"Forget your past, forgive yourself, and begin again." -Unknown

I didn't sleep that night. I sat curled up in my window seat with a cappuccino, rereading the message the perpetrator had sent me.

My emotions were equal parts trepidation, fear, and victory. I was scared for what would come next, but happy that an ending was in sight. I was going to confront them, find out how they knew what I had done, and do whatever it takes to make sure my dirty laundry wasn't aired in public—at least, not in a way that I couldn't dictate.

I skipped school that day, as I had far to much to do. I spent the day zigzagging through town, getting my affairs in order, setting up certain things and talking to certain people. Everything that happened next was critical, and I had to be prepared. I had no idea what was going to happen, so I had to plan accordingly. All I knew was that this ended tonight. One way or another.

That afternoon, I packed my bag and began to head out, ready to tackle this problem head-on. I pulled out my phone and tapped in a simple text to the recipient: I know who you are. Meet me at Montgomery Lake at seven.

I threw it back into my bag and started for the door. Just as I made it to the foyer, I heard the key click into the door and it swing open. I froze and glanced at the clock as my mother walked through the doors, several shopping bags in hand. She frowned. "Camila?" she asked. "What are you doing home? It's a school day."

"I was just leaving," I informed her.

"Why were you here in the first place? You're a senior, you should be attending classes."

"I had something important to do," I replied. "I need you to trust me."

"That's not good enough anymore," she replied, dropping the bags to the marble floor and crossing her petite arms over her chest. "I'm worried about you, Camila. Skipping school, sneaking out...I let you do it when you were younger hoping eventually you'd fix yourself. But you're an adult now and you need to start acting like one."

"I will," I promised her. "I just have one more thing to take care of and then I promise you I'll be better."

"What are you doing that's so important?" she asked.

I sighed. "When I was younger, I did something I'm not proud of. And now someone knows. If they go public with it, it could destroy this family. I need to stop it."

"Are you in danger?" she asked. It was the most worried I'd ever seen her. My mother had never had a maternal, nurturing nature, and the fact that now she cared so much had me upset.

"No," I told her. "Whatever's going on ends tonight. I promise."

I started for the door, and opened it to find the weather cold and brisk. Fat flakes of snow fell to the pavement, creating an ugly slush, a harbinger for whatever was ahead.

I stopped and turned around, knowing I had to say it but not sure I could force the words out. "Mom?"

She turned around expectantly. "Yes, Camila?"

"Thank you," I told her. "For everything you've done for me, whether I've seemed grateful or not. No matter what happens after today, you'll always be my mother. I..."

"You what?" she whispered breathlessly, eyes wide and hopeful. I'd never known how much she was counting on hearing those words coming out of my mouth.

"I..." I swallowed, wondering why it was so hard to say them. Maybe because I'd never been much of an affectionate person. "I..."

She smiled sadly. "I know, baby. I love you, too."

I smiled softly and shut the door behind me, beginning on my way. I'd started off the first eighteen years of my life on a sour note, but I was ready to accept responsibility for my actions and try for a second chance. Whether that be admitting my crimes, turning to religion, enlisting in a monastery... I didn't know yet. All I knew was that I hated the person I'd become, and I was determined to change it.

No matter what the cost.

The drive to Zach's was a slow one, and I took the scenic route, savoring the sights. I wasn't sure when I'd changed; when I'd stopped caring about shortcuts and actually stopped to smell the roses. I smiled at the toddlers playing in the parks, hoping they'd never lose their innocence and do awful things. I enjoyed the view of the perfect gardens and I laughed at the old ladies in matching tracksuit pants jogging together. There was so much beauty and life and vitality in the world if one just stopped to enjoy it. I never had before, and now that I had an appreciation for it, I wondered how long I would get to enjoy it.

Where would I be in a year? Back to my selfish and conniving ways? Enjoying the four concrete walls of a prison cell? All I knew was that something had to change, or else I'd self-destruct.

I turned into his street, which was lined with maple trees and simple houses. His stood there warm and sunny, looking much more inviting than the cold and calculated mansions that took up residence on my street. I shut off the engine and stepped out, shivering in the brisk winds.

Nervousness fluttered in my stomach as I walked up the drive, and knocked on the door. I heard the low hum of voices inside, and then heard footsteps. As the door opened, I smelled chocolate fudge brownies and fresh cotton; the kinds of smell unknown in my home. No one baked or cleaned much; we had maids and cooks to do that for us.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked, and I saw laughter lines creasing the sides of her eyes. She was a beautiful and youthful looking woman. I wished such a sweet family had never moved to a place like Leighton Fields. And I hoped they'd never be tainted by the ugliness.

