The Restless Dark by Erica Waters

Author:Erica Waters
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2022-10-04T00:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

Lucy

Carolina tries to convince me to go back to sleep for an hour or two, but I can’t. I’m wide-awake, the world sharp and clear in a way it hasn’t been in years. Noah has been psychologically torturing me—following me around, trying to make me think Kincaid is still alive. Why? To make it all the sweeter when he finally kills me?

The thought runs through me like a jolt of electricity. Noah wants to kill me. He wants to do what Kincaid couldn’t. And he nearly completed the job this morning, whether he meant to or not. It was a near thing.

Pain lances through my side every time I move, reminding me just how close I came to death. I put my hand against my ribs and close my eyes. I have to let the pain keep me awake, keep me sharp, keep me from giving into the fear.

When we finish discussing Noah, Carolina looks at me like she’s seeing my injuries for the first time, taking in all the cuts and bruises. She wants to drive me to the hospital, but when I refuse, she insists on examining me herself. It’s like our fight yesterday never happened, like the hard words I spoke to her never touched air. She has forgotten or forgiven me, which either way makes her a kinder person than I’ll ever be. But I let the fight go too because there are bigger things to worry about now.

Instead, we head to the bathrooms in the lodge, where people are visiting the canteen and eating their overpriced breakfast bars. Carolina makes sure no one is in either of the stalls before she locks the door. “Show us,” she says grimly.

“She’s fine,” Maggie argues.

I’m not. I have a long, shallow scratch across my cheek. Three broken and bleeding fingernails, dirt-filled scrapes and gouges all over my hands. That’s only the damage other people can see.

But Carolina’s not going to let us get on with our day until I show her. I pull off my shirt and my pants, and stand in the dim light of the bathroom in only my sports bra and underwear. Stripping in front of other people doesn’t bother me after so many years of playing sports. Bodies are just bodies.

Carolina gasps at what she sees. “Oh, Lucy,” she says, tears in her voice. Her eyes travel from my shoulders to my shins, and I can feel each bruise under her gaze. “May I . . . ?” she asks, her Georgia accent breaking through. I nod, and her fingers touch my cheek, and then my shoulder. Her touch is warm against my cold skin, soft and endlessly gentle. But when her fingers graze my side, where I smashed into the tree that saved my life, I flinch and suck in a breath.

“Lucy, won’t you please go to the hospital?” she asks again. “It would probably only take a few hours.”

“It’s only bruised,” I say. “I’ve taken first aid classes. There’s no serious swelling, and it doesn’t hurt to breathe.

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