Held A New Adult Romance(58)

When Everglade came home and found us, I'll never forget the look in her eyes. It said 'You're drowning and I can't save you.' She threatened to call the police again, so I grabbed some clothes and told Justin we'd go up to Big Sur, to talk and fix things. You can tell I was in no shape to do anything of the sort - I hadn't even told him I knew he'd given me an STD, or that I was pregnant. But that was how it was with him - I'd get caught up in moments and forget about the bigger picture. We were such poison to one another that I guess it was inevitable that one or both of us would end up dead.



I toss the cigarette end out onto the roof. The sun is gone now and Jaime sits patiently in the dark, waiting to hear the next chapter of the sad, sorry mess I made of my life. He must be one of the few people in this town who doesn't know this story; I'm a legend for all the wrong reasons, like poor Sharon Tate or that Entwhistle girl who took a nosedive off the big sign, back when it still read Hollywoodland.

“He died there, didn’t he?” he asks. “Up at Big Sur?”

I nod.

"I'm sorry," I say, because I don't know what else to say. Did I take him there because subconsciously I wanted to wash it all away somehow? Or did I just panic and it was the only place I could think of to go? Either way, it was bad taste at best, downright ghoulish at worst.

I press my back to the fading warmth of the window. He sits as stiff and neutral as Dr. Stahl, and I wish I had his attention the way I had it before. How easy would it be to just walk over there, sit in his lap and start up all over again? I know I could distract him - I think he wants me almost as much as I want him - but he came here to find out the truth. And God knows I owe him that.

"The place looks good, don't you think?" I say. "You'd never know anything happened there."

"No," he says. I can see him clearly in the orangey smog glow that passes for night over Sunset. His expression doesn't alter, but then I think there's a wet glint in his eye.

"I'm sorry," I say, again. "I don't know what I was thinking, taking you to Big Sur. I don't know if I was even thinking at all."

He shakes his head. "It's okay. You were scared. I get that."

"No. It's not okay. It's fucked up."

Why can't he be like other people? Why can't he just look me up on the internet and find out the sordid details for himself? He gets up from the chair and I hear him coming closer, coming up behind me. "Amber," he says, and touches the top of my arm.

I shake him off. I know how easy it would be right now to fall into each other, do it right here on the floor. The sense-memory of his skin almost overwhelms me, like I can already feel him, his bare hips in my hands, his body sweet and solid and wholesome. Too good for me. Too good for anyone. I could love him so easily that it scares me.

"I didn't mean to do it," I say. "I had to."

"Had to what?" he says. "Drive to Big Sur?"

My throat burns with the effort of holding back a sob. I've never said this before - not in these words. There's always been a reason for it. Couched in legalese. "No," I say. "Not that. Justin."

"What about him?"

"I had to do it," I say. "I had to kill him."





Chapter Nineteen




Jaime



Did I see it coming?

Maybe. There's only so much gossip you can tune out. Deep down, all this time I knew there was something going on with Amber, something far worse than the usual rehab and eating-disorders baggage that goes along with being a Hollywood kid.

And I hate myself for wanting to draw away from her. Hate myself for thinking for even a second that she had been planning it all along. I've watched too many old movies, where the ice-cool blonde turns out to be the killer all along. She's not that blonde and she's not that cold.

"Do you believe in hell?" she says. "Damnation, pitchforks. Mortal sin. All that shit."

It's so quiet I can hear myself swallow. "I don't know. Not as much as I should, I guess."

"I thought you were a Catholic."

"I am. I never said I was a good one."

She sighs, so close to the window that her breath mists the glass for an instant. "But that's a straight to hell thing, right? Killing a person. Go straight to hell, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars?"

"I guess," I say. "I expect there are get-out clauses. Why does it even matter? I thought you were an atheist?"

She opens the window again and lights up another cigarette. Her hair looks like it could use a wash and her lower lip is chewed ragged enough to bleed, but there are still dumbass parts of me that don't care that she's crazy, don't care that she killed a man. She's still worth it.