Inquest (31 page)

“Isn’t she
supposed to be too powerful for that?”

“Who was
strong enough to hurt her?”

“Is she right,
after all?”

“She can’t be
the Destroyer with a broken leg.”

My foot is
throbbing, but there is a secret smile hiding behind my grimace.
Milo leans down next to my ear as we reach my locker, and says,
“Thirteen must be your lucky number.”

“Must be.
Nobody ever cared this much about the other dozen times I broke a
bone,” I agree.

This whole
thing could backfire in an instant if anyone found out I pretty
much did this to myself, but of the four of us who know what really
happened, the only one who would even think of telling would be my
mom. And admitting to the world that she tried to kill her own
daughter, and failed, just isn’t something she’s likely to do. Milo
kisses me goodbye at the door to my first class and heads off to
his. My first three periods are filled with whispers and guarded
stares, but fairly uneventful. They’re so quiet I doze off several
times during each one.

Guardian
training puts an end to my mini-naps. The click-clack of my
crutches on the gym floor draws Coach Clement’s attention at once.
He speaks to me for the first time in months. “Libby, what on earth
happened to you?”

“I, uh,
tripped while I was doing sprints up the bleachers over the
weekend.” It’s a lame excuse, but the only reason I would be
sprinting up bleachers would be to try and improve in his class. A
little extra guilt for the compassionate coach isn’t going to hurt
him.

He makes the
connection and his frown deepens. I hobble over to him and tug a
piece of paper out of my back pocket. “Here’s a note from my
doctor. It wasn’t a very bad break, so I should be back after
Christmas.”

It’s another
lie, but I can’t very well tell him I am a freakishly fast healer
due to my phenomenal Strength without cancelling out what I’ve
accomplished today. Coach Clement buys the lie without
blinking.

“Take as much
time as you need, Libby. I’ve been pushing you so hard. I don’t
want you training again until your doctor says it okay. Just take a
seat on the bleachers for now. Watch the drills and pay close
attention to the technique. If you need anything just let me know,”
he says.

“Uh, thanks,”
I say, a little taken aback by his abrupt shift from hating me to
wanting to help me. Maybe he isn’t quite as power hungry as most of
the other Guardians are. I lost faith that any of them really cared
about protecting people a long time ago. Like the third or fourth
time they dragged me back to my house kicking and screaming after
sneaking out at night. Coach Clement nods and walks back to the
center of the court to start class.

I didn’t even
notice Lance wasn’t already here until he comes racing through the
doors. The moment he sees me, his eyes bug out of his head. He
takes a step toward me, but Coach Clement calls him over. His
duffle bag drops with a thud. Four long seconds pass where his
expression races through a dozen different emotions before he turns
and walks over to join the group.

As confused as
I’ve been about Lance, I wasn’t sure how he would react, but his
eyes keep darting back to me every few seconds. His distraction
makes his performance suffer greatly. I have to bite the inside of
my cheek to keep from laughing as he bumps into his classmates over
and over again. The frustration in his eyes is more than amusing.
And the alarm on my phone doesn’t improve things for him. Or for
anyone, actually. The whole class turns to look at me as I try to
get my phone out and reset the alarm.

“Sorry,” I say
to Coach Clements as he approaches me. “I need to go take my pain
medication. I didn’t mean to disrupt class. I’ll just go out to the
water fountain.”

My struggle to
stand up has him reaching for my arm to help, but somebody else
gets there first. “I’ll help her,” Lance says.

Coach Clement
frowns for a moment, and then probably after considering Lance’s
inability to focus today, he nods his agreement. That taken care
of, he walks back to the floor and picks up where he left off. I’m
having a harder time doing the same. Lance’s grip on my upper arm
is gentle enough, but his touch seems to leech away all my
strength, and my ability to think. I stand there in a stupor for
way too long before remembering what I was doing.

“I…I need my
pills out of my bag,” I say. His familiarity with my belongings
leads him right to the side pocket where I keep all the stuff that
usually goes in my purse. He palms the pill bottle and starts
leading me to the hallway. Neither of us says another word until we
reach the fountain.

