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Back Confess to Me Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Sharon Doering
  3. Title Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. Author’s Note
  86. Acknowledgements
  87. About the Author

It was like gasoline had spilled inside my head. My eyes burned and my throat felt clawed. It was a head-throbbing blur, all of it. Grabbing the kid’s hair, dragging him into the bathroom and smashing his head against the urinal. Not seeing the blood everywhere, not feeling the blood on my own lips, my hands, until Rodney lay unconscious on the floor.

Now I set my palms on the table and looked at Sawyer. He didn’t hate me. His eyes were wet like mine. I pushed my plate away and kept talking.

Rodney hadn’t been in school the rest of the week. Word was going round that I’d given him a concussion. Good. That devil-worshipping, murder family deserved what it got. Actually, no. They hadn’t paid enough. Where was the justice for Dawn?

That weekend I got mean drunk at a party and hit a deer on my drive home. The deer bolted out onto the road so fast though, I probably would have hit her even if I’d been sober. I bumped my head, but it didn’t split the skin. The pain in my head, the dent in my truck, the alcohol heating my blood, all of it fanned my anger.

I dragged the deer to the back of my truck and heaved her in. She wasn’t big, barely one-hundred-fifteen pounds.

Her blood slick and warm on my hands, the meaty stink up my nose, I knew what I needed to do.

It was three in the morning by the time I’d finished. I slit the deer’s throat, collected her blood in a bucket, and splashed that family’s windows with blood. When relief didn’t come, and my heart throbbed with rage, I’d walked around to the back of their house, laid down in the woods, and cried myself to sleep.

Enough. You can’t tell him what happened next.

71

71

HEATHER

Desiree and I were out of the car and running through the grass. It was cold and wet against my ankles. We were on the gravel path that ran behind my house—it glowed and rolled like a curvy slide taking us up into the sky.

I’d left my car in the street, maybe in the grass, but it was fine. It was cool.

“Are we going to his house?” I said.

“Whose house?”

“My neighbor. He shot a deer and made me jerky.”

“Shit, bitch, you are floaty. We’re going on an adventure.” And she grabbed my arm and pulled me off the glowing path into the grass. I tripped on something, dragging her down, and she fell onto me, laughing. Her body was soft and her smell was spicy menthol and eucalyptus lozenges. When she lifted off of me to roll onto her back, her hands were on my shoulder and under my breast, and it tickled. We giggled like kids.