"Hi, I'm Camila," I told her. "I was wondering if Zach was home from school yet?"

She shook her head. "No, not yet, but he should be soon. You can wait inside if you'd like. I just made fresh brownies."

"Thank you for the offer, but I'll just wait out here if that's all right."

"It's much warmer in the house," she told me worriedly, and I felt my heart shatter at the maternal concern she showed to a girl she didn't even know. "At least let me grab you a blanket."

Before I could voice a protest, she had disappeared in a cloud of lavender perfume. She reappeared with a gray blanket. I thanked her and walked over to the steps, wrapping the blanket around me and taking a seat. The street was quiet, but in the distance I could hear bicycle bells ringing and the chime of an ice cream truck. Such simple and sweet noises, but ones I'd never taken much notice before. Life can pass you by so quickly if you don't take the time to slow down and appreciate it.

Time ticked by slowly, but I didn't care. Trapped in my own reminiscent fantasies, I hardly even noticed when the pick-up truck pulled up and Zach jumped out, a gym bag slung carelessly over his shoulder.

He frowned as he spotted me, and shut the truck of his door slowly. "Cammie?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

I stood up and wrapped the warm blanket tighter around me. "I need to talk to you."

He walked over to me and dropped the bag next to his feet, wrapping his warm hands around my shoulders. "Hey, what's going on? Are you all right?"

I sighed. "There's something I need to tell you."

"Come on inside," he told me, but I resisted his pull. I didn't want to darken his doorstep like that.

"No, can we please talk out here?" I asked.

"You're scaring me," he told me, but laced his fingers through mine and led me to a rocking-chair on the porch.

We sat down, and I turned to him, fidgeting with a loose thread of cotton. "Zach, there's something about me you need to know."

"What is it?" He took my hands in his and rubbed caring circles into the backs of my palms, setting me instantly at ease.

"I've lied to you about a lot of things," I told him slowly. "And what I haven't lied to you about, I've kept from you. Not because I didn't trust you, but because I didn't ever want you to have to know about me. Because I thought you deserved better."

"Cammie, you know how I feel about you," he told me solemnly. "I like you for you, no matter who you are."

Even if I was a murderer? I thought to myself, wondering if he really would stick by me if he knew the truth. I never wanted to have to take that risk.

"I'm not who you think I am," I told him. "I'm a bad person. I've done awful things—things no one should have to live with. But I want you to know that when I'm with you, all of that goes away. I feel like I can finally be myself. I see a better person."

"Then be that girl," Zach told me. "It's not too late to start again."

"It is," I told him. "There are some things you can't put behind you. Some things you need to deal with. I've tried to run from my past for a long time, but I'm through with trying to escape it. I can't. I have to come clean about this."

"What did you do?" Zach asked, and slowly retracted his hands. Dejectedly, mine fell to my lap.

"I can't tell you yet," I told him. "There are some things I need to take care of; a few things I have to figure out first."

"Why did you come here?" he asked me.

I turned away. "Because you're going to hear some things about me in the next couple of days; some might be true, others just rumors. But I want you to know, that no matter what you hear, there is a part of me that will always be with you. No matter how awful I seem, you bring out the best in me. With you I'm not the girl I am, I'm the girl I wanna be. Thank you."

"I don't know what's going on, but I'm going to stand by you," he told me steadfastly.

"Thank you, Zach," I whispered, tracing my fingertips down his jaw. "I really hope you still mean that after you finally understand how much of an awful person I am."

I stood up and let the blanket fall to the seat. "I have to go," I whispered. "I need to go see someone. No matter what you hear, always remember who I was with you. Remember the duck pond and our perfect world and the boardwalk and the way the whole world seemed to stop when it was just you and me. Don't forget that."

He stood up, but I was already hurrying down the walkway, hands stuffed in my pockets as the sky darkened ominously to a gunmetal-gray and the sky crackled with thunder.

"Cammie!"

I turned around and looked at him as I stepped into the car. The door closed behind me, and I turned on the engine, peeling away from the sidewalk and flooring the accelerator with a squeal of tires. He appeared at the end of the walk, but I didn't stop as he looked after me. I kept my eyes on the road, blinking furiously to stop the tears from falling into my eyes.

My voice cracked as I finally whispered what I had been too scared to say out loud. "I love you, Zachary Templeton."

~ * ~

The winding dirt road to the lake was slow and tantalizing, and my fingers tapped an unknown beat on the leather wheel as I peeled into a parking space and shut off the engine. Both fingers tightened around the wheel, and I took a deep breath.

