It's Friday night, Stacie's just closed, and Haley isn't here yet.

Aside from the general anxiety I've grown used to over the past week, I don't think of these circumstances as a huge problem until I step outside and a figure appears on my right. I jump, hands flying up to shield my face or punch this surprise visitor, I don't know. It takes a moment for my brain to catch up to what I'm looking at—or rather, who. A young man, blond, tall, though not as tall as me, hands raised, not to attack, but in that it's-okay-I'm-not-going-hurt-you gesture. Davy?

No, Sam.

I don't know how I can tell, suddenly.

"Sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Fuck," I breathe, leaning against the glass door. My heart thumps loudly in my ears. I don't think I made any wrong movements, at least—my ribs seem fine. It's been almost a month since the assault, anyway. They're healing. They're fine. I'm fine.

I glower at Sam. "What do you want?"

"I . . . I didn't—I just wanna talk."

"You could have called."

"Right. Sorry. I'm—I don't have your number, so I didn't think of that, but—yeah, I guess I could have asked Davy. Anyway, uh . . ." Sam shifts on his feet, scratching the back of his neck. "Did you talk to Principal Edwards?"

"Yes, she told me you ratted on your friends."

"I did," he says.

"Okay."

He holds my gaze. Without a word.

"What?"

"I . . ."

"Did you expect me to forgive you?"

His lips part, and then they stay like that. Open, but silent.

"You did," I say.

"No," he says, his face dissolving into a grimace, staring hard at the ground. "No. I wouldn't forgive me. We really fucked you up. I just—I wanted to say sorry. I know saying it isn't enough, and I'm not very good at saying it, but I hope you believe I mean it this time, because of . . . you know."

"I see. Well—" I pause as I hear the rumble of the Destrier approaching in the distance. I push down my agitation, willing my pulse to calm, and say, "Thank you, I guess. I don't forgive you, but thanks for apologizing."

Sam nods.

"Please never show up to my work again."

"Uh. Yeah. Okay."

The Destrier comes closer, engine growing louder as it takes the last turn onto the street, and Sam turns around. He stands frozen until Haley stops the car in front of Stacie's. They roll down the passenger window, leaning over the console to meet Sam's eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Sam doesn't respond.

"Talking," I say, walking over to open the door.

"Hm," Haley says as they sit up straight. "Good talk?"

I get into the passenger seat and give them a thumbs up.

"Okay. Bye, then."

Sam nods and says goodbye, and Haley rolls up the window again. We watch him bury his hands in his pockets and stalk away, the seconds ticking by. Even when Sam is a hundred feet away, Haley still doesn't put the car into first gear.

"You can start driving, you know?"

I don't mean to sound so annoyed. I look down and realize my hands are clenched. I uncurl them, but it doesn't make a difference. My fingers still want to grow nails, long and sharp and deadly, and grab someone by the throat. Not Haley. Not even Sam. Just someone. Something.

I need to not be human right now. It was already time, but now I need it.

"Sorry," Haley says.

"It's okay."

"It's not. I shouldn't have lost track of time."

"Can you just start driving?"

The Destrier roars to life.

Ten minutes later, we're in the woods. I can't be bothered to go very far, so I don't. When I let my bear out, it's like pulling a bullet out of a wound.

Haley doesn't say anything the entire time. Not even when I give in to my impatience and start running. The bullet resists, but I pull harder. I'm tired of it being there, rooted in my nerves, embedded in my flesh. The pain, the fear, I want it gone. I want it all gone. I just want to run and forget.

"Gus!"

I stop.

"Don't go too far, please!"

I look over my shoulder and wonder, if I just sat down and waited here, would Haley be able to find me? Or would he get lost? I've never abandoned him in the woods before. We're always together. He's always close by.

"Gus?"

With a huff, I turn around and start walking back. When I get to him, he's sitting on a fallen tree branch, reading messages on his phone—correction, the burner phone.

He looks up and smiles. "Hi."

