He gives a sharp intake of breath.
“Stop treating me like I’m dead,” I say coolly.
“Only if you talk to someone about what fucking happened,” he says, eyes narrowed. “It doesn't have to be me. Quinn or…”
“No,” I say to him, shaking my head. “We’re not doing this.”
“The other girls at—”
“I said no.” I grab my things and walk off before he can finish the rest of the sentence.
I don’t need or want his pity. He was about to say something about the girls at his school and how fucked they were when they came back from whatever dark place they agreed to go. I’m not one of his schoolgirls. I’m a killer. And if I have to remind him and Dino of that, then so be it.
I stop to put my shoes and socks back on, and stalk away from the boathouse, breaking out into a run once I get to the path. My feet are wet and frozen in my trainers, but I don’t care. I wait until I’m in the middle of the woods about a mile away before losing my restraint. I stop running and scream as loud as I can, clenching my fists into tight balls. Then I kick a tree over and over at the base.
My other wrist hasn’t healed yet, so I feel the throb of pain through the splint Dante applied, bringing me back to my senses.
I’m so over this!