implored
me to steal pills from my father, a lethal dose, but I couldn't do it. I loved him too much to lose him forever. I was selfish, too selfish to end his misery."
"Tristen ..." I backed farther away, bumping against the wall in a room that was starting to get dark. Too dark. "Stop!" He followed my retreat, confining me in the effort to reassure me.
"You've got to understand, Jill. Grandfather
provoked
the beast inside of me, summoning it on purpose. He taunted me, calling me a coward, weak--too weak to face the truth about our family. And he spoke about the thrill of killing, talking directly to the monster, urging it to emerge, to have its way with a knife, to take its first satisfaction on
his
flesh. I begged him to stop ..." Although Tristen confessed without the slightest quiver in his voice, I saw a tear trace down his cheek, but my blood was so cold that I couldn't feel sympathy. I couldn't feel anything.
"I don't remember anything else," he said. "When I came to myself, I was at home, my hands spotless when the police arrived to say that grandfather had been found by his cleaning woman, dead in his bed, his wrists slit with a butcher knife. Suicide, they concluded." His eyes darted to the novel. "But I had the bloody book, and it had been inscribed. I tried to tell myself that, at worst, the beast had given him the knife. But I was kidding myself. Grandfather could barely use a pen, and his one arm had been cut to the
bone ..."
196
Tristen closed his eyes, grinding his palms against them, maybe shutting out the images or maybe punishing himself by crushing his broken wrist against his skull. "I've never said this aloud before. Oh, god, Jill..."
He was in agony. But I didn't reach out to him.
I used the opportunity when Tristen's eyes were closed to dart past him and run through the house, tearing out the door, jumping off the porch, and scrambling into my car. My fingers were so shaky that I seemed to take forever to lock myself in. Then I jammed the key in the ignition and pressed hard on the gas pedal, spinning out of the driveway and tearing across the grass in my desperation to get away, put space between us.
I looked back only once, checking the rearview mirror as Tristen's house got smaller in the distance.
I didn't see him standing on the porch.
I didn't think he even tried to follow me.
Chapter 59
Jill
IT HAD BEEN A LONG TIME
since I'd needed Mom to hold me while I cried. Even when Dad had died, I'd understood that she was in no shape to be strong for me. But driving home from Tristen's, fighting back tears, all I could think was
I
want my mom.
As I parked the car in the garage, I saw a light on in her bedroom, and I hurried inside, running upstairs and knocking on her closed door. "Mom?"
"Come in!"
197
I opened the door, planning to fling myself into her arms. I knew that I couldn't tell her about Tristen, not what we'd almost done that evening or what he had done in England. But I thought I could at least say I'd had a terrible day at school and needed a hug.
But when I saw her, I stopped in my tracks. "Mom?" Was she wearing a
dress?
"How do I look, Jill?" She smoothed her skirt, seeming uncertain.
"Is this okay?"
"You look great," I told her, not understanding. The dress was a black one she used to wear to nice restaurants when Dad would take her out. "Are you going somewhere?"
"Just out with friends," she said, turning her back on me and facing her mirror. "Some people from work."
"Oh." I fidgeted in the doorway, unsure, too. I still wanted to run to Mom. But she looked almost... happy. Who was I to intrude on that?
Mom must have misunderstood my mood, because she added
over her shoulder, "I hope you don't mind. I know I should try to get some extra hours at the hospital now that I'm doing better. But Frederick thinks it's important for me to have fun, too." Frederick. The beast who'd brought my mother back from the brink of oblivion. He'd healed my mother, but he was dangerous and
violent...
just like Tristen.
"Mom," I said, struggling not just with my sorrow but with sudden fear for my mom's safety, "do you think you still need to see Dr. Hyde? I mean, you seem like you're a
lot
better."
"Yes, Frederick agrees." She smoothed her hair, eyes fixed on her reflection. "I'm not seeing him professionally anymore." I was so relieved by that news and so caught up in my own misery, my heartbreak, that I overlooked one key word.
