Cupid's Guide to Murder

Chapter 7: Love Kills

Darkness wasn't truly scary.

Not if you were more afraid of the things you could see. When secrets came to light, there was a lot at stake — especially when it involved people who would do anything to keep them hidden.

There was a bustle of noise, but I felt nothing but numb silence. Flashes of photography went off. I watched an officer collect the sculpture's broken arrow into the bag. Police tape lined the halls, blocking everyone but the officials from passing. With everything going on, I could only think about Natasha's face — lifeless eyes, splotchy blanched face, lips parted slightly like a gaping fish. I didn't want to remember her like that. It made me feel dirty, like the blood was on my hands.

Like I had killed her.

"I — I stepped outside for some fresh air — and then I came back in and saw —" Luce choked out in between sobs. An officer asked Luce what she had seen, like it wasn't traumatizing enough to witness it firsthand.

Another officer was talking to West, and he pointed towards the hallway. Only then did I see the knocked-over flower vase, with little roses spilled out and the stems crushed, as if someone had stepped on it.

Roses. Dead, like the ones left in my locker.

Like Natasha.

Justin squeezed my shoulder. "Are you okay? I should've told you I was coming — I'm so sorry." I wouldn't have noticed he was there if he hadn't spoken.

My entire body felt numb. I raised my head, meeting his eyes.

Lately, it felt like both of us were apologizing too much.

I couldn't do it right now.

"There was so much blood," I whispered. That was all I could think about — the blood that seeped the cloth of the red dress she had on, practically blending in with it. Bile rose in my mouth, and I pressed my sweaty hands together, closing my eyes so the image would disappear. Natasha's eyes were always the most prominent part of her otherwise forgettable face; they were like little moon crescents gleaming with silvery light.

The light was gone now.

"We're going to need you kids to clear out of here. Mr. Blakeyard, do you have contact with your parents and somewhere safe you can stay for the night?" A stocky officer glanced at West, his lips folding into a frown.

"Shit," West muttered, a dazed expression crossing his face.

Everyone else had cleared out, making the party of the century now an evening filled with suspects. The cops directed us outside, the chilly night enveloping us as soon as we pushed open the doors. Distant sirens blared in the background.

Griffin sat on the curb, away from the rest of the group. His beat-up black leather jacket hung over his broad shoulders, and his eyes, usually shining with joy, were stormy. He looked up, and his usual intense gaze locked on mine. No words said. A hundred understood. He broke the hold first, looking away like it pained him to even look at me.

I walked over to him and sat next to him. If I were his friend, I would immediately hug him. Now, it felt like uncharted territory. His hand was resting next to his leg, fingers tapping incessantly.

I inched my fingers closer, unsure of what to do next. After seeing how his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes dangerously blue and filled with emptiness, I decided I didn't care anymore about the invisible line between us. I grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly for his sake and mine. His hand was taut at first, but then he relaxed, still avoiding my gaze.

No matter what, I didn't let go.

The night's events replayed in my head. Justin and Willow's argument. The run-in with Kai. Taylor's phone call, chugging from the bottle, seeing Griffin for the first time in months. Suddenly, the night's mess had all jumbled into one big terrible ending, and I didn't know what to say.