Okay, okay, if she really thought about it, it wasn’t what she’d wanted. She hated that those bitches were free. And she hated that she had been the one to turn Nick in. But she knew what might have come next if she hadn’t. As soon as she heard those sirens, she’d started to panic. She’d imagined the cops finding him . . . and then her.
Well, she couldn’t have that.
And so she’d fled. The cops had found Nick, still unconscious on the ground, Ali long gone. He’d probably told them she’d put him up to everything—which was pretty much the truth. And if Ali didn’t have solid proof to stop them, the cops would come looking for her. Luckily, she had the very thing to seal his fate.
That video. Nick never knew she’d taken it. But that was what you needed to do to survive in this world. You needed tricks up your sleeve. You needed to keep secrets and release them at the perfect moment.
Still, when Ali shut her eyes, Nick swam into her thoughts. The first time they’d met at The Preserve during group, Nick throwing a wadded-up piece of paper to get Ali to talk. The first time he’d ever shown her that secret attic at The Preserve that only the cool patients knew about—she’d written the name everyone but Nick knew her as, Courtney, in big bubble letters on the wall. The way he’d listened to her when she’d explained the horrible story about the switch. How he’d vowed to help her get revenge.
She thought about Nick’s figure looming next to her over the hole in her parents’ backyard that night Courtney died. After it was over, he’d grabbed Ali and hugged her hard, repeating over and over that he loved her so much and he was so, so proud. That was true love, she figured: Someone who would kill for you, over and over again. Someone who would go to the ends of the earth to wrong all your rights.
But now, something inside her turned to steel. Only the strong survive, she incanted. Even if Nick, when on trial, professed again and again that Ali was alive, there was no trace of her: She always made sure of that. Besides, he had been the one who’d murdered Tabitha. That video didn’t lie.
She rolled over in bed, poking her tongue into the space where her tooth was missing. “Screw him,” she said out loud, testing out her voice. “It’s time to move on. I’m Alison. And I’m fabulous.”
And she knew, suddenly, and without a doubt, that whatever she did next, she would do it well. And someday, when those bitches weren’t looking, she’d come for them again. But let’s face it: She was impatient. She had a feeling it would be sooner rather than later.
She couldn’t wait.