He hands the
bottle over and asks, “Libby, what happened?”

“I fell.” He
steps closer and I nearly trip myself trying to move away.

“What really
happened?”

Of all the
times for him to be in tune with my emotions. “What?” I snap. “You
don’t believe me? You’ve seen me in class. You know how many times
this has already happened.”

“No, I don’t
believe you.”

“Why not?”

He shakes his
head and throws his arms up. “I don’t know, Libby, I just don’t,
okay? You’re usually pretty ticked off about getting yourself hurt,
but you almost seem glad about it this time. You’re lying and I
know it.”

The entire
time we were dating he never once picked up on the subtle hints I
would try to give him about one thing or another. Now he decides to
pay attention. “My ankle is killing me. I am not happy about
it.”

“You’re happy
about something,” he accuses.

“Maybe it’s
just nice to have people acknowledging that I exist again!”

“What really
happened?”

He’s not going
to let this go. Maybe if I tell him the truth he’ll just leave me
alone. “My mom. I went to see my mom. It didn’t go very well.”

The
intimidating quality of his stance softens. “Your…mom?”

I nod. He
knows our history better than Milo ever will. He’s lived it with
me. More times than I care to remember, he whisked me away after a
fight with her to cry or just escape and blow off my anger. His
arms wrap around me in a motion so familiar I can’t seem to
resist.

“Libby, I’m so
sorry,” he says softly.

For a brief
moment I am back in time, back when my life made some kind of
sense, back when I knew what my future held, back when I wasn’t an
outcast. Back before Milo.

Milo!

I jerk back
from him and bump into the water fountain. Lance tries to follow.
My hand slaps against his chest. “Lance, what are you doing?”

“Libby, I miss
you,” he says. “I miss this.” His fingers reach up and brush
against my cheek. My head begins to tilt toward him purely on
instinct. I catch myself and snap my head back up.

“You left me,
remember? You don’t get to miss me.” He shouldn’t even get to think
about me anymore. His presence becomes oppressive instead of
inviting. Every hateful glare and snide remark I’ve gotten from him
in the past few months crowds to the front of my mind, pushing out
the times I thought he was trying to help me. My hands clamp down
on my crutches. The rubber grips bulge under the pressure. “Lance,
please just leave me alone. I don’t want to do this with you.”

Lance’s hands
slip between my crutches and past my waist to plant themselves on
the fountain behind me. He’s a safe distance away until his feet
move to straddle mine, bringing his chest barely an inch away from
me. “Well, I
do
want to do this with you right now, Libby. I
want you to tell me that you don’t miss me too.”

“Lance, I’m
with Milo now. Please leave me alone,” I beg.

“I won’t. I
want you back. Please, Libby.”

Push him away.
Slap him. Bite him. Anything to stop him from speaking. I don’t
want to hear the words I would have given anything for the day
after my Inquest. “Lance, you know who I am.”

His head drops
down, touching lightly on my shoulder. “I was wrong, Libby.
Everything I’ve done to you, I would take it all back if I could. I
was scared. That night, I didn’t even think before I jumped up.
Guardian Clement has drilled into me a desire to kill you for the
past year. Before you joined class we had drills every day to
react, to kill, as soon as we heard the name Cassia. I reacted out
of habit, brainwashing, whatever! I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Lance looks
back up and meets my eyes. “That’s what I wanted to tell you at the
dance, that it was all an accident.”

“But you
didn’t because Angus and those other idiots would have heard
you.”

“You’re
right,” he says with shame in every syllable. “I’ve never felt
worse than I did that night after seeing the look on your face. I
couldn’t stand it. When Angus confronted me about my loyalties to
the Guardians, I couldn’t do it anymore. There was no way I could
stand there and tell him I believed you were evil. For the first
time since your Inquest I made the right choice and stood up for
you. It’s what I should have done from the beginning, but I was too
big of a coward.”