I sit down beside him on the ground and lean over to look at the screen. More flirting. Unsurprising. I want to ask if Haley ever gets tired of pretending to be Matthew, of sending a woman nearly twice his age flattering messages when, really, he only has eyes for his friend.

What would Davy say if he knew we were doing this?

"We should ask her soon," Haley says.

I glance over.

He runs a hand through his hair and explains, "It's starting again."

Oh.

I don't have to ask what is starting again. I've noticed the increasing amount of cigarettes he smokes. I've seen the way his hands rub over his arms, slowly, absently, as if every touch is a comfort. It probably is. It's almost been a month since he drank my blood, and he wasn't wrong when he said it would be worse. The need is stronger now more than ever. Even if we get George to still the hunger for another month, we have to ask. That's why we're doing this.

"But not right now," he says, putting the burner away. Then he grabs his own phone, opens the camera app, and holds it up. "Smile!"

Maybe I growl a little.

Maybe I also let him put his arm around me and take that picture.

☽〇☾

💰💰💰💰💰

it's my birthday next week

the 9th

ok

congratulations?

💰💰💰💰💰

it's time for phase 3

Is it? I haven't even decided what to do with the guys who've been suspended yet. Granted, I still have about a week and a half to think about it, but I doubt Mrs. Edwards would like it if I waited until the last possible moment. Either way, whether I press charges or let the school handle it, phase three probably won't make a difference now, but if Haley wants to go through with it, I guess it can't hurt.

His birthday is as good an excuse as any.

I press the call button and say, "Alright. Let's throw a party."

Since Diane's still upset about the coffee table, we're hosting the party at the Hardings' house. Davy offered. It's funny, actually, because Sam's not invited.

"But what if," Haley says, and I can hear the smile in his voice, "we make him organize it?"

"Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Like . . . as punishment?"

"Or a testament. When is your birthday?"

"Well, it was right before school started."

"Oh, that was only, like . . . three months ago. Perfect. It'll be a joint party. Haley Sinclair and Gus Reed turn nineteen! Wait, you are nineteen, right? Why are you in pre-uni if we're only three months apart?"

"My mom put me in elementary school as soon as she could, so I'm technically a year ahead. I don't think it matters much for summer kids, though—as long as you're smart enough to keep up."

"Show-off."

I laugh. As if Haley's not smart. His grades are pretty good, especially for someone who doesn't put that much effort into school aside from, you know, doing the required work and showing up to class. I wouldn't expect any less, though, with James and Diane Sinclair as parents.

"Anyway," I say. "Sure, let's have Sam organize our birthday party."

"I'll make sure Davy keeps an eye on him."

"Will he?"

"I think they're back on good terms. Davy texted me the other day: he told Sam to step up or whatever. That's why he went to the principal."

"I thought he told her because she asked him."

"Well, he saw an opportunity and took it. I think that counts."

"Fair."

"This party will be the true test of loyalty, of course."

"Sure," I say, nodding, even though he can't see it.

I can't help but think about what Mrs. Edwards said. I do not condone assault, but I do believe in second chances. Especially for those who feel . . . remorse. Does this mean we're giving Sam a second chance?

I'm grateful for his apology, but I am really not ready to forgive him. It's gonna take more than "I'm sorry" for me to not be pissed at him anymore. Besides, what about the others? Can I even press charges against three of my assaulters without implicating the fourth? Hell, what about the fifth? The guy who doesn't even go to our school? If I don't press charges, does he get to just walk away without punishment?

"What do you think we should tell Mrs. Edwards?" I ask.

Haley's quiet for a moment before he says, "I don't know."

"If we let Sam prove his loyalty, and he does that, we can't exactly press charges against him. I mean, we could, but that doesn't seem fair. He's the only one who made any sort of attempt at showing he's sorry. The others don't even feel sorry, I'm sure. And are we gonna do anything about . . . Daniel's cousin, or whoever the fuck he is?"

"Shit. I forgot about him."

