Feuds (18 page)

She returned to bed and squeezed her eyes shut, but the images wouldn't disappear: the bodies, twisted and burning; Prior skin melting as the corpses caught fire. The Imps and the fury and fear in their eyes. Cole's eyes when he looked at her and realized she knew the truth. When she'd taken a motie the first time, she'd assumed it was okay, because she'd watched Cole hop into one. Now she knew better, and a wave of embarrassment overcame her. Davis held back a sob but allowed tears to stream down and dampen the pillowcase beneath her.

Everything made sense to her now: why he'd never been roofing before, why he fell in the first place. Why he acted so goofy and awkward about his DirecTalk. She was an idiot not to have seen through his lies sooner. The pain of it overwhelmed her, and she gasped deeply to avoid throwing up for a second time. He was the only person she'd ever wanted to be with … the only person she'd ever craved and felt herself slipping toward unstoppably. She'd wanted it. She'd wanted to give herself to him fully. She
still
wanted it: to feel his body next to hers, to trace the contour of his jaw and place her lips on his familiar collarbone and lean her head against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her back in a promise to protect her. She knew it was impossible, but deep inside her there existed a mad, desperate hope that this was all some kind of mistake.

Davis used the remote control at her bedside to flip on her wall unit. Its screen lit up with images that seemed too bright, too colorful to be real. She switched the channels through all the major news stations, searching for a breaking news report detailing what she'd seen. But there was nothing. There was coverage of the recent development plans in the lot that used to house a community playground. There was a quick segment on the campaign. She flipped more rapidly, passing through images of a new department store and a state-of-the-art irrigation system. No bodies. No horror. Just smiles, eerie in their bright frankness. It was enough to make her think she'd dreamed it all up.

Davis had never felt more isolated or more terrified. It was as though her heart had picked up a new speed, running twice as fast as before, and she was almost getting accustomed to the low-level nausea that had settled in the pit of her stomach. Everywhere she looked, a thin but impenetrable barrier existed between her and the people around her. She was walking in the same world as before, but she had the sense that no one would hear her if she shouted, and she'd no longer understand any of them. She was so, so scared. Scared of what she'd seen in the mirror, scared of what could happen to her dad if he knew what she'd done with Cole, scared of the stacks of Prior bodies back in the Slants, scared of the Imps she was now certain had killed them, and scared of the way her heart was breaking. The thoughts tangled together until their edges blurred and faded into one messy lump of bad feelings, a steady swell of sadness that finally lulled her to sleep.

She woke to her intercom crackling to life. Fia's voice sang through it, offering a welcome reprieve from her twisty nightmares. “Where are you? Are you still sleeping? Mom made gluten-free cookies and they're not that gross, come out!”

“Give me a minute! I was just reading.” Davis hoped her voice sounded more convincing filtered through the intercom than it did to her own ears. She sighed and pulled herself into a sitting position, checking her DirecTalk for missed calls. Four messages from Vera about some party at the House of Mirrors later on—but nothing from Cole. Not that that should surprise her. She didn't know how he'd had access to a DirecTalk in the first place. She shook her head, angry with herself for thinking about him and—worse—for caring. He was an Imp. He'd probably stolen it. He didn't care about the rules, or her for that matter.

Davis wanted to crawl back under her covers and sleep forever. She wanted to skip right past this unbearable thing her life had become and move forward to some future, better time. The fact that she was even having these thoughts at all freaked her out a little. It was all within her control; it had to be. She'd been perfect before, and she could have it all back if she worked hard enough and focused and wiped her mind clean of the past week. It was all Cole. The kiss on the roof had been … it had been ecstasy. And that simple fact made her stomach twist in horror. His body pressing against her, feeling like its rough edges and soft spots were produced specifically for hers—all of that, it was an illusion. A sick, twisted lie. His skin against hers, the way his hands cradled her face so carefully. The way he'd whispered that he'd take care of her—she'd believed it all. She'd fallen for it, and she'd fallen for him, and now she had to face it: he had betrayed her, played her, used her.

