Chp.14

My lips parted with shock as I repeat the two words, "Police station?"

Rickson didn't reply. He keeps on seeing those dark words.

"You can't take me to the police station!" My voice grows louder, "I didn't do this! The paint looks fresh so how can I paint the wall and talk to you at the same time? This is obviously a set up!"

No answer. Not even a look. His expression remains vacant. Unreadable.

The words were running in my mind. There's no confusion about who did this. It's the one who did everything. The one who wanted you dead and now wants me to pay. For ever daring to reach you. To reach him.

I lost. It says I lost. He wrote that I lost. Did I lose? Did I really lose, Jesse?

Whatever I collected, gone. Every picture, every pattern, gone. My work of seven months, gone. It hurts to think of it.

Amy rushes down the stairs, hastily handing Rickson the phone she's holding. I ignore the look she's giving me, chewing away at her finger nails.

If the yesterday night never happened, then how the hell do I know her name? I would have been shocked about that. But now…? Who cares? I'm left alone now.

Rickson really is serious. He really is calling the police. I know I should run and get the hell out of there. But those words got me stuck in one position. I can't move.

And, for some reason, I feel like I want Rickson to take me to jail. To end this. I just don't care anymore. I don't want to be a part of this anymore.

I'm so deep in my thoughts that I don't even realize that Rickson ended his conversation, now talking to me, a growl hidden in his voice,

"If it was your idea of a joke than I did not find it funny." He says, angrily.

Despite the unbearable lump in my throat, I manage to whisper, "I didn't do it."

I'm probably sure he didn't hear that or if he did, he tends to ignore me.

"They're on their way." Rickson says. "And when they take you, Lukas, they'll be expecting some answers."

I'm not sure I'll be able to give myself answers, let alone the whole town. How the hell will I explain this all to the rest of them?

"You've always acted strange after what happened," Rickson continues, "But I never expected this from you."

I'm not sure what he means by that but I agree. I never expected to be this baffled. I'm in a dead end. I don't know how to get out of this one. I don't have any excuse. I don't have any way to slip out. I don't have an explanation to defend myself with. I feel like my tongue is sealed, the words I want to share can't get out.

Un-explainable things are happening to everyone except me. Why not me? Why did he only leave me to be confused? Why is he doing this to us? To… me?

You're gone, Jesse. You're dead. I'm still here. In a world where I am the one to blame. Because you aren't here for them to taunt. I am. You aren't. People don't spread false rumors about you because you are dead. But they do about me. Even when I don't know shit about what happened that night. But they don't care. I get into a fight with Ander and his group almost every school day. I get a new bruise or cut on my body every freaking day. You don't. I do. I'm the one who's sent for groceries only to bump into Skylar. Only to listen to her ranting about me being pathetic. Me being a killer. Me being a loser, jerk, bastard. I'm the one who's got absolutely no one to trust. To talk to. Your death took all my friends away. Your death ruined my perfectly planned future. Your death made me a disappointment. I was always the good one. The better one. I was the one who all the town grown-ups used to talk about. They used to tell their children about me. A perfect example. An ideal influence.

What am I now? Killer-boy? Someone everyone loathes? Someone who everyone would throw away in a cliff when they get the first opportunity?

Now these weird unnatural things are happening to me which only I am aware of. Which no one else will believe.

Why am I suffering because of you?

I pause. My thoughts freezing along with me. Did I just think all that? Did I actually mean all that? What stunned me more is that I didn't feel any guilt about it.

You did this. You did this all, Jesse. You are the reason bad things are happening to me. This would have never happened. I would have never have been standing here if it wasn't for you. I would have moved on if it wasn't for you. No one would have called you a killer, call me a killer, if it wasn't for you. If only you were a…a better person, Jessica. If only you didn't stay late at night. If only you didn't graffiti all over the town. If only you didn't fight with everyone.

Who knows? You would have been alive if you were more… like I was.

Maybe this would have never happened. And even if you did die, no one would have blamed you. No one would have blamed me.

I could have bloody moved on…

You did this, Jesse. You did this to me.

"I didn't do all this…" I mutter, my eyes staring in the darkness of the words.

Rickson turns towards me, "What?"

"I didn't do this." I say to myself, paying no attention to him.

I clench my fists, and I don't feel scared. I don't feel sad. I don't feel worried. I feel something different. I feel something that I don't want to feel. But now, I think I have to. I think that if I do this, then I'll go back to how I was. How I want to be.

I'm probably saying all this because of the thought of going to jail is making me realize how I got here in the first place. I remember when you got arrested one time. You had a smirk on your face. I thought you were just like that. Like you didn't care. But now that I think about it, your smile was… sickening.

The door swings open and I see these two officers. Everything was in slow motion but still for me it was too fast to react on. Before I even know it, I'm handcuffed and being pushed out of the house. Rickson stares at me with fascination. With interest. It's probably because of how empty I feel. How I'm not resisting. Or yelling and protesting.

I'm too nauseated. And I can only think of one thing to say to you as the drag me in the car.

I hate you, Jessica Wells.