He's easy to forget. I don't have to look at his face every day. I don't even know his name. But he was there, and he beat me just as hard as the others.

"Well," Haley says, "if you wanna press charges, I don't think there is a way we can separate Sam from the others. Even if we tried . . . I know Daniel. That bastard will make sure he goes down with them. But if you wanna let Mrs. Edwards deal with it, we'll figure out a way to make that other guy pay. If that's what you want."

Is that what I want?

I sigh and glance around the room. Clothes draped across the foot end of my bed, stacks of books on my tiny desk, pens and markers . . . nothing that'll help me decide. When my eyes find the clock on the wall, I jump up. "Shit, I gotta get ready for work. You, uh . . . go talk to Sam and Davy. I'll think about what I wanna do in the meantime."

"Alright. Is Kurt picking you up?"

"Yeah."

"Good luck."

"Thanks. Bye."

☽〇☾

By the time I get off work, I've made my decision. If anyone asked me why, I could spend hours justifying my reasons, and they would be valid, even if a part of me still doesn't believe I'm making the right decision. In truth, I just wanna get this shit done and over with. I want to do something, and this is the fastest solution. The message Haley sent me while I was gone only strengthens my resolve: Sam is willing to organize a party for us. Happy even, if I am to believe Haley. Alright, then.

Bring it on, Sam.

The next morning, I tell Mrs. Edwards, "Haley and I talked with Sam. He apologized to me and wants to make amends. The others haven't spoken to me since the assault, and honestly, I don't think they will. I've decided not to press charges, but I'll take you up on your offer and let you decide how to . . . deal with them."

"Very well."

"Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes?"

"There was another person there. Someone who doesn't go to Larkwood High. I don't know if there's anything you can do, but I figured I'd let you know."

"Who was this person?"

"I think he's related to Daniel Gonzalez, but I'm not sure."

"I'll look into it."

"Thank you."

She gives me a rare smile. "If anything ever happens again, please don't hesitate to let me know."

I start to nod, but then a thought occurs to me. "If you really want to help, ma'am, can I suggest . . . doing something about the way people treat lower-class students?"

She leans forward, and I take that as my cue.

"I was lucky that Haley wanted to be friends with me," I continue, "but it's not like that for everyone. I think a lot of kids feel like they can't say or do certain things in fear of being judged or mocked. And if you can't even talk to upper-class students, forget about befriending them. It's dangerous. I never would have been assaulted if Haley hadn't started talking to me. They thought I was taking advantage of him."

"How do you propose I do something about that, then?"

"I don't know," I say honestly. "I don't think—there is no easy fix."

"Well, yes, this . . . mindset is not something new, but you and Mr. Sinclair have shown me that it's not impossible to break it. I think we may be moving in the right direction already."

"But who's to say it won't go right back to normal when I leave? Or when Haley leaves? There will be more Daniels and Emres and Bennetts."

She raises her brows. "That is . . . a fair assumption."

"If you care about changing things, I recommend speaking to other students. Lower-class students, I mean. They've been here longer than I have. They know the school, the town, the people. Get their opinion."

"Alright," she says, pushing her chair back and standing up. "Thank you, Mr. Reed. I'll follow your advice, and I'll let you know what happens to the boys. You may return to class."

☽〇☾

A/N: A reminder that I still do weekly live readings in the Literary Lounge, including Patreon-exclusive bonus chapters! I've actually written several bonus chapters since the last time I made an author's note about it. I just kept forgetting to mention it because I always prepare and publish these chapters right before the readings. Anyway, these bonus chapters are highkey turning into a whole companion novella at this point. I've named it "The Simp Chronicles" because Davy is a fucking simp, and it amuses me greatly.

I even made a whole timeline to keep track of when everything happens:

You can find all of this on Patreon—keep in mind, the bonus chapters are only available for the $5 tier—or you can just tune into the next reading (Sunday, 10 PM CEST) and I'll do a quick recap of everything that's happened from Davy's POV so far.

Links to both my Patreon and the LL Discord server are in my bio!