“Chloe.” Our faces are close, foreheads pressed together. He looks at me like he wants to pull away, like he should pull away, but instead, his hand finds its way to my leg, then up my arm and into my hair. Before long, he’s kissing me back, his lips pushed hard onto mine, his fingers grabbing at anything they can find. I snake my own hands through his hair before working my way down the buttons on his shirt, his pants. I’m in college again, throwing myself at another beating heart to make my own feel less alone. He lays me down gently, his body pressed against mine, his thick arms raising my hands above my head, pinning my wrists into place. His lips work their way down my neck, my chest, and for a couple minutes, feeling Aaron slide inside of me, I let myself forget.
It’s dark outside when we’re finished, the only light coming from the dim glow of the bedside table. Aaron is lying beside me, his fingers playing with my hair. We haven’t spoken a word.
“I believe you,” he says at last. “About Daniel. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Yeah, I do.”
“So you’ll go to the police tomorrow?”
“Aaron, they won’t believe me. I’m telling you. I’ve been starting to think—” I hesitate, turn to the side, so I’m facing him. He’s still staring at the ceiling, a silhouette in the dark. “I’ve been starting to wonder if maybe I need to go see him. My father.”
He sits up, leans his bare back against the headboard. His head swivels to face mine.
“I’m just starting to think that maybe he’s the only one with answers,” I continue. “Maybe he’s the only one that can help me understand—”
“That’s dangerous, Chloe.”
“How is it dangerous? He’s in prison, Aaron. He can’t hurt me.”
“Yes, he can. He can still hurt you from behind bars. Maybe not physically, but…”
He stops, runs his hands over his face.
“Sleep on it,” he says. “Promise me you’ll sleep on it? We can decide tomorrow. And if you want me to go with you, I will. I’ll talk to him with you.”
“Okay,” I say at last. “Okay, I will.”
“Good.”
He flings his legs out of bed, leaning over to grab his jeans from the floor. I watch as he shimmies them on and walks into the bathroom, flipping on the light. I shut my eyes, hearing the squeak of the faucet, the rush of running water. When I open them, he’s walking back into the bedroom again, a glass of water in his hand.
“I have to go for a while,” he says, pushing it in my direction. I grab it and take a sip. “My editor hasn’t heard from me all day. Are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, rolling back onto my pillow. I watch as Aaron looks down, his eyes landing on something on the floor. He leans over and picks up my Xanax bottle, still resting at the top of my bag.
“Do you want one of these? To help you fall asleep?”
I stare at the bottle, the collection of pills inside. Aaron shakes them gently, his eyebrows lifting, and I nod, extend my hand.
“Would you judge me if I took two?”
“No.” He smiles, opening the cap and dumping two in my palm. “You’ve had a hell of a day.”
I inspect the pills in my palm and toss them back, swallowing them down with the water, feeling each one tear down my esophagus like jagged nails trying to claw their way back up.
“I can’t help but feel responsible,” I say, leaning my head against the headboard. I’m thinking of Lena. Of Aubrey. Of Lacey. Of all the girls whose deaths are on my conscience. Of all the girls I have inadvertently lured into the hands of a monster—first, my father. And now, Daniel.
“You’re not responsible,” Aaron says, sitting on the edge of the bed. He lifts his hand and brushes it through my hair. The room starts to spin gently, my eyelids begin to droop. When I close my eyes, an image from my dream flashes into my mind—me, standing beneath my childhood window, holding a shovel covered in blood.
“It’s my fault,” I say, my words slurred. I can still feel Aaron’s hands, warm on my forehead. “All of it, my fault.”
“Get some sleep,” I hear him say, almost like an echo. He leans down to kiss my forehead, his lips sticking to my skin. “I’ll lock the door behind me.”
I nod once before feeling myself drift away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I wake up to the sound of my phone vibrating on the bedside table, shaking violently across the wood until it tips over the side and clatters to the floor. I open my eyes, groggy, and squint at the alarm clock.