198
"I'm going to my room," I said when Mom kept staring at her reflection, seeming to forget about me. A small smile played on her lips, and I
knew
I couldn't burden her with my sadness. "I'm kind of tired," I added. "I might go to bed early."
"Okay, Jill." Mom flipped open her jewelry box, chose an earring, and stuck the post into her ear. "I'll see you in the morning. Keep the doors locked!"
"Sure," I agreed, closing her door as tears started to well in my eyes again. Would my mother ever be there for me again? Tristen certainly wouldn't...
I wasn't sure how I held myself together as I walked down the hall to my room. Tristen had committed murder. His secret had become my burden, had destroyed us, left me completely alone again.
When I shut myself in my room, I let the tears come flooding out, but as quietly as possible, burying my face in my pillow until Mom rapped on my door and called goodbye. When I heard the back door slam closed I really sobbed. But it didn't help. Maybe I'd cried so often in the past year that tears didn't hold the power they used to. They certainly didn't wash away the anger and the hurt. I
wouldn't
give my heart, my soul, my body to somebody who had ended a human life--especially in the bloody, violent way that my dad's life had been snuffed out.
Tristen should have been stronger, when his grandfather had begged for death.
He hadn't fought hard enough.
No. I would not love Tristen Hyde.
But the whole time I cried, a small voice inside of me kept protesting that I still
did
love Tristen.
That voice ... that's what drove me to unzip the compartment in my backpack where I'd put the stolen formula. I'd planned to 199
give it back to Tristen, telling him that I wasn't sure how it had wound up with me. But that nagging voice, the devil on my shoulder, the opposite of my conscience--which insisted that loving Tristen was
wrong
--it was that voice that made me pull out the stopper and take a sip.
I just wanted to silence that voice. Maybe for a few hours. Maybe for
forever.
Or did I want something else, like the freedom to be bad and wrong that the voice represented? Because I was in such pain, I
wanted
to do something bad. Maybe even hurt somebody else, the way I hurt.
I guess my reasons didn't really matter as I fell to the floor, clutching my stomach, feeling the wicked pain course through my veins, shattering me and setting me free.
Chapter
60
Jill
THE DOUBLE ESPRESSO
feels hot going down my throat. The new bra feels soft against my breasts. The stolen thong feels--"What the hell are you doing here, Jekel?"
I smile up at Todd Flick, wondering what took him so long to
approach me. What a gorgeous, detestable piece of shit he is.
"What? Is this seat reserved for guys who lick Darcy Gray's
shoes?"
Flick stops smirking and his pretty eyes flash. "What's up with you
lately?" he demands. "If you think having
Hyde
as a
boyfriend
suddenly makes you cool, you are so wrong. That guy is
nothing."
"He beat you up, didn't he?" I laugh, pointing to Flick's arm. "So
what does that make
your"'
200
"Hey--"
"And let's face it." I hold my hands about ten inches apart.
"Tristen's twice the man you are in other ways, too."
"You bitch, "Flick snaps. "That's bullshit!"
"Not according to the talk at school. I heard Darcy complain that
you're small--and you don't know how to use it, anyway."
"Shut up!" he cries. "Darcy never said that!"
"Look, Todd. It doesn't matter to me. I'll never have to endure
your groping and grunting. Thank God."
"You couldn't handle me!"
I laugh. "What? Would it slip right through my fingers?" He stands
mute, jaw flapping, so I down my espresso, plunk the cup on the
table, and shove past him, making sure my tits graze his chest.
He watches me all the way to my car.
Chapter 61
Jill
I WOKE UP
sprawled on top of my covers ... and wearing new clothes. I felt them before I even saw them. A wire from the bra poked into my rib cage, and it felt like there was a string running between--Oh no. I tugged at a tight skirt, trying to dislodge that string. What had I done? It was all hazy, like a dream I could barely recall. Rolling out of bed, I ran to the mirror. My face looked the same, but my clothes ... Where had I gotten them? I didn't have money for new clothes!
My eyes darted to my backpack. The formula. I remembered drinking some ...
