux peering down at Amanda? Do the others join in, too? Like they did with me?
Hux flexes his muscles, and irritation passes over his face when Amanda and her posse come in for the kill. I swallow hard when Amanda wraps her arms around Hux and hugs him tightly. Something in my chest cracks. She's living my fucking life. The one I was supposed to live before I died. Those were my friends. My companions. Fuck, my lovers. Not anymore, though. I know that. But it's still an odd sensation to me.
I loved them. Now, I hate them. But I can't hate them so much that I let it cloud my investigation. This is who I am now. Apparently, who I was supposed to be all along. Comfort should wrap me in a warm blanket at night, knowing I escaped the fate I dreaded from childhood. I should feel something like relief. I guess I did for a little while. I had to look on the bright side when I lay in the hospital, miserable after the fire had torn through my skin, and I was left to rot.
My fingers curl into fists as I continue to watch the two canoodle against the tree. Amanda looks like she's victoriously won. A smile tilting up her lips. The way her hair hangs over her shoulders as she lifts her chin. Huxley, on the other hand? Helooks downright miserable. He's not touching her the way she's touching him. But he can't seem to shake her off. Not that he's trying very hard to stop her hands from roaming over his bare, tattooed chest. He takes it. Every touch. Every caress. Every fucking thing she does to him.
He hates her.
It sits there, slithering in his gaze and clenched jaw.
And how fitting is that? A man who murdered his best friend, for whatever reason I've never deduced, is being forced to marry the woman he claimed to hate in high school. But did he? Everything I knew about him, JJ, and Mack was obviously lies. They cared for me, sure. But did they feel the same bone-deep love I felt for the three of them?
Or was it all a charade to get to their endgame of holding a knife to my throat while wearing dark masks and ending me so cruelly? The only indication I had of them was the color of their eyes staring back at me. Like they were strangers.
Gasoline fumes fill the air as Hux, JJ, and Mack work around the corners of my living room, dousing every inch with the flammable liquid.
"Please," I gasp out, reaching for them with bloodied hands that once held the oozing wound on my throat. "Please don't leave me like this. I love you!" I shout, my voice falling flat from the cut along my throat.
I swear, the world spins when they stand tall, looking down at me with those venom-filled eyes. Moss green. Golden brown. Blue.
"Yeah? Well, we don't, " Hux says in a deep, raspy voice and clears his throat. "Die knowing we used you."
Used me?
My head thunks to the floor. All my strength leeches out of me when the flames start, roaring to life and taking everythinghostage. My world goes black, pulling me into the nothingness I want to belong in.
"Hey, Oli?" Simon murmurs in my ear, drawing me back to the damn present.
Moisture blooms in my eyes, but I quickly blink it away. The last thing I need is to be the guy having flashbacks in the middle of the graveyard and crying. So not good for my disguise. Even though everyone cries, damn it. Even men. And me.
"Yeah?" I ask, clearing my throat.
He offers me a soft smile. Almost like he knows what's going through my head, but he doesn't. No one does. Because no one else was there except me, the three of them, and Franco.
"Was just going to see if you wanted another drink? I was going to grab one over here." Simon points to the coolers filled with beer bottles and more margaritas in a can. A large keg sits off to the side, too. People fill their cups, laughing and slightly spilling them like they're already feeling the effects.
"Yeah, thanks." He takes my empty can that I don't remember drinking and takes it to the recycling bin next to the bottles. I wonder if they have to be careful throwing parties here? Probably. I mean, who lets college kids throw a big bash at the cemetery?
I take this moment to drift off to the sidelines. Simon follows my movements before he bends down and grabs two more drinks. Another guy I've never seen before approaches him with a shy smile, and they begin an animated conversation, breaking through the awkwardness that had been there. That's alright. I don't mind him getting distracted one bit. It gives me time to take everything in and examine the party as a whole.
I swallow hard when I drift closer to my grave, sitting beside my sister, Sophia, and my mother, Espie—two more innocent souls who didn't make it out alive at the hands of Franco. I shake my head, trying not to lose myself like I did the first nightI was back. The marks of my attack still sit on the headstone, scratching out the numbers that seem to mean so much to Huxley. But I can't figure out why he's clung to the numbers for so many years. I'm dead to him. Forever. I'm never coming back.
My gaze strays to him. They've moved to a more secure corner, away from my grave. They're huddled together, deep in another conversation. Determination settles on their faces, and they nod a few times. If only I could hear what they're saying. It would clue me in to whatever is going on here. An overwhelming feeling takes me over. What if I don't succeed here? Was this all for naught?
Ugh.
I rub my temple, squeezing my eyes shut. I need to stop spiraling down the drain. It's not good for my health. Especially here. So, I force my eyes open, seeking out the one companion I hope to reconnect with. I nearly startle when a four-legged figure moves through the shadows and comes up beside me with apprehension. His warm brown eyes take me in from head to toe, inspecting who I am now.
"Waffles," I murmur, holding out my hand for him to sniff.
The wetness of his nose nudges against my hand, and a deep whine breaks free from his throat. His long, blond tail wags, ruffling the leaves littering the graveyard. He whines more, getting more desperate to lick my face.
Kneeling, I run my hand down his head and onto his neck, gently petting him. "How are you, boy?" I whisper, earning a lick to my cheek and a harder thump of his tail. "That good, huh? I can't believe you're still wandering around." A genuine grin spreads across my cheeks at the memories I have with Waffles. He was always there, following us around. Even when Franco caught on to the dog we found and adopted as our own, he didn't bother him. Waffles proved his loyalty to the family time and time again, snuffing out the bad guys. "Such a good boy," I coo,earning another lick and an excited yip. I chuckle lowly, trying to keep our reunion concealed, but it doesn't last long.
"Waffles," JJ hums, snapping his fingers repeatedly until he stops dead in his tracks and his eyes widen at the sight of us. I swear his breath catches in his throat when his lips flap.
"Waffles?" I ask, continuing to pet the dog everyone deemed as a guard dog. Of course, they don’t have the history I do with Waffles. And it seems, dogs don’t forget. Even the people who have died. "You know they serve waffles at the diner all day?" I say without thinking, remembering what JJ said to me when I declared the dog’s name was waffles.
