Page 8 of We're All Liars

“Where’s Brooklyn?”

“She left already,” Warren responds with his lips on her neck.

She clings to him, but it looks more like she’s trying to stand up, and she’s almost crying. “No, she was supposed to take me home.”

“I’ll take you.” He moves his hand up her thigh, but she shoves it away.

“Stop it.”

Stumbling towards the door, Warren’s right on her heels. And she’s barely staying on her feet as she practically falls through the doorway back into the building. Warren disappears behind her, and that’s when I move, because every ounce of my intuition tells me to follow them.

Once I step into the hallway, I locate them just down the corridor. Warren’s got his hands on her hips, and I watch as he grabs her and pulls her to him as they continue walking. I can’t hear exactly what she’s saying, but it’s clear by the way she’s shoving him that she doesn’t want him touching her.

Hurrying forward, I move beside her, hook an arm around her waist, and pull her arm over my shoulder. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“She’s fine, Morgan. I got this.”

Warren goes to pull her from my grasp but I cling to her. “Don’t touch her.”

The playfulness that was on his face morphs into rage as he watches me.

“Something’s wrong,” the girl all but cries.

And I don’t have to guess that she’s either had too much to drink or she’s been drugged. But from Warren’s next comment—“Don’t ruin my fun because you’re having a bad night.”—I already know what his plan was.

“Did you drug her?” He doesn’t respond, only goes to grab her again. “Did you?”

“What if I did? Now the Queen Bitch of Wicked Souls is going to sprout a fucking conscience?” A surge of pure anger flashes across his face, and something about it reminds me of the hatred that Lenny had on his face that night.

I have to get out of here. But she’s coming with me.

“I need to go. Where’s Brooklyn?” the chick slurs as she trips over her feet. Walking is getting more difficult for her, but I try to get her down the corridor.

Warren hurries in front of me, blocking my path. “Fuck up my night, and I’ll fuck up your life. Or should I say light it on fire?”

His threat doesn’t scare me at all. Him preventing me from leaving sends my nerves a little on edge. But it’s her weak, trembling plea of “Please help me” that makes me want to run, vomit, and fight all at the same time.

“Get the fuck out of my way!” I scream. Warren seems a little baffled but doesn’t make a move. “I will fucking kill you if you don’t get the fuck out of my way.” I keep screaming, shouting, and clinging to the weak girl who’s almost on the floor as I try to hold her up. Her mumbled groans and sobs hit me in the chest, sucking the air out of my lungs just like Lenny’s boots did that night.

She whimpers in a string of what I mostly understand as, “Don’t let him hurt me. Don’t leave me with him. I can’t see. I can’t open my eyes, they’re so heavy.”

I know where I’m at. I’m in the French Quarter. At the masquerade. But every few seconds I get a glimpse of Lenny and the abandoned hospital. Or least the sensation that I felt when I was there.

Another jolt of agony hits my gut when Warren moves closer, his hand on my bicep.

I can’t breathe. I struggle to breathe, wheezing in air and screaming for Warren to back the fuck off at the same time. I want to hit him, punch him, kick him, but I’m too scared to let her go. The sense that I should run and hide is still strong, and I hate that the feeling is overpowering my concentration.

“Don’t touch me!” I shriek, my eyes shutting for a second as I shake the images of that night out of my head. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Warren hollers back at me, his face in mine, screaming. Then he suddenly lurches back.

Topher. He’s shoving Warren away, shouting at him. Ava is in front of me. Her frightened eyes a carbon copy from that night. “Morgan, what happened?” She helps me with the girl, supporting one side of her. “Morgan, are you okay?”

No, no, no. “He was going to rape her. He was going to kill her.” And when I hear Ava’s voice again, all I see is Lenny hovering over me.

Placing my hands to my ears, I yell for Ava to shut up. I don’t want to hear her voice. I don’t want to see his face. I don’t want to feel that way again. But I do. I’m back in the hallways, running and trying to find a way out. Only I’m not sleeping. I’m wide awake.

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