The Cursed Series, Parts 3 & 4 (Cursed #3-4) - Rebecca Donovan Page 0,31
to work late. I had the biggest crush on him, and … ” I close my eyes for a second, overcome by the power he still has over me. How weak I felt beneath his body. Defenseless.
“My grandmother walked in when he was … he was going to hurt me.” My nails dig into my palms. “She stopped him before he could. And after … she fell down a flight of stairs. I didn’t see what happened, only heard them arguing. She broke her neck and died instantly.” I bury my face in my knees, squeezing my arms tight like I’m trying to fold in on myself. Wishing for that moment back. For the chance to fight for her.
“He was the last person to see her alive. And then he disappeared and ended up in New York, where he did hurt someone. That night, he was murdered. He may have hurt others I don’t know about. I’ve never told anyone what happened to me. Not my mother. Not the police. I just … kept silent. Let him go free. Allowed him to do it again.” My body quivers with anger as I stare out at the lake.
“He’s the reason you punch first, isn’t he?” Grant asks quietly, his expression solemn, like he’s made room for the spectrum of emotions I war with every day. “The origin of your curse?”
I nod.
Fire courses through my veins. “I hate him. What he did to me. For taking away my grandmother. For hurting …” I clench my teeth together, unable to say her name. “I. Hate. Him. And he’s dead. So now, what do I do? How do I live with this? With knowing I didn’t stop him.”
“I get it … the anger … the fighting. The need to be loud enough. I understand even if I never truly will because it didn’t happen to me. Lana, you are not responsible for what he did. And if keeping silent protected you in some way, then that’s what you needed to do. Don’t blame yourself. You’re not the monster.” His hands tremble. He looks like he’s about to come undone.
“Are you okay?” I ask, watching him shift in his discomfort.
Grant laughs humorlessly. “You’re asking me if I’m okay?” He pauses for a quick breath. “No. But you understand … the hopelessness in wanting to protect someone, to take away their pain. And I don’t know how to not do anything since it’s in the past.”
“You could … hold me.”
He peers at me, sorrow shimmering in his eyes. “Can I?”
I nod. His embrace is gentle but solid. Not letting me go, but not trapping me either. I feel safe. Loved.
His touch abates the anger that has taken possession of me, lulls it back beneath the surface. “I know I’m not responsible for him, but I’m not sure how to forgive my silence. After it happened, it was my way of avoiding the truth, without lying. But not speaking up is so much worse than any lie. Because it gave him permission to hurt someone else.” I face Grant, splayed open and exposed. “I don’t want to stay silent anymore.”
Grant shifts to face me, his legs bent alongside mine. He wraps an arm around my knees, securing me against him, and his other hand holds mine firmly. He’s open and willing to accept whatever it is I need to say. And it’s not that I can change it. The truth will always be the truth. No matter how ugly or violent.
So I tell him everything. Every little detail. I can’t be compelled to stop once I begin. I release the flood of secrets I’ve been drowning in for nearly three years.
I don’t name Ashton, but he learns what happened to her. That Brendan and Parker were at the club that night. I vaguely explain that Ashton’s the reason Brendan’s at Blackwood, that he feels compelled to protect her—so Grant can easily connect the two on his own.
I tell him about the cameras on campus and the monitors in the attic. The files on Brendan’s computer and the pictures in the book. I mention Sophia’s alter hacker personality. And lastly … I recount every minute of the horrible night that resulted in me being sentenced to Blackwood. I even name Vic—I’m tired of keeping him a secret. He isn’t worth my suffering.
Grant already knows about my twisted family tree and the psycho’s notes—which may or may not be connected with the rest of this. It’s so twisted and