NOTE: 2 chapters left after this one!

MY HEAD FEELS like it's going to explode.

There's a heaviness in my extremities, and I feel rigid, and unable to move, stars still bursting in my vision. My weighted-down eyelids blink slowly, trying to focus on something, and make sense of my surroundings. The sight before me sways, my head lolling back and forth as it hangs forward. It takes a while to realize I'm staring down at my lap, my jeans a jarringly normal thing to be the first to grace my eyes.

It takes a second longer to realize I can't breathe. Not properly, anyway.

My mouth has been forcefully clamped shut, my lips sealed together with duct tape that tugs at my skin as I move.

Panic seizes my chest as I fully wake up, still feeling disoriented, and my breathing quickens, laboured and loud. I sit up straighter in my seat, my movements restricted once more, my wrists bound together behind me, a taut cord strapping me to the seat back. A tortured noise sounds at the back of my throat, as I finally understand where I am.

From the looks of it, my current location is the school's musty basement, the lighting dim, shelves of cleaning supplies and an old furnace as a backdrop. And I'm not alone.

Dylan looks agitated and nervous, pacing back and forth, but he stops when he notices my gaze. James is leaning against one of the shelves casually, passing a bloodied baseball bat back and forth between his hands, and a grin adorns his lips as we make eye contact. Zoe stands directly before me, her lips pulled in tight, arms crossed over her chest.

"Rise and shine, sweetheart," James says, but my eyes don't leave Zoe's face.

She shifts her position slightly, challenging my stare, and it's then that I see the sleek back object in her hands. A gun.

I can't suppress the primal urge to bolt, and I begin to wriggle in my seat helplessly, trying to break free. There's a thick silence in the room as they all watch my futile attempts to escape, the chair scraping against the floor.

Vaguely, I hear Zoe sigh, and she turns to James, waving a hand. He nods, resting his baseball bat against the shelf and heading in my direction as he cracks his knuckles. My heart races as he continues to approach me, and my struggling intensifies, my body trembling in anticipation of what he's about to do.

He gives me the briefest of apologetic looks before everything comes to an abrupt halt, and I register the feeling of his rough hand connecting with my cheek, causing my head to swing, my hair flying in the process, as a strangled sound leaves my throat. The room goes still again as I hang my head, a stinging sensation spreading throughout my face, and my body still trembles, though this time in rage instead of fear.

"Sorry, doll," I hear him say distantly, but I can't detect the slightest trace of remorse in his tone.

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling an onslaught of frustrated tears springing to the surface. I should've left with Mason. I should've gone straight home.

Opening my eyes, I lift my head slowly, fixing a glare of unspeakable hatred on all of them. My body is merely a weak shell attempting to hold in my fury and failing miserably. James raises his eyebrows, Dylan blinks back tears, and Zoe matches my stare.

"You look like you have something to say, Castillo," she quips, stepping forward and tearing the duct tape from my mouth, causing me to wince, the newly exposed flesh burning.

I wait for the wave of pain to pass before meeting her eye again. "Fuck you," I spit, my voice low.

James shakes his head, tutting in mock-disapproval from his place next to the girl. "Always such a potty mouth," he scolds. If my hands weren't bound, I wouldn't hesitate to wrap them around his throat.

Dylan chooses that moment to step forward, pushing his way past James to crouch down in front of me. There's an imploring look on his face, his eyebrows tipped upward, his brown eyes still glistening with held-back tears, and I feel the all too familiar sensation of bile rising in my throat. He reaches out, his fingers stretching out to caress my cheek, and I flinch away from his touch, recoiling.

He doesn't like that.

Stiffening, he grabs my chin roughly, forcing my head in his direction, though I still keep my eyes down. It seems his nice-guy act is wearing thin quickly. I don't need to see his expression to register his displeasure. After a few moments of pain, he seems to realize this tactic isn't working, softening his grip a little, and lowering his voice.

"Allie, look at me," he pleads, his words gentle. A mix of nausea and outrage rolls in my stomach.

He removes his fingers and my jaw throbs painfully. I keep my eyes riveted to my lap, gritting my teeth, because I'll be damned if I do what he tells me to do. I can feel his frustration intensifying at my stubbornness.

"You know," he begins, his words clipped, and out of my peripheral vision, I see him rise to his feet rigidly, "none of this would have happened if your eye didn't always wander."

Actually, none of this would've happened if you weren't all fucking psychopaths, I correct mentally. Never mind the fact that he was the first to go astray, deeming it perfectly acceptable to screw my best friend behind my back, but God forbid I kiss somebody else.

