Page 50 of Mercy (The Sins Trilogy 3)
A girl tugs at my wrist. “Come on, Ivy. It’s going to be fun.”
Boys. Strange liquor that fizzes.
The touch. Groping. Mint and alcohol on his breath.
Then violence. So much violence that churns my stomach. The drink in my belly roils, ready to shoot back up, but I clench my teeth. I can’t see the faces of the boys on the floor. But I can hear their moans—pain and humiliation. The same sounds they wanted me to make just moments ago.
I run from the room…the boys. I run until I hit a room full of hazy sunlight. I stop, then spot a white Steinway, the same as in Tony’s living room. My legs unsteady, I walk toward it—to the bench. If I can just sit down and rest a bit…
“Do you think you’re special? Do you think he’ll cry for you?” A blue vein stands on Margot’s forehead.
How did she get here? Her expression chills me. So much grimness. So much hate.
Her hand wraps around my left wrist. It burns. I scream, my heart racing a thousand miles an hour.Let me go. Let me go.
She doesn’t. She pulls me closer, dragging me further and further into the darkness behind her. “You need to see this! You need to see! The monster must suffer! You’re like the daughter I lost. Don’t you see?”
No. No, don’t! Fear pounds in my head. My skull is ready to split.
My free hand shakes, unsure which to clutch—my heart or head.
Margot turns to me then grips my shoulders hard. “Wake up, Ivy! It’s not real! You know that!”
“Stop! Leave me alone!”
“Ivy!”
“No!” I scream, kicking and twisting. The hands around my shoulders aren’t tight enough to hurt, but I can’t dislodge them either. I’m trapped, trapp—
“Ivy! Wake up! It’s just a bad dream.”
Bad dream. I blink.
Chaos rules my mind, and I still feel Margot’s hand around my wrist. But I’m not in that bright room with the Steinway. I’m in bed. With Tony.
The night-light is on. Cold sweat covers me like a shroud. I shudder.
“Shh… It’s okay. You’re safe.” He pulls me into his arms and strokes my back. “You’re so cold.”
“And sweaty.” I cringe.
He kisses my hairline. “Wanna talk about it?”
I start to shake my head, then stop. I do, actually. Not about the nightmare, per se, but Margot. Her outlandish claims at lunch. Her rage in my dream. I wonder if she told me those things because she’s confident I’ll never know the truth for sure. “Do you think Margot knows about my memory loss?”
“She had some dealings with Sam. So it’s possible.”
Most likely yes, because she spoke with Marty, too. He wouldn’t think anything of blabbering about how messed up I am. And he could’ve told her all sorts of horrible things about me.
Anger punches through the confusion my nightmare left behind. Would she have been so brazenly manipulative if she didn’t know I suffered partial amnesia?
“I can deal with her,” he says softly.
“No need. She isn’t important.”
I snuggle next to him and do my best not to think about Margot or anything else except the fact that he and I are together. I’m not letting Margot bend and twist me to her own ends.
