Page 95 of Haunt the Mall

The monster in my chest chewed at the bit. I fluffed my hair and strutted to the door. “Well, I’m fine staying out of her mess. I’m too trashy to babysit her demon spawn, anyway.”

“Demon spawn?” Jen shrieked.

Mom held her back from throwing leftovers at me through the kitchen doorway. “Oh, Kat, you had to chime in.”

Jen snarled. “Let me at her.”

I smiled and flipped her off on my way out. It was almost nostalgic.

I slammed the door shut and stood on the porch. No one would follow me. I wasn’t a leader. Or a girlfriend. I wasn’t even a confidante.

I was a final girl.

They didn’t have happily-ever-afters. They survived. Haunted. Probably forever.

Cold air pricked my skin and nestled in my lungs. Dark suburban streets and their soft-lit houses held so many secrets. Especially from me.

I marched across the lawn. My fingers flexed with the urge to destroy just a little more. I could call Victor a coward. He could call me a freak. It would be ugly, and maybe exactly what I needed to walk away for real. Forever. No more hoping. No more VIP.

In my parents’ yard, twisted branches raised like spires in the bloody sky. A black rubber ring hung in wait for an offering. It was a death trap. A happy, weightless swing. Something risky.

I shoved the tire and relished in the horrible cracks and creaks. Everything was breaking. Or changing.

Invisible cords tightened over my writhing, wretched agony. I pushed the swing again. It soared, trembling in the embrace of gravity.

I wanted Victor to see me: fishnet tights and bleeding heart. I imagined him sucking pumpkin guts off my fingertips and savoring every second. It didn’t matter if it was gross or raw or strange. I wanted him to love me. All of me. The same way I adored him. But he wouldn’t let me in.

The tire sank and swung back to me. One more push and I’d break the damned tree. I closed my eyes and clutched the chain on the swing, the cold metal gnawing on my fingertips. My heart raged in a silent inferno.

I deserved someone who loved me.

The door creaked open. I dug my heels into the crunchy grass and grit my teeth at the sound of Mom’s low heels.

Here she came, ready to fight over a goddamned swing.

It wasn’t worth tearing apart my family.

I let it go gently. “I’m leaving.”

Mom rubbed her arms and shuffled to the edge of the porch. “I’m sorry about Jen, sweetie. Do you want to come inside?”

“No. Not tonight.” I marched toward my car, the tire swing’s prickled skin brushing my leg in farewell.

“We love you,” Mom called to my backside.

I scoffed and closed myself into the car. Sure, they did. They loved Jen too.

Love. What weird, stupid fuckery. I didn’t know why I couldn’t keep its magic burning. I turned my phone back on, popped it on my dash, and set my playlist through Bluetooth.

Various alerts lit up my screen, including a text preview that read:

< Can we talk? >

No. Whoever it was, I wasn’t in the mood to talk.

I sang along to heartbreak on the way home. Guitar riffs broke up the darkness and synth filled my soul. Nobody got angst the way my high school playlist did.

I pulled into the parking lot. A red car idled in a spot near my apartment.