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Allie doesn't believe the car crash that caused her amnesia was an accident. She knows the truth...
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WHAT, AREN'T YOU going to tell me to sleep tight?
Her last words.
And no one here knows them, except for me.
No one else saw her twisted smile, or her vacant eyes as she pulled the trigger, spending her last moments alive with the person she hated the most. No one here will talk about that. Not at her funeral, where they describe her as a beautiful girl with a troubled soul, someone who was lost and in need of love, rather than someone poisonous and evil.
But I know the truth, and I refuse to forget. I've done more than enough forgetting for one lifetime.
Mom and Audrey insisted I didn't have to come here today, that it would make more sense for me to skip out on the memorial service of the girl who tried to kill me on multiple occasions, rather than to be in attendance. Still, I selected a somber black dress, and rode to the church, Mason serving as my funeral date and chauffeur. He hadn't hesitated to let me know that going to Zoe Hendriks funeral was an incredibly stupid idea, but he'd also said there was no chance in hell he was going to let me go alone.
We sit together in the very last pew of the church, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, though both of our faces have been plastered all over the news for the past week. The majority of the people here are most likely aware of our presence, but they all seem to be respectful enough to leave us alone, which is more than can be said for the news vans that've been camping out on my street ever since we got out of the school, or the ones waiting eagerly outside of the church.
It almost feels as though someone high-profile has died; someone important, like a celebrity, or a prime minister, what with all the media interest, and security, and the magnitude of the congregation. Zoe would have loved all of the attention, even though she'd know that most of the people in attendance don't care about her, they're just fascinated by the nature of her death, and the circumstances surrounding it.
In the same way, none of them truly care about what happened to me.
I can see Mason glance at me out of the corner of my eye, an unreadable look on his face, and I look down at the pew, to see his hand hovering inches away from mine. My fingers twitch slightly, my natural instinct being to reach out for him, but I refrain, folding my hands together in my lap instead. He doesn't seem to notice, already having turned to face the front again.
It's a strange thing, to be at a funeral for someone who attempted to commit homicide three times, and to have everyone pretend that it didn't happen. The preacher is clearly dancing around the elephant in the room—me—and there's no mention of it in the tearful eulogy delivered by Zoe's cousin. A slide show of her short life displays on the large screen overhead, though, notably, there are no photos of her and I together, as if they're trying to erase my existence completely. The girl they're all talking about today is not the same one I knew, but I suppose I didn't truly expect to hear her portrayed as my villainous tormentor.
