That last sentence echoed in my mind like reverberations of a thunderclap.

“What do you mean?” I said, each word laced with dread. He could die and it wouldn’t make a difference.

“I just mean, it doesn’t matter whether he’s around—I’m always going to be that girl. Weak, unable to protect myself. He didn’t just steal one night, he stole my entire childhood! All the years and years I spent living in terror. All that fear, it’s saturated every cell in my body. It feels like it’s corrupted my soul. No matter what I do, I’ll never be free of it,” she said, her voice lowering to a whisper at the end.

No matter what I do—the fireworks outside her father’s house, more revenge pranks—I’ll never be free. Her words hit me hard, and her voice as she said them was even more haunting, like she had given up, like she was cornered with no way out.

We spent the rest of the ride in silence. Maybe there was nothing left to say.

I wasn’t capable of admitting it then, but I was terrified. Jack was right: No matter how many pranks we pulled, no matter how many people we helped, none of it would make her feel better.

Elise thought if she acted now—if she drove to Chattanooga, fucked with her father—she could somehow make up for what she perceived as her past weakness. But nothing she did seemed to ease the heaviness of her anger and self-hatred.

I wanted to free her from it, I wanted to save her from drowning, but sitting next to her in the Pink Caddy, the dark night road stretching before us, I didn’t have the strength. I just felt tired.

We believed our wounds made us special. We believed what didn’t kill you made you stronger. We believed our tragedies were romantic.

Only I didn’t feel very special or strong or romantic. I felt helpless and scared and so very exhausted.

“Don’t tell anyone what we did tonight,” she said when we finally got home. “Promise me, Remy. Promise you won’t tell anyone, not even Jack.”

“What if he asks? What am I going to say? What am I supposed to tell him?”

“I don’t know, make something up. Or just tell him you don’t want to talk about it.” I looked away. She took my hands in hers, yanking me back. “Remy, promise me.” I gave her a curt nod, not saying anything.

Maybe I knew I had no intention of keeping that promise, even then.

SUNDAY // AUGUST 27 // DAY 352

57.

We got home a little past five in the morning. We went to bed without washing up, and Elise fell asleep almost immediately. I lay there unable to drift off, thinking about Elise’s words on the drive back. Her anger, her pain.

After an hour, I gave up, slipped out, and drove to Jack’s house, texting him when I got there. He came out in his pajamas, hair mussed, eyes half-open. “Remy?”