“No.” My voice was muffled by the pillow.
Scott stretched out beside me. “I don’t want the dirty details. I’d like to keep my breakfast in my stomach, but as long as Carson has been secretly in love with you—”
I popped up, rising to my knees. Thick curls still left over from last night fell in my face. “Oh god.” I covered my face with my hands. “Kill me now.”
“What happened?” He pulled my hands away from my face. “It can’t be that bad.”
“It is. It really is.” I flopped onto my back. “I was terrible before I lost my memory and I’m terrible afterward. I accused Carson of being the one who hurt Cassie and me.”
“Oh, jeez, Sam, you’re going to have to give me a better explanation than that.”
I did, starting with the memory I had at prom and the one later that night, leaving out most of what had happened with Carson. According to my version of events, I fell asleep talking to him.
When I finished, Scott shook his head. “He’ll get over it, Sam.”
“No, he won’t.” Because seriously, who gets over being accused of murder?
“Yeah, he will. He understands you’ve been through a lot. You’ve just got to give him some time.”
I raised my arms helplessly. “I’m such an idiot.”
“I’m going to have to agree with that.” Scott stood. “Look, go take a shower. Julie and I are going to see a movie. You should come with us.”
A little bit of interest stirred, but I shook my head. I needed more time to wallow in my lameness. Scott left, and I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling. How could I be so stupid? It was a talent, I decided.
By the time I got up, it was late in the afternoon. Scott was still at the movies with Julie, Mom had left to attend a charity fund-raising meeting or something, and I had no idea where Dad was or whether he was even home. I dragged myself into the shower. At some point, the tears mingled with the water, and even after I’d dried off and changed, my face was still damp.
I had to make it up to Carson, but I wasn’t sure I could. No one could blame him for not getting over this.
Sitting down on my bed, I glanced at the music box. The tingling, burning sensation shot up my spine, and I was tossed headfirst into a memory.
I stomped down Del’s driveway, face full of tears. How could he do this? How could she? I was her best friend, the only person who put up with her crap, and she’d slept with my boyfriend.
I hated her—hated him.
Del caught up to me. “Sammy, I’m sorry. It was a mistake. I was drunk. So was she.”
“Is that supposed to make it okay?” I spun on him, hands shaking. “It doesn’t! You slept with my best friend!”
He glanced over his shoulders anxiously. “Keep it down. My parents are going—”
“I don’t care!” My voice was shrill. “Did you guys wait until I passed out? Did you have fun ringing in the New Year with her?”
“No! It wasn’t like that. I swear.”
I laughed harshly and reached up, my fingers curling around the necklace. With a vicious tug, the delicate chain gave and snapped. I flung it back at him. “We’re over. For real this time.”
Del’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious.”
Oh, I was completely serious. I didn’t care what my parents thought or wanted. And it suddenly made sense why Cassie wanted to meet me at the summerhouse later tonight. She was going to fess up to sleeping with my boyfriend. Nice. “I’m so sick of her doing stuff like this!”
He reached for me, but I stepped out of the way. “Sammy, you need to calm down.”
I shook my head. “I’m so going to kill her.”
When I snapped out of the memory, I was standing in my bedroom, staring at my reflection. The girl’s face in the mirror was devoid of any blood, hazel eyes diluted to the point her eyes almost looked black. A tremor ran through her body, and her chest rose sharply.
She was me.
Taking a step back, I placed my fingers against my mouth. Del had cheated on me with Cassie. Was that why I’d been so drawn to the picture of them taken on New Year’s Eve? Another part of my subconscious trying to wiggle itself free, demanding that I acknowledge what that photo had meant to me? Again, Del had lied to me. I hadn’t taken the necklace off because I wanted to take a shower. I’d thrown it in his face. I’d grown a pair and broken up with him. That small triumph was lost in the shadow of everything else, though.
The anger simmered through my veins still, like a poison infecting bone and tissue with a sickness. When I’d said I was going to kill Cassie, I thought I’d meant it.
Cassie had wanted to meet at the lake house, and according to Carson, I’d gone home first. And the reason why I’d been crying and had kissed Carson kind of made sense now.
I laughed and then cringed at the high-pitched sound.
No wonder Del thought I owed him. And he’d been right. He had been protecting me. Only he knew how upset I’d been at Cassie the night she died. Del had known the truth. There probably hadn’t been a third person on the cliff, not in the literal sense, but just another way my subconscious was trying to tell me that someone else knew the truth, knew what I’d done.
The notes didn’t make sense, or how Cassie and I had ended up on the cliff, but did it matter now?
A floodgate of emotions broke open, ripping through me as if I were made of tissue paper. All those moments when I’d suspected everyone—Del, Scott, Carson—and when I’d entertained the idea that it had been a stranger danced before me.
My knees were knocking together, my breath coming out in short rasps. It had to be me—it had always been me. I had reason to hurt Cassie, more than anyone else, and that anger—that terrible surge of raw destruction—was still in me. Would I have really killed her over Del?
God, I’d never hated myself more.
I spun around, tears blurring my vision as I grabbed the music box off the bedside table and threw the box straight at the mirror. A disjointed note squeaked from the box. Glass shattered in dozens of pieces, falling and falling. I was that mirror—that box—destroyed, broken into a bunch of jagged sections.
The box hit the floor. The little dancer in her tutu shattered, but the base remained. It made another weak sound, like a tiny mewl.
Light flashed behind my eyes, followed by a slicing pain shooting between my temples as if someone had shoved a screwdriver behind them. I doubled over, clutching my head, wondering whether I’d somehow been cut by a sadistic piece of glass.