A single clear thought found its way into her head, giving her something to focus on beyond the pain in her limbs: she had to turn Cole in. She didn't have a choice. She was jeopardizing everything—her reputation, her father's campaign—if she didn't. Because if she didn't and someone found out, she'd seem complicit. Her life would be over.

Davis showered quickly, indulging for only the briefest minute in the soothing feeling of the water pelting down on her aching shoulders. She threw on a pair of jeans and a button-down, feeling energized from her resolve. She sprayed her face with the barest mist of tinted sunscreen and swiped on a thin coating of lipstick. Her hand trembled a little, but that was just from her exhaustion; it had to be. She switched on her vitals monitor then—she tried to remember to get a read at least once per week, but it had been a while. She centered her body in front of the tablet, so the device could get an accurate reading. Maybe she wasn't eating enough. The machine would tell her which nutrient supplements to load up on. The machine emanated a shifting red beam that scanned twice over the length of her body. Then the red light disappeared and a soft thrumming sound indicated that her report was about to be generated.

Just then, the intercom blared to life from the bedroom. Davis heard the squeal of Fia's tinny, little-girl voice blaring out of it; she hit
cancel
on the report and moved quickly into the bedroom to see what her sister wanted.

“They're, like, almost gone,” Fia was saying. “Davissss. Daaaaaavis. Hurry up!” Davis rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling a little; Fia was so bubbly and full of life. No matter what else was going on, she never failed to make Davis feel a little lighter.

“Hold one hostage for me,” she said into the device. “I'll be right there.” Davis smoothed her shirt with her hands and took a few steadying breaths. Seeing Fia and her father would calm her. It would make her feel more like herself. Confessing would relieve the enormous burden she was carrying, wrap her back in the safety of their protective net. She would do it.

She glanced at the vitals monitor, wondering if she should generate a new report. She hesitated, about to step back on—but pulled back. Davis dashed out of her bedroom, heading toward the sound of voices coming from the living room. She was almost to the threshold when Frank materialized, blocking the only entrance to the room with his hulking frame.

“I don't have time, Frank,” she hissed under her breath. “I need to talk to my dad.”

“Your dad's busy,” Frank told her. “He's in a meeting.”

“He's always in a meeting,” Davis snapped. “He can take two minutes to talk to me.” She shoved into Frank, harder than she meant to, and he moved out of her way, looking surprised. Davis stepped into the living room. There was her dad with a camera crew and … was that Wes Hollinder of the
Hollinder Hour
? It was. Davis felt her heart sink; the
Hollinder Hour
was one of the most watched programs in all of New Atlantic. Apparently she was interrupting something big, after all.

“Dad?” Davis said, taking in the scene. Her face flushed as three sets of eyes—the cameraman's, her father's, and Wes Hollinder's—turned to meet her own. Her dad stopped in midsentence and the cameraman yelled, “Cut.” Then her father moved toward her, and a look of concern passed over his features.

“Davis, sweetheart,” he started. “Is everything okay? Didn't Frank tell you we were in here?”

“He did,” Davis said, her heart hammering. “I'm sorry. We can talk later.” She backed out of the room and hurried into the hall, shaking.

“Davis, wait,” her father called after her. “Just a second,” she heard him tell the other two men. “This won't take long.” He met her in the hallway, his brow furrowed. “Honey,” he said. “What is it? You look upset.” Davis stopped, surprised that he'd hit pause on what was apparently a huge interview to listen to what she had to say.

“You'd talk now?” she asked. “In the middle of an interview?”

“Of course,” her dad replied. “If it's important. You must know by now that you're my first priority.” Davis's heart swelled and she struggled to blink back tears. Her dad truly loved her; that much was clear, despite the campaign and everything else going on. He loved her, and she knew in that instant that she couldn't bear to let him down. There was no way she could tell him about Cole and devastate a career he'd been building as long as she could remember. She saw that now. He tried, he really did. It couldn't have been easy. She had to support him—she couldn't ruin his life. She wouldn't come clean. Instead, she'd pretend Cole had never existed. She'd return to her normal life, to being the perfect daughter she'd always been before. She had no choice.

