Of course, he was guilty, too. The searing, rending pain in my chest, the actual breaking of my heart . . . those were Tristen’s fault, too. This time he couldn’t blame his actions on an alter ego or a formula that my family had poisoned him with generations ago. Tristen had chosen, of his own free will, to have sex just for the hell of it, with my friend.
And me . . . I’d been so stupid to think that he considered what we were about to do special.
What had Tristen whispered to Becca before he’d changed? Had he looked into her eyes the same way he looked into mine? I clenched my fists, struck by a terrible thought. If things hadn’t gone wrong that night, would Tristen still be with beautiful Becca? Was Jill Jekel just a last resort yet again?
“Get out!” I cried, pointing to the door. “Just go!”
“Don’t be mad at me!” Becca was clearly surprised by my reaction. “I’m doing you a favor. And I didn’t think you would ever get together with him when we did it!”
“No?” I snapped. “Why not? Because Jill Jekel could never get a hot guy?”
“Jill . . .” she stammered. “I didn’t mean that . . .”
“Yes, you did!”
“Look. You’re way overreacting.” She jammed her hands into her pockets. “Christy Hitchcock’s parents are out of town. There’s a big party at her house tonight. Why don’t you come? It might help to be around people. Put things in perspective.”
“A party?” I was incredulous. “You think a party will fix what you just did?”
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” Becca sighed. “I mean, everybody has sex! You didn’t think Tristen Hyde was a virgin, did you?”
No, I hadn’t thought that, and yet . . . “Get out,” I ordered her again. “Just leave me alone!”
“Whatever.” She headed for the door. I got the sense that she felt like she’d met her obligation to me and was wiping her hands clean of the whole mess. “I still think the party would do you good. You spend too much time in this gloomy old house.”
The door slammed behind her, and I trudged upstairs and stood, once more, before my mirror.
Talk about a monster. The girl reflected there didn’t just disappoint me. She sickened me. She was so stupid, and naive, and grotesquely innocent. She’d been pointlessly waiting, dreaming of romance, of love, when everybody else was busy screwing, randomly and meaninglessly, taking whatever satisfaction they wanted with no regard for emotions.
What a fool she was. What a pathetic sucker.
I wanted to tear off her carefully ironed blouse with the same violence that the beast had started to use back in the lab. I wanted to yank off her plastic eyeglasses and grind them under my feet. I wanted to rip out her childish ponytail and chop off her mousy brown hair, hacking at it painfully with the dull blade of a knife.
Turning my back on Jill Jekel, I went to my dresser and hauled open the top drawer, digging until my fingers touched smooth glass. Grabbing the vial, I yanked out the stopper and raised the beaker to my lips.
As the formula trickled down my throat, the pain seized me, and within seconds I was on the floor, and I did yank out my ponytail and tear at my blouse as I writhed against the hardwood in agony, my stomach seeming to dissolve inside me.
But not once did I regret what I’d done. And when I managed to rise to my knees, shaking, shirt torn from throat to navel, hair wild, I crawled back to the mirror and looked at my face, a smile—a sneer—creeping across my lips and a gleam forming in my eyes.
Jill Jekel as I knew her was vanishing.
Chapter 75
Jill
WHAT A NICE BIG NEEDLE. How it gleams on the dresser. How sharp it will feel inside of me.
Slowly, slowly, I press the point against the flesh of my earlobe. The metal pierces deep, penetrating virgin skin, a bead of blood oozing out and trickling down the instrument to dribble across my fingers, making them sticky and warm.
Yes, yes . . .
The point erupts through the other side with an audible pop, and the deed is done. I withdraw the slick instrument, twisting it in the hole, savoring the sting, and the blood, dripping on my shoulder, stains ivory fabric.
I raise the needle again, the process is repeated, and—both ears ravished—I go to Mrs. Jekel’s jewelry box, digging until I find two big gold hoops.
Absolutely perfect for a party.
Chapter 76
Tristen
“JILL?” I OPENED the back door a crack. “Are you here?”
When she didn’t answer, I entered the dark kitchen. “Jill? Sorry I’m late.”
But I was speaking to no one. The house was obviously empty.
Assuming that she had run out for a moment, I paced around, waiting for her—purposely avoiding the very thing that drew me.
That old Steinway in the corner.
Did I dare? My stomach twisted just to think about it, yet I did risk a glance.
Find out, Tristen. Have the guts to play. You’re alone, with no one to hear if you fail.
Taking a deep breath, I sat down, poised my fingers, and closing my eyes, I touched the keys, wincing as my broken wrist suffered the impact. But it wasn’t just the physical pain that struck me as I struggled to bring forth something, anything, worth hearing.
Yes, I could still play. I had technical skills and could create a melody.
But the inspiration, the darkness that had driven my best work—it was gone.
Pounding the keyboard, but impotently, I gave up and buried my face in my hands, mourning not just the loss of my talent but finally the thing that I’d killed, too.
The beast. We had been
