“What do you think, Pandora?” River asks. “That this is some twisted love story? Because it’snot.”
Somebody else steps closer, and my eyes have adjusted enough that I can see there are at least ten other people here. It isn’t just Blaze and Asch and River, but a number of frat douches.
I spot Tate. I hadn’t even known his face before this morning when I looked him up on socials but I wish now I’d waited until he was sleeping in his room before I lit the damn thing.
“You burned the house down,” Blaze growls at me. “You tried to kill us. You and your fucking family maimed River. You think we can forgive that?”
I shake my head. “Nobody died! There’s been enough murder, and murder isn’t… isn’t the solution to everything.”
River had said that, too. He didn’t want anyone else to die. So I hadn’t killed them. That has to count for something.
And it’s not like they have proof I set the fire, anyway.
“You could’ve killed Blaze,” Asch says, sounding considerably more agitated than he had before. “Do you understand how many lives you put at risk?”
The shadows that swirl around us lunge inside my mouth, forcing me to swallow them. I pant, trying to breathe through the sudden constriction.
My chest creaks from the strain of having something trying to fill the void.
“I didn’t do anything,” I protest, my voice lower now. “I’m willing to let this all slide, guys. A big misunderstanding.”
Except the other people, the ones watching. I won’t forgive them.
“A misunderstanding?” Blaze shakes my arm. “Amisunderstandingwould be me finding you in bed with another guy. You trying to destroy everything I care about? That’s not a misunderstanding, Pandora.”
I let out a small giggle. “See, I was right. It’s a misunderstanding. None of this is about you at all, Blaze. Nobody was trying to destroy Asch. Or River. You care about River now? That’s really sweet. I like that.”
One of the frat douches coughs. “She’s basically confessed already,” he says. “Is that good enough for you?”
River is looking down at my charm, his fingers smoothing along the finger bones like I’ve done so many times. “I can’t fucking believe you. You know, I called you a crazy whore when I was upset and hurting. I might’ve apologized, except…” He huffs out a laugh. “I’m not wrong.”
Crazy.
It’s a rush of needles in my chest, and the shadows slither inside every single puncture, filling my lungs and my veins, icy cold.
Asch hands the knife—my knife how dare he dare he—to Tate.
I tense and ready a kick, but River knows me so well, he helps Blaze hold me in place while I struggle and yell.
“I’m going to fucking murder you,” I say to Tate as he approaches. “If you so much as touch me, you’re going to end up burning to a crisp. It’ll be agony. Your skin will bubble and rupture and I’ll make sure there’s no smoke, just the agony of the fire, and maybe I’ll be nice and chop your dick off first so you can watch it roast in front of your eyes?—”
“That’s enough,” Asch interrupts sharply, and while he looks unbothered, Tate looks nauseated. “None of us want to hear about your sick fantasies.” He takes a step back. “Go ahead,” he tells Tate. “Be careful. She likes being cut. Wouldn’t want this to be good for her, now would we?”
My sick fantasies.
I start laughing, going slack in River and Blaze’s arms.
Tate’s hand is a lot more unsteady as he grips my shirt to start cutting it away.
He’s an idiot about it, unsure of how to handle the knife and doing a piss-poor job of it.
“It’s not meant for cutting fabric,” I say cheerfully. “You’re going to have to stab through it first.”
Tate looks at Blaze, unsure, and I can hear Blaze’s exasperated sigh.
“Anybody else want to give it a try?” Blaze asks.
The guys grumble, and apparently, they’re all unsure about approaching me.