There's a lengthy pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is clouded with emotion. "Why can't you just love me?" he begs, his voice breaking, growing in volume, and my heart starts to beat faster. I swallow, keeping my eyes down. "First Parker, and then Mason! I know you kissed him." His tone verges on venomous now, his words coming out as a sneer. "I know he slept in your bed. You're a fucking slut."

I bite the inside of my lip to stop myself from calling him out on his glaringly obvious hypocrisy and double standards, forcing myself to remain still. Instead of looking at Dylan, I allow my eyes to flicker in Zoe's direction, and she stands with her arms folded once more, her lips curled in a victorious smirk, her blue eyes simply a pair of soulless chasms.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep, slow breath, trying to remain calm.

I hear the sound of movement, and I can tell he's crouched down in front of me again. "Come on, Allie," he pleads, his tone returning back to emotional, and I feel his hands on my knees before I attempt to jerk them away. "Say something! Please, I just want to hear your voice."

Maybe if I keep my eyes closed forever this will all go away.

"Please," he says again, on the verge of a sob. He pauses again, and I stiffen when he rests his head in my lap, soaking my jeans with his tears. If I wasn't most likely about to be murdered, I'd laugh. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, trying to think of happier things, like Mason's laugh, and Audrey's smile, and anything outside of this horrifying moment.

Dylan lifts his head, and I can feel his gaze burning holes into my face, even though I'm not looking at him. "Do you think I wanted this?" he questions rhetorically, before letting out a bitter laugh that sounds more like a strangled cry. "Of course I didn't! But I had no choice."

It's chilling to witness up close how insane he actually is, to know that he thinks he's actually doing the right thing, that he truly believes he loves me.

"Just look at me," he tries again, his fingertips grazing my jawline, and I move out of his grasp. "Allie, please."

I've had about enough of this bullshit, and so, clenching my teeth together, I open my eyes, meeting his gaze squarely. A look of shock graces his features, as though he thinks he finally wore me down. I wait until he opens his mouth to announce his victory, and then I spit in his face, causing him to flinch.

"Fuck you, too," I tell him.

"Shit," he hisses, dragging his hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the saliva from his skin, standing up straight and backing away. The look of pure irritation he exhibits makes me feel a deep sense of dark pleasure. Nothing he could say or do would ever make me listen to him, and the fact that he thinks he can change my mind is beyond bizarre.

James deems it appropriate to laugh at the spectacle, and I refuse to acknowledge him. "I knew I liked you for a reason," he tells me, and my teeth clench. I can't believe I once found his humour endearing. "You've got a fire in you."

"Shut the fuck up, James," Dylan snaps, glaring at the boy, his hands shaking at his sides.

Zoe rolls her eyes in annoyance. "Can you two please focus?" she asks, narrowing her blue eyes as she looks at the pair, and they both sober up. The ringleader of the group has never been more clear.

When she looks back at me, I don't flinch away from her stare. "Let me go," I demand, my voice even, barely hinting at the darkness lingering beneath the surface. Her lips purse in irritation, her eyebrows pinching together. I already tried convincing her I wouldn't go to the police when she attacked me in the woods, and that didn't work, so I try to think of something better to persuade her. "You'll get a shorter sentence if you don't actually kill me."

She barks out a laugh without humour. "I'm going to hell anyway, might as well have fun while I'm here." Her lips pull up into her trademark smirk, and she crosses her arms over her chest once more. "Besides, you haven't even seen the best part yet."

A feeling of dread settles in my core, and I watch her warily, before glancing at the other two. James looks excited, as usual, and Dylan still looks angry, though I'm unsure whether it's over what I did earlier or Zoe's surprise. "What are you talking about?" I ask, my voice low.

"James," she calls cheerily, and the boy grins at her, straightening his posture before heading out the door, and I strain to see where he's going.

My heart begins to race in my chest as I consider the possibilities of what I'm about to see. He disappears down a dark hallway and my eyes dart back to Zoe. "What's going on?" I ask, unable to mask the panic in my words. "What is he doing?"

She simply smiles at me with twisted pleasure, and I swallow, beginning to feel light-headed. The room is silent and I wait with bated breath until James returns.

When he enters the room again, he's not alone.

A bloodcurdling scream of terror is wrenched from my lips as I process the scene before me.

James stands proudly, like he's displaying an art project, and a bloodied and battered Mason Byrne hangs from his arms, looking as though he's barely hanging latching onto consciousness. My lungs empty themselves of their air supply, my breathing shallow as I wrestle against my constraints in an effort to get to him.

I don't know if I break free from the ropes that bind me or if someone unties me, but suddenly I'm flying forward, my wrists burning as my knees scrape the concrete and I scramble to the ground. James releases Mason, who collapses to the floor, and I hurriedly pull myself toward him.

