some privacy. A seat sat beside her bed, but I didn’t take it. I stood there, staring down at her, giving her the hardest look I could muster. Standing up to this girl was not something I was used to, but now I had nothing to lose, and she had nothing to lord over me.
I was done playing the games this girl set up for me.
“Aren’t you thrilled to see me alive?” she asked, a calculated smile spreading on her face.
“Do you want the truth,” I paused, “or do you want me to lie to you?” I’d told Jaz I would tell her the truth from now on, but Brittany was someone I could lie to. Easily.
“Is that any way to treat your girlfriend?” She tapped her fingers on her leg above the blanket, and I saw a bandage wrapped around her hand. Brittany was missing her ring finger on her left hand.
Because things had changed, because I didn’t sit around expecting her to come back—because I didn’t want her to ever come back—I said, “You’re not my girlfriend.” Short, sweet, and to the point.
Brittany grinned. “Oh, I’d rethink that if I were you.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say her words sounded like a threat.
“Sit down,” she said. “Let me fill you in on a little secret.” Brittany would say no more until I sat down, and the expression she wore made me uneasy. She couldn’t possibly have anything to blackmail me now, could she?
Against my better judgment, I sat in the hideous hospital chair.
“If you think I’m going to let that bitch have you, you’re wrong,” she told me flat out. “I knew I’d have trouble with her, so I tried to get pregnant. I’m not, by the way. I had my period last week. But, anyway, when someone spilled the beans on your family, I knew I had to do something.”
The way she talked… shit. Was Brittany the one going around killing everyone? Had she come into my house, pushed Melinda down the stairs, and killed my mom?
“So I staged a little murder scene. We have a second fridge in the basement no one ever uses, so I stored my blood there. Every day I’d take a bit and save it up, waiting until it would be enough to cause a scene. Blaming Jaz was actually fun.” Brittany frowned. “But imagine my surprise when I hear, almost immediately, you start shacking up with her. I knew I had to come back.”
The more she talked, the lower my stomach sank.
Brittany frowned at me, lifting her mutilated hand. “This was a warning to your girlfriend, but even she was too stupid to see it.” She laughed. “Guess what, Archer—I might not have info on your family anymore—sorry about your mom, by the way—but I have all the dirt on you I need. If you don’t break up with that bitch and be my man again, I will tell every single person who wants to listen that Jaz kept me locked up. That she starved me and hurt me. I will make sure even Oliver Fitzpatrick can’t protect her.”
The venom in her words grew when she added, “The choice is yours, Archer. Me, or her. But if you choose her, you won’t have her for long.” Her frown turned into a damning, evil smile, the grin of a fallen angel who’d taken to the dark side too much.
I could no longer stare into those dark eyes, letting my gaze drop to my hands, her words sinking in. This was all a threat against Jaz, against our happiness together. This was Brittany trying to take back what Jaz stole from her: me.
“And what about Deetra? What about Chelsea?” I asked, trying to sound calm. “What about them? Or did you suddenly decide you didn’t care about them and only cared about getting me back?”
She blinked. “What about them?” Her normal bitchiness faded somewhat, as if she really didn’t know.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…
“They’re dead,” I said, about to tell her not to act like she didn’t know, but the look on her face startled me into silence. She… she really did look like she had no idea her two best friends were dead.
Impossible. If she didn’t know, that meant someone else killed them.
Brittany’s resolve wavered, and she muttered, “Go.” When I made no moves to leave, she shouted, “Get out!”
No resolution for the threat she’d made against Jaz, but maybe that was for the best.