I scrolled through more of the videos. They were embarrassing but mostly funny, not something that would cause a kid to commit suicide or want to start a school shooting.
The last video was titled, “Revenge, a Dish Best Served… Late.”
I clicked on it.
And almost threw up.
They were pictures of me.
Pictures of me in class, pictures of me at a bar, pictures of me two years ago with Taylor, and pictures of me and Taylor kissing and then…
My entire body went rigid as I watched the video go live…
“Just take it,” Taylor whispered. “It will make you feel good.”
“You promise?” I swayed a bit, already drunk. “It will help my stomach cramps?”
“Totally.” He winked. “Would I ever steer you wrong, babe?”
I rolled my eyes and took the pill; he handed me a beer and the video continued with us talking. I had no memory of staying that night, no memory of even drinking.
And that’s when the video took a dark turn. I stumbled into Taylor’s arms, slurring my words. “I f-f-feel funny.”
“Probably tired from the pill.” He waved to some of our friends. “Let’s go lie down.”
“’Kay.” I snuggled into him and sighed happily.
The camera shook a bit as it followed us closely behind. At one point Taylor turned around and winked straight at the camera.
“Come on, Mel, let’s get you comfortable.”
He proceeded to strip me of all my clothes.
I should have hit stop on the video. Black censor marks covered my nudity and his, but you could tell what was happening by the fact that I was murmuring stop, by the fact that my body was completely limp, and by the fact that Taylor said directly into the camera, “Revenge, my friends, is a dish best served… late — are you watching? I know you are… I knew you would be.” He dropped my limp body to the ground and strutted toward the camera then whispered, “I. Own. You.”
I slammed the computer shut and stumbled backward. I didn’t know who to call, who to tell, what to even do! It was so long ago, could you even report a case like that? Plus he was dead? Right? He was dead? I watched him die, watched him throw himself from the ledge.
I ran into the bathroom and puked then slumped to the floor again. I didn’t want Gabe to know, not now, now when he was so happy and done with drama. Besides, what could he possibly do? Tell the police? Arrest a dead person? Take down a video that I’m sure would just be put back up the next day? Because that’s the thing about the website; Taylor had specifically filtered it through a different country, so even if we did have some crazy person filing against the site…
We’d block their IP.
Keep it up.
And keep running.
The video was there to stay — forever, I was one click away from turning into an E Hollywood story.
It was like Taylor was haunting me from the grave. How would he even know? He’d always said he owned me, and he’d been right.
And now.
Even in death he owned me.
“Well, congrats, you sick bastard,” I mumbled. “I feel… owned.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Making someone feel, making someone care, making someone experience emotion when your whole life you’ve been numb to it? It’s like fireworks going on all around you. It’s so loud, so damn loud it deafens. And then there’s the light, so brilliant it blinds; it scorches your retinas. And you take it as long as you can until you have to close your eyes, plug your ears — until all you want to do is scream. Mel was my fireworks, my everything, and because of that, she needed to be punished the way she was punishing me. You see, she made me human, and the last thing I’d wanted was to be something I wasn’t. She spoke calmly to the beast; she did my bidding. She was going to have to pay for that. I’m not sorry. I’ll never be sorry. The story is halfway done. —The Journal of Taylor B.
Tristan
I WAS ABOUT fifteen minutes early to Lisa’s dorm… I decided that leaning against the wall looked odd, and sitting in my car made me look like an absolute predator, so I went into the lobby and sat on the couch. UW was so big I knew people wouldn’t necessarily recognize me, especially considering I was only wearing jeans and a T-shirt, meaning I looked a lot younger than I typically did in the front of the classroom.
By the time 6:15 rolled around, I’d started getting nervous. I had to laugh. Was the girl ever early? Maybe that was just her thing, being late? With a growl of frustration, I went over to the elevators and pressed her floor. I hurried down the hall, hoping we hadn’t just missed each other, and knocked on the door.
No answer.
I guess I deserved to be stood up.
Then again, what if something really was wrong?
I knocked again.
The door swung open. Lisa stood there in the same clothes as earlier, her eyes were puffy from crying, and her hair was a mess.
“What happened?” I cupped her face and examined it for any hint of injury. Finding none, shifted my gaze and quickly scanned her body. “Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?”
I kicked the door shut behind me and walked her backward toward the couch. I sat her down and gripped her hands with mine as I knelt in front of her. “Lisa, talk to me.”
“I—” she croaked, her eyes glancing at the computer and back at me. “I…” She started shivering. “I can’t tell you.”
“What can you tell me?” I was going to go crazy. Her tears were like tiny knives driving into my skin by force. I wanted to fix it; I had to fix it.