Tears continually stream down my face as I reach him, and I think of the last time I saw him, standing by my locker, offering to drive me anywhere I wanted. It's a devastating contrast to how he looks now, his face puffy and swollen and purple, streaks of blood making patterns on his pale skin.

"Mason," I burst out, taking his face between my hands, and his eyes blink lazily, the light within them having dimmed significantly, though he looks more alert at the sound of my voice, attempting to sit up straighter.

Everything else fades into the background, and I forget about the other three people in the room. All I can think about is how ruined he is, the pain evident in his eyes, and how all of this is absolutely my fault. As I bury my head in his shoulder, basking in his familiar scent, mixed with sweat and the coppery smell of blood, I tell him I'm sorry over and over, though it's hard to make out the words.

I feel his arms wrap around my waist, and he uses what little strength he seems to have left to pull me closer. "Alina," he rasps, and I freeze, pulling back to meet his eyes. "Are you alright?"

"You idiot," I say, choking out a laugh of disbelief at the question. "How can you ask me that right now? Look at you!" My words are warbled and hard to understand through my wailing, but he removes a hand from my waist to graze my cheek.

His eyebrows pull together, and I think about his stupid frown, and how it seems to be his default expression, and how I can't seem to stop crying. "Your cheek is red," he points out, and I try for another laugh at his ridiculous behaviour, but it just sounds painful.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper instead, shaking my head, and he swallows, his chest rising and falling slowly. "God, I'm so sorry. We're going to make it out alive, I promise."

His lips curl up in a feeble smile. "Of course," he murmurs, his voice slow. He closes his eyes, leaning forward and resting his forehead against mine, and I hope against all hope that we can just stay like this and refuse to acknowledge our current horrific circumstances.

But of course, it comes to an abrupt end.

"That's enough," Dylan orders, and I feel myself being yanked backward, out of Mason's grasp.

My eyes widen and I begin to hyperventilate, reaching for him again to no avail. "No, please!" I beg, but the only response I get is my body being slammed back into the chair, my arms pulled backward roughly in order to bind my wrists once more. "Let him go!"

Zoe stands in front of me, blocking my view as James carts Mason out of the room again, and I fight desperately to get back to him, or at least see where they're going.

"Later, sweetheart!" James calls from somewhere down the hall, and I stop fighting, dropping my head and going limp in defeat.

When I look up again, Zoe is still beaming, and Dylan looks on the verge of tears once more. I feel lifeless inside, and I begin to wonder if it would even make a difference if they killed me.

"How'd you like your surprise?" Zoe asks, quirking an eyebrow, and it only takes that one small action to ignite the rage inside of me once more.

"You have to let him go," I demand, my voice deep and dark, like a black hole.

The raised eyebrow remains intact. "Do I?"

"Please," I continue, my body aching from just how much I mean the words. "You can do whatever you want with me, I don't fucking care anymore. Just let him go and leave him alone."

"He deserves to die for laying a hand on you," Dylan snarls, folding his arms tightly over his chest, his knuckles white.

Zoe's eye twitches, but she smoothly recovers, plastering a smile on her face and stepping closer to Dylan, placing a hand on his chest. "You can go now," she tells him softly, and it seems to work, as he reluctantly tears his eyes away from me to focus on her. "People are bound to have noticed she's gone missing by now. Why don't you go upstairs and keep watch while James takes care of Mason?"

My throat constricts painfully at the suggestion, and a whimper of dismay escapes me as I squeeze my eyes shut. Dylan grunts in agreement, still seeming too worked up from what he witnessed to actually speak coherently. She murmurs some other calming words to him, and I open my eyes, keeping my gaze riveted to them as my mind begins to work.

Shifting as subtly as possible, I try to slowly and carefully wriggle my hands free, biting my lip. I have a feeling that when Dylan tied up my wrists, I was moving too much for him to do a good job, and I'm betting he was too upset to notice.

The pair seems to finish up their private conversation, and Dylan steps away from her. I stop moving in case they're watching me closely, and he turns his gaze on me, the forlorn look I've seen so often evident on his face. He begins to head in my direction, and I instantly turn my face away, refusing to acknowledge him.

"Allie," he begins, voice barely above a whisper, my name holding the same disturbing reverence it always does. "I love you. We were so good together. Why did you have to go and ruin everything?"

Taking a deep breath, I stare at the ceiling. "I know you've been having sex with Zoe," I point out tonelessly, despite the fact that I couldn't care less about their fucked up relationship.

He makes an aggravated noise, and out of my peripheral vision I see him shake his head frantically. "God, that's completely different! Zoe doesn't mean anything to me!"

I allow my gaze to fall on the girl in question, only to see her expression has completely sobered up, her eyes teeming with held-back rage. I feel a deep sense of satisfaction, happy that I at least beat her at something, even though I have absolutely no interest in the reward.

