Hate Me

“Scissors.”

My vision blurs.

My face feels hot.

A wave of nausea hits me.

My legs feel weak, causing me to sway.

Cooper grabs my arm and keeps me from falling, setting me down in a chair.

I put my hand across my forehead.

“You look like you’re going to faint. Look at me.”

I look up at him.

“Tell me,” he says.

“Vincent is sending me a message.”

“How so?”

“After he chased me in New York City, a picture of me was delivered to my mom’s hotel room. The picture had been stabbed with scissors. Have you told Garrett about any of this?”

“No, I just found out.”

“Call him. I have to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“I just have to get out of here,” I say. The training room suddenly feels very claustrophobic. “Get some fresh air.”

“Don't leave campus,” he says then tries to give me a hug.

“Don’t, okay? I’m fine. It's fine. Everything will be fine.”

Except it’s not.

It’s not fine.

At all.

I run out of the Field House, the cold air hitting my lungs and forcing me to suck in a big breath.

I wander aimlessly across campus, feeling numb.

Thinking about that poor girl.

About her poor family.

Her roommates.

Her friends.

And, mostly, that she’s dead because of me.

I find myself standing in the chapel.

No one is here, so I walk straight to the front, drop to my knees, and pray.

Pray for forgiveness.

Pray that it was a mistake.

That it had nothing to do with me.

That she didn't suffer.

I pray for her family.

For my guilt.

Then I go sit in the back.

I should be crying.

But I have no tears.

I pull my feet up on the pew, wrap my arms tightly around my legs, and rock back and forth.

My phone buzzes.

I robotically take it out of my coat pocket and look at it.

Hottie God:  Heard you went to the nurse’s office with a hamstring cramp. You need me to help you stretch?

My hands shake as I text him back.

Me:  i 

Me:  need 

Me:  you

I put my phone down and hug my legs.

Not crying.

Not moving.

Not feeling.

There is nothing.

Just.

Emptiness.

Loneliness.

Despair.

Keatyn.

I hear my name softly spoken, the noise breaking into my thoughts, but sounding very far away.

“Keatyn!”

I remain motionless, only moving my eyes toward the noise.

Aiden shakes my shoulder. “Keatyn!”

I don't move.

Instead, I start sobbing.

And sobbing.

Aiden puts his arm around me and rubs my back. “What's wrong? Are you in pain?”

I sob some more.

“I went to the field house first, but Coach Steele said you left. I texted you to find out where you were, but you didn’t reply. I checked everywhere.”

I can't speak.

I just keep crying.

A deep, emotional, guilty cry.

Aiden grabs my chin, roughly turning my head and forcing me to look at him.

“She's dead,” I whisper.

“Who's dead!?”

“Girl . . . Club . . . Stalker . . . Friend.”

“Keatyn, look at me! You need to tell me what happened!”

I shudder.

He presses his lips into my temple and whispers, “It’s okay, baby. Shhh. I'm here. It’s okay.”

His words calm me. I shudder again, but the sobs slow down.

“Tell me what happened,” he says quietly, his lips still against my face.

“Girl . . . Murdered . . . L. A.”

“Did you know her?”

“No . . . She danced at the club . . . The birthday party . . . Almost kidnapped.”

“Is this about your friend? Is she okay? Is she still safe from the stalker?”

“Yes, but. But . . .”

I sob again, unable to say it.

“Shhh,” he whispers again. He gently pushes my hair off my face, his lips never leaving my temple. “But what, baby?”

“After my friend left . . . Accidentally saw mom. Both shopping. New York City. Stalker was following Mom. Chased.”

“Chased your friend?”

“Yes. Cabs. Streets. Fast. Got away. Later. Mom. Package. Photo of friend. Stabbed with scissors.”

“How awful.”

I nod, completely agreeing with him. “The girl who . . . was killed. Like my friend.”

“And?”

“My friend did something.”

“What'd she do?”

“She went back. To the club. Knew stalker would be there. Danced. For him.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Tired of hiding. Trying to push. Get him to make a mistake.”

“I still don't understand why your friend thinks it's her fault a girl was killed. Sadly, murders happen in big cities like L. A. all the time.”

“Girl . . . stabbed with scissors.”

“Oh my god. That’s awful.”

“And . . . and . . . and.” I start crying again. “And . . . it was all my idea.”

“Take my hand,” he says, reaching out to me.

I’m still on autopilot, but my hand moves into his and he squeezes it tightly.

“Listen to me. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known it was going to happen. Everything will be okay. I’ll help you.” 

Somehow his squeezing my hand does make me feel like everything will be okay.

“I’m supposed to be somewhere. Class? Dance?”

“You’re in no shape for it.”

Aiden takes me to his room, where I lie on his bed and snuggle into his pillow, which smells just like his neck.

A few minutes later, Riley is sitting on the edge of the bed. “Cooper asked me where you are. He seemed worried.”

“I was with him—getting my hamstring stretched—when I . . .”

“I told him all about it,” Aiden tells me. “I have to get to basketball practice. Riley is going to stay with you until I get back, okay?”

He kisses my forehead and is heading toward his door when Riley squints at me. “Wait? So both you and your friend were stalked?”

Aiden freezes, turning around quickly. “What do you mean?”

My lies are unraveling before my very eyes.

“When we were in Miami, there was a guy who tried to grab Keatyn,” Riley says to Aiden.

I get tears in my eyes. Now, not only do I have to lie, but I have to lie about my lies.

“Riley, I lied.”

“Why?”

I put my hands in my face trying to figure out a new story, but my brain is fried.

Thankfully, Aiden sits back on the bed and starts telling Riley what I told him.

About my friend.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Riley asks, pushing my chin up so I have to look at him.

It’s easy to tell the truth to that question.

“I was shocked. I mean, it all happened so fast, and I was told—no, warned, sworn to secrecy—that if I told anyone about the stalker then he could find her.”

“So, where is she?” Riley asks.

I close my eyes again. “She's lost,” I say, simply stating how I feel.

“No one knows where she is?”

“They put her in witness protection, but she didn't feel safe anymore, so she left. She can’t tell me where, but she’s tired of being away from everyone she loves. Her family. Her friends. She wants her life back.”

“But what does that have to do with you?”

“It’s sort of another reason why I didn’t get to stay at my old school. She has this personal security firm that helped. They were worried that all her close friends could be in danger too. That he might hurt us to find her. It just worked out that Damian was away on tour and Brooklyn was leaving to surf. I had the option of coming here or going with my family. I chose here because I was worried about my sisters. She and I were really close. I’d be the natural target if he couldn’t find her. And, now, I’m responsible for a girl being dead because I told her it was time to stop ru