Trust Nobody by Hippie Sabotage

I don't trust nobody, I don't even trust my mind, losing everybody.

Grayson's gone by the evening, along with the others. So here I am again at square one, alone in Massachusetts with a stalker after me. But at least my family's safe. Sure Grayson probably hates me now, but at least he won't wake up to a bloody knife again. 

Alone in my room with all my windows and doors locked, I start taking notes in a book of all the things I know. Every incident that could be linked to this stalker.

And then once I've got that down, I start writing every single person I've ever known. Followed by their motives, alibis and connection to me.

I clear up an entire wall of my room, discarding the burnt and cut photos of my friends and I to the trash can by my bed.  I use thumbtacks to pin photos of each person to my wall, along with index cards of all the information I need.

The brink of insanity was crossed a long time ago, but now even more so when I bring out red wool from Maddie's knitting collection.

I connect peoples alibis with the incidence of the stalker with red string, my entire wall almost full before I'm even done.

"I know you're fucking listening to me. And I want you to know, that I'll fucking find you. And I'll fucking kill you." I yell out.

Danny's photo is hauntingly placed in the centre, almost every rope leading to him.

I scan over every picture of everyone I've ever known. 

Everyone in that gang I used to be in. My high school friends. Even my elementary school friends. The Rooney's. The Hawthorne's. Sheffield Grayson's family. Danny's family. Every security guard at Hawthorne House. Eve. Blake. The Laughlin's. My neighbours back in Connecticut. All my teachers here at MADS. Everyone in my classes. Everyone at work. My roommates. Nash. Xander. Max. Libby. Jameson. Avery. Grayson.

Nobody gets a free pass. It could be anyone, and I'm not counting on gut instinct to save my life. So I open my mind up to the possibility that anyone around me is guilty.

My eyes are currently lingering over Skylar's photo. A photo I found on her instagram account. I don't know where she was during any of the incidents. Plus she only really showed up right when this all started. Not to mention the fact I don't even know her.

Then theres that Theodore guy she was with. There's something about him that makes me think he's guilty, but I'm still not sure if he's just teasing me or if he's actually behind this.

"Who the fuck are you?" I growl, tying my hair back and shrugging off Grayson's zipped sweater that I stole. He doesn't actually wear sweats much, mostly because I stole the only ones he owns, but also because he pretty much lives in suits.

Grayson? Could it be him?

I shake the thought from my mind and continue scanning over my suspects.

Emily... Somehow back from the grave and targeting me?

Thea. 

Rebecca.

Toby. 

Ricky.

Oren.

Alisa.

The point I realize this has gone too far is when I find myself writing my own Mother's name on there. 

Hannah.

I run out of index cards and start writing with thick black sharpie straight onto the white walls. 

Thumbtacks are somehow poured over the floor, I don't actually remember dropping them. But they're spread out on the floor, anytime I need one I just bend down and get one.

I hear birds chirping at one point, along with a significant change in the brightness of the room. I realize it's already sunrise, but I don't make a move to get even an hour of sleep. I just keep going. It's not like I could've slept anyway.

As I'm changing into my leotard, I keep my eyes planted on the wall, scanning over everything in hopes of finding some connection.

I spray my blonde hair with hairspray back into a bun, tying my point shoe ribbons and practising, prancing around my room, using that same wall as a spot.

My eyes bore directly into Danny's. It's a photo I printed of us at junior prom. The second this is over I'm burning it. If this is ever over.

"Rooney? You okay in there?" Maddie's voice comes gently from outside my door. She slowly cracks the door open, I instantly slam it shut on her face. 

"Yeah." I reply shakily.

"Okay... did you and Hawthorne break-up?" She asks softly. "Nope." I call back, pinning some rope between Max and Grayson, noting that she initially said he was hot. Could she be jealous? Could this be an act of envy?

"You just told him to leave early?" She clarifies hesitantly. "Yep." I call back. "You wanna talk about it?" She offers gently. "Nope." I call back yet again impatiently.

"How's your hip and wrist?" Maddie changes the topic. "Fine." I grit my teeth, sick of the questions.

"Rachel, Hayden, Wyatt and I are heading to class. If you need anything, just call." She finishes. "Can I get a ride?" I reply desperately. "We're under strict instruction to keep you on bed rest. Where do you wanna go?" She sighs.

I throw my bag over my shoulder, slipping out the door to reveal my uniformed body. "Class?" I say like it's obvious.

"No way. You're not healed." She argues. "Drive me or I drive myself." I retort.

"Grayson said not to let you leave. And I get the impression he doesn't like to be disobeyed." Maddie shakes her head profusely, chasing me down the stairs. "Are you going to tell him?" I ask.

"Are you crazy? No. Not if I can help it." She scoffs. "Then I won't either." I shrug.

After a stern talking to from Rachel and Hayden, we finally pull up outside the main campus building. Wyatt exits the car and finally gives me the freedom to do the same. Being the youngest means they make me take the middle seat, which sucks when Maddie has no clue what personal space is, and Wyatt seems to always perform to whatever Beyonce song is playing on the stereo.

My teachers throughout the day bicker at me about dancing injured, but none object because I'm their best dancer.

I get asked at the end of the day to audition for this Christmas Eve's show as if it's not just barely February. They're auditioning early this year, which seems unfair because first years won't get the chance like I did.

I danced a month ago and a half ago in the annual christmas eve show. I fell off a broken chair on worldwide television and ended up in hospital, becoming a meme which doesn't seem to be dying down yet. But they ask me to audition again, so I must've done something right.

Getting in twice was rare, considering they only choose 4 kids per year. But to get in a third time might actually break a record. You have to be invited to audition, let alone actually getting chosen. 

In the days that follow, I don't sleep. And when I do it's in mere intervals, still half awake. I make it to the weekend, auditioning the same way I did last year and the year before. 

The only thought ripe on my mind throughout the whole audition is my suspect board. When will they strike again? Who is it? Why are they doing this? What exactly is the purpose?

When? Who? Why? What?

Is this a revenge scheme? Or is it simply crafted to torment me? Who have I wronged? How do I fix it? Will this ever end?

"Paris Rooney." Someone calls out. I snap out of my haze and dart my eyes around. We're all standing in a chorus line. They're announcing who they've chosen.

Shit.

I push my feet to step forward, forcing a grateful smile on my face.

"Maddie Winters." 

My friend steps forward, nodding gracefully and curtseying. I can see based off the way she turns to me that she's ecstatic. She reaches out for my hand, squeezing it.

The four of us that were chosen stay behind late to discuss rehearsal schedules. 

The whole drive home Maddie is bouncing off the walls with excitement. I wish I had it in me to feel excited. Or happy. Or even anything at all would be fine. But all I feel is drained and terrified. 

I hate this. I hate feeling like this. Because my 12 year old self would be enraptured to hear I was chosen to dance for such a huge event, not once, not even twice, but three times. I'm still only 18. I'm not even in third year and I've been chosen for something this big three times.

And yet I can't call anyone to tell them. Because I broke my phone, yes, but more so because I can't trust a single person anymore.

(a/n. I literally love writing Paris going crazy. I think I'm either losing readers and voters or I'm just updating too frequently that y'all can't keep up which is so valid because I used to update monthly and now it's like every other day. In my survey, most people said they prefer when I update my chapters whenever they're done being written, so I'm gonna trial run that. Thanks for reading <3)