"That man tried to take Laney," London answers as more faces round the building to see what's going on.
"Oh my god. Oh my god. Is he...? He's dead, isn't he?" a girl from my dance squad asks, distress in her voice, and I deliberately turn away.
I can't look at his face. If I see his face, it will haunt me forever.
Sirens wail in the distance as London speaks low, his words for me alone. "It was my knife. I stabbed him, do you understand?"
"No." I shake my head fiercely, tilting back to meet his gaze. "London, no. I'm not letting you do that. It was self-defense. I did it… It was my hand…" My body quakes harder, and I clutch his shirt desperately, seeking an anchor. "I flicked the blade and..." My words disintegrate as terror overwhelms my speech. "You can't—I won't—please," I beg until his resolve crumbles.
His eyes soften. "Shh, shh, shh." He presses his lips to my forehead. "I love you. I love you so damn much," he murmurs, pulling me flush against his chest once more.
"What the hell happened?" Noah demands. "My dad is on the way with the sheriff now."
"Not a word, Laney. Stay quiet until the cops arrive," Sydney warns. "You don't need anyone using anything against you."
"What are you doing? Don't touch him," Mindy from the dance team hisses with revulsion.
I'm tempted to turn, to witness what everyone else sees—the consequences of my actions—but I resist.
"Someone needs to check for a pulse. He might not be dead," Noah argues.
"Ew, there's no need. That's too much blood," someone counters before tires screech to a halt nearby.
The slam of the police car door makes me jolt in London's arms. "Shh, I have you," he soothes.
"Does he have a pulse?" Sheriff Townsend demands.
"No," Noah confirms.
"Who's responsible for this?" the sheriff asks as ambulance sirens grow louder.
"I am," London states without hesitation.
"No." I push back against his chest. "I am. It...it was self-defense," I stammer. "He attacked me when I was getting into the car," I continue, finally summoning the courage to face the scene. London isn't taking the fall for this.
"Self-defense?" Mayor Donovan cuts through the crowd. "Did he have a weapon?"
"A gun," London insists. "He had a gun in his pocket."
The sheriff kneels beside my attacker's body, and I force my gaze elsewhere.
"Okay, that's enough. Everyone back up," Mayor Donovancommands, dispersing the crowd of prom-goers with sweeping gestures.
"Son, there's no gun," Sheriff Townsend states flatly.
"That's not possible. I felt it. He jammed it into my ribs," I protest. "There's no way."
"You were in shock. Fear has a way of distorting reality," Mayor Donovan dismisses.
Sheriff Townsend crosses the distance between us in three determined strides. "Laney, you mentioned that it was self-defense and that he attacked you. Is that correct?"
"Yes, he attacked me, and then I stabbed him in the thigh to get free." I feel London stiffen against me. I know he doesn't want me to take responsibility, but it's true. I did stab him.
"No, she didn't," London interrupts. "I stabbed him. That's my knife beside his body and his blood on my hands."
The sheriff's gaze flickers between us, uncertain. "It's your word against hers."
"London's telling the truth," Noah interjects, approaching us, and suddenly, I've never despised anyone more. He's lying. I wait for London to explode, to put him in his place as he's done countless times before when Noah has interfered, but he remains silent. Their eyes lock, and something unspoken passes between them. "I saw everything. London stabbed him in the thigh before slitting his throat."