201
Sweat trickling down my back, I tore off the outfit and fumbled to check the labels, sucking in my breath when I saw the designer names. I glanced at my chest. And the bra ... It was pushing my breasts together so my A-cups looked like they belonged in
Maxim.
Had I
stolen
all this stuff? I couldn't remember ... My pulse raced and my head thumped. What else had I done?
Where had I gone looking like that? Had anybody seen me?
I jammed the clothes into the back of my closet and hurried to the shower, where I scrubbed my skin until it was raw, like I could erase what I might have done. Then I put on my usual clothes and stole out of the house early, before I could see my mom. Had I run into her last night? Talked to her? Was I in
trouble?
And what would happen at school? Had I seen kids from school?
Maybe ...
I walked in the sunlight, gulping deep breaths of cold, fresh November air, trying to figure out what I would say if anybody mentioned seeing me. I also tried not to think about how I had felt wearing those clothes or wonder why I'd shoved them in my closet instead of the trash can at the back of our yard.
Chapter 62
Jill
I WAS IN ART CLASS
clipping my junior year photo to the edge of my canvas so I could begin adjusting the eyes on my
self-portrait for what seemed like the millionth time when a strange, uneasy hush fell over the room. In seconds all of the chatter that always went on while we set up our easels simply stopped.
202
Without even looking, I knew that Tristen had joined us, uninvited. My hand fell to my side, and I turned to see that Tristen was indeed standing in the doorway staring straight at me while everybody else gawked at
him.
I shook my head, trying to tell him to leave, but he came toward me, ignoring my teacher's disapproving look.
"Tristen," Miss Lampley said but without much authority. I think, like everybody else, she was leery of the gash on his face, the crude bandage, and his tired, hunted, but determined expression.
"I don't think you should be here."
I shot her a dismayed look. Did she really think that halfhearted attempt would stop Tristen Hyde from doing anything?
"This will just take a minute." Tristen overrode her, continuing to cross the room, stepping around students who watched his progress with wary interest, moving aside if he came too close.
"Tristen, go, please," I hissed when he reached me. He didn't listen to me, either, and tried to take my arm. "Jill--" I pulled away, warning, "Don't touch me."
"Fine," he agreed, crossing his arms. "As you wish."
"Why are you here?" I asked, focusing on my canvas, where the innocent girl I'd been the previous year was smiling her not-quite-right smile. "What do you want?"
"The contest," he said.
I actually laughed a little. "There's no contest. That's
over,
Tristen."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Miss Lampley had stepped closer, monitoring him. I also saw Tristen turn slightly to face her for a second.
She took a step back, and Tristen turned back to me.
203
"No matter how you feel about me," he said, "you need the money, and we
know
our experiment works. We could still win."
"I don't care about the money," I lied, even though I was still paying the bills late.
"We could start working during the day," he added. "You wouldn't have to be alone with me."
I choked a little, and turned my face more squarely away from him. I wanted to be alone with him ... But I didn't want that at all.
"It doesn't matter, Tristen," I said. "We're not doing the contest."
"Jill." He spoke my name so firmly that, although I didn't want to look at him, I did.
"What?"
"I made a bargain with you," he reminded me. "You helped me; now I
will hold
up my end of the deal."
"Tristen, we haven't even thought about the presentation," I said, voice cracking, and not because I was sad about the pathetic state of our abandoned project. "How would we present what we learned in public?" And it wasn't exactly the contest entry I was talking about when I concluded, near tears, "We have
nothing,
Tristen."
Even though I'd told him not to touch me, he clasped my upper arm and leaned closer. "We can do this, Jill," he said. "You know we can." He squeezed my arm. "We can beat Darcy and everyone else. You and I are smart enough to use what we've learned and win."
I should have yanked my arm away again, but I didn't. Darcy ... I wanted to beat her. And I did still want the money.
And I did want to
win.
"All right," I agreed, pulling away from him then, decisively. "But we'll work during school hours, and this time I'll be in charge, because it's my money. You said so."