“Wow.” He smirked. “I imagine those aren’t words that pass those lips often.”
/> “Talking about my lips is definitely off limits.”
He stared directly at my mouth then outlined his lips with his tongue and whispered, “Now, that really is a pity.” He’d so done that on purpose.
“So, six.” I stepped back and coughed, trying to distract him from the heat I felt on my cheeks. “Great, awesome. I’ll just, be waiting outside… my… dorm, where I live, because that’s where…” I held up my hand to wave — yes wave — upon my departure and ran smack-dab into Jack as he came out of the guys' restroom.
“Whoa there. Guys’ restroom. No girls allowed.” Jack winked then nodded to the professor. “Everything okay?”
“Great!” My voice was too high-pitched to be convincing. “Gotta run. Bye!” I ran down the hall and out of the building. It was already too late to go to class, so I cut my losses and went to the student center to check my mail. I’d been having a hard time remembering my PO on account of having to change everything so often. By the time I scrolled through my notes on my phone, I’d been standing in front of the stupid boxes for ten minutes. Finally, I went to the correct one.
I reached in and pulled out a bit of junk mail, an announcement about a party on campus, and finally a black-and-white picture.
Of me and Taylor.
Taken two years ago.
I dropped it to the ground, terrified to look at the picture, so damn scared that Taylor was going to jump through the picture and hurt me again. Seeing him was like seeing the boogeyman in real life or chanting Bloody Mary in the mirror.
Swearing, I picked up the picture, planning to rip it up and toss it in the trash, but as I grasped it and began tearing the damn thing, I noticed handwriting on the back. It was the same black block lettering I’d seen before.
It’s almost time. Did you think I’d stay dead forever? I own you.
A cry rippled from my throat, and I dropped the photograph into the trash. Without a backward look, I ran straight to my dorm, my body numb the entire way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The thing about leaving a legacy? It’s not truly a legacy unless you affect the maximum amount of individuals. Why in the hell would I go to all this work just to hurt one person? Do I look like an idiot? I work tirelessly because it has to be perfect, everything has to be perfect. The best part? The players don’t even know they’re in the game. —The Journal of Taylor B.
Lisa
I LOCKED MY door and slid down, hands shaking. I tried to get my breathing under control. I’d run the entire way back to my room and then hesitated even going in. What if a crazy person was waiting for me?
Clearly the hair hadn’t thrown off the stalker.
Which meant someone from my past, someone — someone I’d hurt — knew I was here, knew I was going to school, and knew my connection to Taylor. The worst part? Just thinking about all the people who were negatively affected by him. I shuddered, the list was long. So long.
“You can do this,” I whispered to myself. “You aren’t Mel anymore. You’re Lisa.”
The familiar taste of metal entered my mouth, quickly followed by knife-sharp pain as I bit down hard on my tongue. Fear wrapped itself around me like a blanket, and I let it, because I was so tired of fighting. It’s sad — no, it’s actually pathetic when what you fear most becomes an object of comfort. When fear actually turns into a friend. When you open your eyes and all you see is the dark because it’s been so long since you’ve seen the light. I’d been under that type of cloak for a while. Meeting Kiersten, having had her as a roommate last year had helped, and then, of course, meeting Wes; the guy was like a walking inspirational quote. And then there was Gabe; for a while we had carried the burden together. But now? It wasn’t fair to ask that of him.
Which just left me.
I took another deep breath and slowly rose from my position on the floor and walked over to my computer. I clicked the mouse to wake it up and with shaking fingers typed in the one website I swore I’d never revisit, the one place that still gave me nightmares.
Videos of shame popped up right away. Millions of hits, millions of followers. I had no idea who had taken over since Taylor’s death, and I didn’t want to know. I’d had my parents email the site to take down all the videos I’d been involved in, but once something was on the Internet? Yeah, it’s pretty much there forever, and in the end, because I’d willingly participated and apparently been one of the founders of the website, there wasn’t really anything they could do.
Thus, changing my name and taking on a new identity.
Only the victims knew it was us.
And the really horrible part? They were always convinced, you know, after the shameful video was posted, that we wouldn’t stop shaming them until they signed an NDA, meaning they couldn’t expose the masterminds behind the website.
Protecting us, or so I thought.
The home screen had ten different featured videos of the day, a little kid picking his nose and getting caught by his twin brother, then telling the girl on camera and showing the picture to her. Silly stuff. At least it wasn’t as bad as what it used to be.
I scrolled through more of the videos. They were embarrassing but mostly funny, not something that would cause a kid to commit suicide or want to start a school shooting.