I glanced around to find the place completely deserted, free of vacationing families or teenagers looking for a desolate place to get high. In the winter months it was always empty; alone.

I opened the door and stepped into the frigid air, pulling out my phone and dialing a number as familiar to me as my own.

The answer picked up three rings later; far away and distracted. "Cam?"

"Yeah, Per, it's me," I replied, locking the car and glancing around. I frowned at the wet grass and looked at my combat boots. What a shame.

"Where are you?" she asked, sounding more alert. "You're breaking up."

"I'm in Montgomery Park," I replied. "I'm about to head down to the lake."

"Why?" she replied. "No one goes there in December."

"You know the person who hit me with a car?"

"How could I forget?" was her terse reply.

"I know who they are," I told her. "I told them to meet me down here. If they're really ready to finish this, they'll meet me."

"Cam, that sounds dangerous," she replied. "At least wait for me to come with you. I don't like you being there alone."

"Too late," I replied. "Look, I have to go. I just wanted to call and let you know where I was."

"Why?" she squeaked, sounding scared. I heard a muffled voice and a door closing in the distance. "Camila, what's going on? I'm scared."

"So am I," I replied, walking further into the forest. I stepped over thick mulch and heavy underbrush, walking the familiar path to the river. No doubt it would be slippery and murky, and I took my time and stepped carefully over sharp rocks and sticky leaves. It was silent all around except for the occasional crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant hooting of an owl.

"Cam, please," she whispered. "Don't do this. We'll call the police to find this person. Don't go down there."

"I need to end this tonight," I replied. "One way or another, this thing is finished. I'm not going to be pushed around anymore."

"Cam, I—please—just don't—" her voice crackled through the phone, and I was unable to pick up more than a few snippets in her sentence.

"You're breaking up," I told her. "I have to go."

"I'm coming to find you!" she called through the receiver.

"Goodbye, Perrie." I hung up the phone and slipped it into my pocket, before emerging through a clearing of evergreen trees onto the rocky banks of Montgomery Lake. The waters were gray and choppy, and small ripples lapped up on the shore.

I looked around, squinting through dark trees and dense forestry. I slowly moved along the shore, kicking along smooth pebbles worn from the water and waiting in anticipation.

I turned around and faced the water, the toe of my boot splashing in the sea. I suddenly heard the snap of a twig behind me. I went to turn around, but felt a large force pushing me forward.

I yelped and fell down, rolling several times into the water. I fell back and looked up, shivering from the sudden drop in temperature.

"You," I whispered, struggling to my feet.

The smirk told me all I needed to know; that this was a terrible, awful game. And I was on the losing side.

"Yes, me," was the confident and smooth reply. "Oh, but you already knew that, didn't you?"

"Why?" I whispered. "Why me?"

"Because the higher you are, the further you have to fall. And watching a queen bee get dethroned is far too satisfying to pass up."

"I underestimated you," I responded. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. Camila Stryker isn't sorry about anything. But you will be."

They stepped forward menacingly, and in my haste to lurch back, I slipped over and hit the water with a hard thud.

"What are you doing?" I asked. "I'll do anything. I'm going to the police to confess. I'll pay you. Just don't do this."

"You're never going to stop. It's in your blood, Camila. And the only thing thicker than blood is water."

"What are you—?" I screamed as they lurched on me, the full force of their body hitting me.

I hit the water, and my head smashed against the muddy bank of the water, causing an ache to spread in my temples and my vision to darken. Hands were around my throat, lean fingers wrapping around my trachea and squeezing tighter. I thrashed helplessly, but I was too weak; sore and tired and desperate.

"Stop!" I croaked. "You're not a murderer."

"But you are," they were so close to my face I could see every speck in their eyes, and flashes of rage and betrayal coursed through me. I was always in control, and having the carpet ripped out from under me took my breath away. "This is for those four people you killed. For the people you hurt. The hearts you broke. The lives you ruined. Goodbye, Camila."

My hands desperately tried to pry away theirs, but it was futile. There was real strength and anger behind the onslaught, and my desperate attempt for breath was blocked. My lungs burned in agony, my eyes watered, and my head throbbed with the need for oxygen. My legs kicked out helplessly, and I could feel blood mingling with salt water.

I grew weaker and weaker, and my hands slipped lifelessly beside me. My head lulled back, and hit the muddy bank with a deafening crack.

The last thing I heard before I drifted into unconsciousness were the confident and murmured words, "Karma's a bitch. But, then again, so are you."

~      *     ~

Thanks for reading, and in your patience for waiting for this update!

There is only an epilogue left, and then you can start reading the sequel, titled Drop Dead Gorgeous.

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