“Mr. Morrow?” The cameraman poked his head out from the living room. “I'm sorry to interrupt you, sir, but I wanted to remind you that we're on a tight schedule. Mr. Hollinder is putting in an appearance at a charity event in just over an hour.”

“Just give me a minute,” her father told the cameraman. “I'm with my daughter.” The cameraman nodded, looking uncertain, and retreated back to the living room.

“Davis, you're shaking.” Her dad put his arms around her, trying to draw her close. She shrugged him off.

“No,” she said, backing away. “I'm totally fine, Dad.” She pasted a smile on her face, hoping it looked natural. “I'm so sorry to interrupt you. Really. I was just a little stressed about dance,” she said, fumbling for an excuse, “but I never would have gone in there if I'd known you were in the middle of an interview. Frank just said it was a meeting. I should have known better—I'm sorry.”

He held her eyes with his own, his brow furrowed. She maintained her smile, waiting for him to continue. He ran a palm over his jawline, which was freshly shaven for the interview. “I checked in on you around noon and you were asleep,” her dad said. “I know how much strain you've been under with the Olympiads coming up. I was happy to see you get some rest, noodle.”

“Noodle? Seriously Dad, you haven't called me that in forever.” She frowned at him, pretending to be annoyed, though the use of her old nickname almost made her cry, it was so sweet. “And I did get some rest,” she assured him. “I'm fine now, I swear. You should get back in there.” For some reason, though, her dad wasn't leaving. It made her feel even guiltier to know that he would take time out of this important interview to talk to her, even though she really didn't have anything to talk about—at least as far as he was concerned.

Her father sighed and rubbed his temples, and the gesture made him look somehow older. For the first time, Davis noticed a few gray streaks in his sideburns, and she wondered when they had appeared. He'd never looked anything but distinguished and handsome to her; she so rarely saw him with his guard down. “The thing is, honey,” he continued, “you're always in the spotlight. Everyone's following your Olympiads progress. I know how hard it's been for you. And I want you to know that you make me incredibly proud. I couldn't be prouder. You've already helped me so much during this election. It hasn't been easy on you—or Terri, or your sister. I'm aware of that. And I'm so grateful to you for being the way you are.”

So much of her had wanted to tell him the truth only moments before. She had badly wanted to be relieved of the burden, to have someone else handle it for her. But she knew she never could. Even the knowledge that she'd done something that could potentially hurt her father threatened to rip her apart. Even if he never found out—and he couldn't—she'd always know. She'd always carry that burden. The only way out of this was to return to as normal a life as possible, as quickly as possible.

“Come here,” her dad said, pulling her into a bear hug. “What is it, Davis? Is it really just practice that's bothering you?”

She shook her head quickly, pulling away. “I'm fine. Really. Really, Dad. Just get back to the interview. Time is money, right?” She smiled again. “I'm late for meeting Vera, anyway. That's where I was headed before—I was on my way out.” The second she said it, she was glad she had. Seeing Vera—hearing her gossip and helping her weave elaborate braids through Davis's dark hair and brainstorming Vera prospects for the orchestra—all those normal things they always did together were the quickest way to feel normal again, she was sure of it. It was what she needed more than anything just then, she realized. Even thinking about it lifted her, just a little.

“I'll see you later on, okay?” she persisted.

“Okay,” he told her. “Don't stay out too late.”

“I won't.”

Her dad moved back in the direction of the living room, then paused, one hand resting on the doorframe. “Davis?” he called after her.

“Yeah?”

“I meant what I said about being proud of you before. I couldn't wish for a better daughter.” The pang that crept up her chest was almost as crushing as the one she'd felt at Cole's betrayal.

It was only when she was well outside, halfway to Vera's, that she remembered Fia and the cookies. She massaged her temples, suddenly feeling even more stressed. It had been so long since she'd spent time with her little sister. She'd make it up to Fia later. Later, always later. But she would, she swore it. She pulled up her tablet keypad and typed out a quick message to her sister.