The aftermath of death always varied.

When Natasha died, there was chaos, the type of chaos that only a summer storm could bring. A hurricane of destruction, a shift in the stillness we were used to. It wasn't because she was loved — it was because people were scared they would be next.

Dean's death rattled some people to the core. People had questions — Human beings were meant to be curious, to seek answers they believed they deserved to know. People wanted to know if he truly just had a drink too many, his inebriated state leading to his unfortunate death. His drunken haze could've caused him to fall, hitting his head on the bathroom stall, earning the gash.

Others believed it was Killer Cupid. They thought that Justin was involved in some way, even though he was in jail. They said he must've sent someone else to complete his sick, twisted game. Dean was an easy target; no one liked him, just like no one liked Natasha. 

Whether you believed the first or second version didn't matter. What mattered was that in just a few months, Fairwood's population had gone down by two, two people they would never get back.

I closed my eyes, remembering how I had found Dean, his body twisted in a manner I wouldn't forget. The dried blood that dotted his Cupid's bow, and the way his eyes dulled altogether.

This time, it wasn't the eyes that would stay with me.

It was the smell. Remnants of liquor mixed with coppery blood.

Raggedy breaths rose from my throat until I heard a scream. It didn't come from me, though. Taylor had found us, her eyes darting erratically from me to the dead body in front of us.

Everything else happened like a groggy nightmare.

The police came. Sirens that I had blocked out of my mind from the night of the Valentine's Day party were back, flashing vividly in the background. Griffin ran up to me, pulling me into a tight hug. He was saying something, something along the lines of asking me if I was okay, but everything was blurry.

Across the beach, I locked gazes with Officer Davies. His eyes landed on me, dozens of unreadable emotions running through. Several empty bottles and red solo cups lined the beach, but right now, that was the last of our concerns.

One of the detectives held up a note — it was labeled Cupid's Guide to Murder. 

My stomach lurched, and I pulled out of Griffin's grasp to throw up. When I was done, the sirens were still going off.

--

The doorbell rang, pulling me out of my thoughts. The first few times, I didn't answer. No one else was at home to get the door, though, so I finally got up. I opened the door and my stomach twisted.

Justin shifted, his eyes meeting mine. He looked like he hadn't slept properly, sporting dark circles under his eyes and a bruise that hadn't quite healed. He ran a hand through his matted blonde waves before taking a step forward. "Haven. Hey."

I froze. "What are you doing here?"

He took a step forward. "I just want to talk."

I instinctively took a step back. This couldn't be happening. Justin was supposed to be at the police station.

He must've seen the fear in my eyes because he created distance between us, raising his hands in the air. "Please," he breathed. "I just want to explain things."

"I thought the police have an arrest warrant for you," I said, trying to steady my breathing.

"My parents posted my bail until the date of the trial," Justin said. He closed the door behind him, and an uncomfortable sensation tingled through my skin.

I swallowed. Of course, they did. Justin's parents were rich, and I should've known they wouldn't let their son stay in jail.

"You need to leave," I whispered. "Before I call the cops."

A flash of hurt crossed his face. "You're looking at me like I'm some monster. Haven, it's me."

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. The way he looked at me, it was like he was the old Justin. Maybe I had fallen out of love with Justin, but he had been my friend at one point. Now, we didn't even have that.

There was a crack in my cold exterior, and Justin saw that.

"I need you to trust me, Haven," Justin said, his voice catching. "Because you're all I have."

"Trust you?" I would've laughed, except there was nothing funny about this situation. "You lied to me throughout our relationship. You lied to me when you pretended like you didn't know anything about Natasha's death, and you're probably going to lie to me now."

Justin's gaze darkened. "It isn't what it looks like, Haven."

"We built everything about us on lies," I said. "But you could've talked to me. I would've listened to anything you had to say. You didn't have to hurt Natasha."

"I didn't!" Justin's voice rose.

I flinched. I saw it now. The crazed look in his eyes that Willow was talking about. It made his usually warm sky eyes fill with something darker — like the calm before the storm.

"Did you hurt Dean?" I asked.

"Dean?" His eyebrows furrowed. "Dean Ryland?"

"I found him dead at the bonfire." I swallowed.

Justin's face paled. "Holy shit."