"Please look at me," he begs again, and I return my eyes to the ceiling, slowly resuming my task of trying to get free. "I'm trying to say goodbye to you, for Christ's sake. Can you have the courtesy to at least look my way? How many times do I have to tell you I love you?"

He begins to cry, and it sends chills down my spine. "I'll always love you," he tells me, and I'm too focused on my hands to pay attention to his words. There's a long pause, where he gives me the chance to return the sentiment, but I remain silent. In an angry huff, he straightens out. "You know what? Fine," he snaps. "If this is how you want to leave things, then fine. Have it your way."

Dylan doesn't say anything more, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him at the same time I get one of my hands free.

My eyes flicker back to Zoe, now that we're the only ones in the room, and she seems to have recovered a little from her heartbreak, though if anything, it probably just further instilled her desire to kill me. In retrospect, I suppose it wasn't a wise idea to bring up her affair with Dylan.

She simply watches me, refusing to speak, and I begin to feel restless as I discreetly work on getting my other hand loose.

I swallow, trying to keep my heart rate steady and ignore my fear. I need to focus on Mason, alone with James in some other part of the school. I need to get out of here as soon as possible and find him. Racking my brain for something, anything, I try to stall. "What do you think is going to happen after all of this is over? You're going to walk away free? Not a chance. You'll be charged with first-degree murder."

She lifts a hand to stop me, pursing her lips together. "That's only if I get caught."

I can't stop the scoff of disbelief from escaping, as I manage to get my other hand free, causing relief to flood my chest. I don't move, not wanting to let her know I'm no longer constrained until the right moment. "You're ridiculous," I tell her haughtily. "The police are already searching for you. They're going to find you."

"In case you haven't noticed," she counters, raising an eyebrow, "I'm pretty damn good at hide and seek."

Narrowing my eyes in a glare, I watch as she turns slightly, as though she's reaching for something in her bag.

Using that as an opportunity, I spring forward, the loose ropes falling from my limbs, and I tackle her from behind, wrapping an arm around her neck. She lets out a startled gasp of surprise, her hands flying up to release her from my choke-hold. She manages to slip out of my grip, turning to face me, and before she can raise the gun, I clock her in the face, causing her head to jerk sideways.

Everything goes still for a brief moment, as she slowly brings her hand up to her mouth, touching her lip with her fingertips, pulling them back to see they're dotted with blood. She brings her piercing blue eyes up to mine, as though she can't believe what I've just done. I can see the fury light inside of her, as though someone has just flipped a switch. My own blood is pumping with adrenaline as I surge toward the door.

As my fingers graze the doorknob, a blunt force hits me over the head, effectively stopping me. I see nothing but stars for several seconds as I reach out blindly, trying to find something to steady myself. Zoe uses that opportunity to take me to the ground, and my back hits the concrete floor painfully, my breath coming out in a sharp exhale, and she lands on top of me.

A disoriented fog settles over my brain, and I try to keep my focus on getting the gun away from her through slightly blurred vision. Most importantly, I do my best to make sure the barrel is pointed away from me at all times. We struggle for a while, though she remains on top of me, until I bring my knee up abruptly, reaching for a handful of her hair and yanking at the same time, and she lets out a yelp, collapsing on top of me.

I shove her onto her back, rolling her over and straddling her as I work to wrestle the gun away. She wriggles a little, trying to get free, but she seems to realize it's futile, judging by the increasing panic evident in her blue eyes.

"I'm giving you one last chance," I say firmly, out of breath, chest heaving. "You have one last chance to back out of this and walk away. It's not too late. Nobody has to die today."

My words are meant to convince her that we can both make it out alive, but they seem to have the opposite effect. Her eyes grow wider, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and she shakes her head quickly, as though she's finally realizing she's fighting a losing battle.

She picked the wrong girl to try to murder.

"No— no way," she protests, reaching up and latching onto the gun again after a moment, causing me to flinch. "I'm not going down for this! Absolutely not!" For the first time ever, she genuinely sounds scared, and it catches me off guard. "I'm not going to rot in a cell because of you!"

Stubbornly, I refuse to release my grip on the weapon, but she manages to gain control of it. I don't let go, hand shaking with all the force I'm exerting in trying to control where she points the thing. I expect her to aim it straight at my face, but to my complete shock, she presses it to her temple.

My stomach drops as I realize what she's doing. Her blue eyes have gone completely vacant, and panic seizes my chest, my eyes widening tenfold.

"Zoe, no," I call out frantically. "Don't do this!"

Her mouth curls into a slow smile, one that chills me to the bone, branding itself in my memory. "What, aren't you going to tell me to sleep tight?"

"No—"

The rest of my words are swallowed up by the deafening gun shot, and the nightmarish screaming that follows.