Each day, Calla and her fragile heart are that little bit closer to death... but before she goes she'll prove to the world the boy she loves is no murderer.
🖤🖤🖤
With a life steeped in wealth and privilege, Calla Pierce should be protected from t...
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Nine months earlier...
Owen is clenching his jaw as he stares down at his phone, the tension radiating off him like a heat wave. We're still sitting in the car. The amber lights from the streetlights pound down on the garages and dark road before us. The looming towers of Lazarus Heights are so high they're blocking out the sky and city - encaging us in its own universe. I turn away, staring out the window, following my senses to the sound of music and chatter throbbing a little way in the distance. Flashes of light and colour peek above the row of garages beside us - another party at the Heights. I've never been to one, and if Owen goes, he never talks to me about it. I know I only the small slither of his life that he shares with me. And I understand, for the most part anyway, why. Even if the small creeping dread passes over me when I think about how I've met none of his friends or family. When I imagine his shame at being with the broken girl, the scarred girl, the awkward and socially inept creature with a broken heart and a lifetime-sized hole where memories should be, it's like ice water is running through my veins.
We have never used words like girlfriend and boyfriend, relationship or love. We never talk about the future. Whatever we are exists permanently in the present, a relationship distilled in city lights and stars. We are long drives in Owen's borrowed car, parked in front of a beach or in the abandoned car park. Our kisses heating the cold air in the back of his car. Us sitting on the hood - my head tucked into his shoulder, his lips on my temple.
"I'm sorry, beautiful. I have something to do quickly before we go. I promise I won't be long." He's still tapping away on his phone as he says this. I'm about to voice my annoyance but when he looks up, I see so much frustration and remorse I sigh instead.
"Is that a party? Are you going to the party?"
"Yes, but not for cheap vodka and dancing. It's work."
"What's wrong with dancing?" I tease, and he looks up, smiling at me.
"Didn't take you for a dancer," he says and I shrug.
"Haven't ever really tried it. Maybe I'll like it?"
He chuckles and sits back in his seat, slipping his phone into his pocket. He leans across to kiss me, a soft, sweeping kiss that makes me melt. "Wait here. I'll be five minutes tops."
At that, he steps out of the car and heads off into the darkness. I see his silhouette against the glow of the streetlights as he cuts through the garages, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat. Minutes tick by as I wait. I message Mum, tell her about the great time I'm having at Tara's. All lies, but the guilt is so low down, so buried under the weight of my feelings for Owen that it barely registers. Each smile, each word, every kiss makes it worth it. More minutes pass by and the music seems to grow louder, the lights more vibrant. They call to me. I know he'll be mad, but that's a little of what makes it exciting.
My hand goes to the handle before I can stop it. Owen said five minutes. It had been double that and I was too curious to wait anymore. Plus, the sharp fear that his desire to keep me separate from his life was not to protect me but to protect himself from me, was a voice I couldn't quite ignore. I climb out of the car, shutting the door quietly behind me. The music swells, and the lights seem even brighter out here. The cold air licks at my cheeks, and ignoring the bubbles of unease in my belly, I walk forward.