Dean was an asshole. I knew that — the entire student population knew that. I couldn't imagine how many lives he had ruined, how many people had secretly wished he was dead. With the way he carried himself, you could tell Dean never regretted his actions or the people he hurt. Everyone else was helpless.

For the first time in my life, Dean was the one that looked helpless.

"You were out of jail, Justin. When the bonfire happened." My voice wavered. "He could've easily been your next victim. Did he know about what you did to Natasha? Did he find out?"

I swallowed. "Where were you last night?"

"Haven, do you hear yourself right now?" A look of frustration flashed across Justin's face. "I'm not some serial killer. I didn't kill Natasha, and I didn't even know about Dean." He moved closer, and my breath hitched. "Look, when you're angry, you're not thinking straight. I threatened Natasha because I didn't want her to tell you I cheated. But the last I saw of her, she was scared." His stony eyes met mine. "Not dead."

A shiver ran through my body. "That doesn't explain why they found Cupid's Guide to Murder and the weapon in your possession."

His voice lowered. "You don't understand. Someone's doing this to frame me. The notes, these creepy messages — were twisted. They mentioned things like getting flowers for a funeral, and I don't know... I think they were hinting at someone's death." He looked at me. "But I swear I don't know how the police found them in my locker."

I didn't want to take the bait — evidence had been found in Justin's possession. How could I believe anything he said?

"How?" I said.

"How what?"

"How do I believe you?"

Justin licked his lips. "I don't know. I just know if you don't, no one will. I don't have any friends. West doesn't even want his parents to fight my case. I'm on the road to losing my scholarship, and I already lost you." His voice broke. "I can't lose this case too."

Silence.

I chewed my lip, a swarm of thoughts flooding my mind. Trusting someone who hurt me had never gotten me anywhere. Not with Natasha, not with Justin.

Did I want to put everyone's life on the line by doing it again?

"You need to leave, Justin," I said, my voice coming out gravelly. "Because I can't call the cops on you, even though I know that's what I need to do."

The fight drained from his eyes. "I thought you'd get it, at least."

My heart squeezed, but I didn't respond. I didn't trust easily anymore. When he didn't make any move to leave, my fingers itched for my phone. I knew Justin would leave willingly, but what if he didn't? What if he got angry again? I shouldn't be alone with him.

His eyes landed on the red dress on my sofa.

"Prom dress?" He wouldn't meet my gaze.

I hugged my arms to my chest. I had been so excited, imagining going with Griffin, making the night into a dream. So excited that I hadn't realized we were living a nightmare.

"Are you and Griffin..." he trailed off. "I guess you're going to the dance with him."

I nodded, and his face was a shadow of gloom and acceptance. "Why him?" he finally said.

And I realized at that moment that I couldn't give him one answer. Because with Griffin, it was the way he made me laugh, even in my darkest hours. The way his touches made me feel and the butterflies they gave me. The way he was imperfect and flawed, just like me, and yet kind and honest, more than any person I had ever met.

With him, it was everything, all at once.

I couldn't have made it through any of this without him.

"You know what they told me?" Justin murmured. "I get to go to prom. Like that was any consolation. I get to go to a dance, filled with hundreds of kids that are going to look at me like I'm a murderer."

He shook his head grimly. "I'd rather rot in hell."

I was quiet. A small part of me wanted to feel bad for him, but the bigger part — the part that wanted to get justice for Natasha — wouldn't let me budge.

Justin's eyes flickered. "A few months ago, all I cared about was getting a scholarship to the University of Florida. My dream school. I thought I'd be the perfect guy, and I'd get the perfect girl, and everything else was smooth sailing."

His gaze met mine. "I lost a really good thing, didn't I?" He said it like it was a statement, not a question.

For a second, I saw the glimmer of the boy he used to be. And without the words being said, I acknowledged that this was a goodbye. Maybe Justin and I were never meant to be, but at one point, there had been respect.

He had taken that away, too.

He didn't wait for my response. He left, and he didn't take a second look back.

I released my grasp on my phone, realizing I didn't need to worry about my safety after all.

I had thought that finding closure to Natasha's death would fix everything. Seeing Justin get what he deserved was supposed to be the last step to leaving the past behind.

But some things weren't meant to be fixed. They crushed into fragments that would never truly piece together again.

Forever broken, forever bruised.