My mouth
opens, but I can’t immediately form any words. The ache I have been
carrying around with me for months is threatening to wither. It all
makes perfect sense. But does that matter? Can I excuse his actions
because he has a good excuse? Indecision poisons me, weakening my
resolve to be angry at Lance. One fault in his logic finally brings
my voice back.

“Then why did
you run away after my Inquest if all of this is actually true? Why
did you tell everyone what had happened the next day? Why have you
terrorized me more than anyone else in this entire school?” I ask.
Every reason he just gave seems to crumble in my mind. Tears more
exquisite than anything ever induced by my mother careen down my
face. “You made everyone hate me, Lance. If you had shut up about
it, pretended like nothing had changed everybody would have
followed along. But you didn’t. You made my life hell! You! You
were supposed to love me, protect me from crap like this, not
instigate it! You betrayed me. Am I just supposed to forget that
and throw my arms around you now?”

Lance cracks
under my barrage. “Libby, I…I know what I did was horrible. I hate
myself for hurting you. I just didn’t know what to do!” he says,
his deep voice cracking. “I snapped when the Inquisitor named you.
I ran because I was afraid I’d do it again. Afterward, when the
adrenaline finally wore off, I couldn’t believe what I’d done. I
told my dad everything. I asked him what to do. I wanted to call
you and apologize right away, but he wouldn’t let me. He said I had
to stand up for what I believed in, what I have trained for, no
matter what.

“Howe
threatened to kill Inquisitor Moore’s daughter if he helped you.
You think he didn’t make the same threats to my dad? To me? My dad
convinced me I had to be the most outspoken against you or Howe
would come after me. He’s still afraid Lazaro will do something
just because we were friends. My dad told me I could never have you
again, but the biggest reason I turned everyone against you was to
protect you. If they were scared of what you might do, they’d be
too scared to try and hurt you. It was all I could do.”

The feel of
his hands moving around my waist makes my whole body constrict. I
don’t want this. I don’t care about his excuses. I don’t believe
him. I refuse to believe him. He was too convincing to ever let me
believe it was all an act. I won’t let him tell me he was only
doing it for me. He would have stayed with me if he wanted to
protect me. But as his body leans up against mine I can feel my
resolve weakening. Before that night, I never believed he would
hurt me. I convinced myself that his watching and interfering with
Angus was him still trying to protect me. Could I possibly have
been right about all of it?

“I don’t care
anymore, Libby. My dad can keep me out of the Guardians all he
wants, but I can’t do this to you anymore. I can’t keep pretending
to hate you. I abandoned you and you got hurt again. I believe you
that there must be some mistake in what happened to you. I was too
blind to see it before now. I never want to see you hurt again,” he
says. His cheek presses up against mine as his fingers caress my
back. My own hands are still clamped down on the crutches, almost
to the point of snapping them in half, but they are begging me to
run them up and down his back.

“Libby, please
give me another chance. I love you. I always have.”

I am too
shocked to respond. My lack of immediate rebuff emboldens him. He
moves so quickly, drawing his lips up against mine. My heart
breaks, shatters. This is what I wanted from him that night. All I
wanted in the whole world. But he didn’t give it to me. Instead he
attacked me. Can I really ever forgive that? I don’t know, but I
can’t decide right now.

“Stop it,
Lance,” I mumble under his lips. He doesn’t stop. His kiss becomes
more forceful, begging me to melt under his passion like I used to.
“Stop it! Stop it, Lance. Please.”

“Please,
Libby,” he begs in a rushed breath without stopping.

The crutches
clatter to the floor as I run my run hands up his chest. He shivers
in delight until I shove him away. “Get away from me, Lance!”

Shock coats
his features. Whether it’s from my refusal or the force I used to
push him away, I don’t know, but I don’t think he does either.
“Libby…” he says. His voice is laced with the pain of rejection. I
can see it in his eyes, in his slumped shoulders and rocked stance.
“Libby, please don’t do this to me.”

Anger rises
like boiling mercury. I have every intention of slapping him as
hard as I can, well as hard as I can without killing him, and
screaming my hurt in his face until my throat explodes, but I
momentarily forget about my leg. My step forward brings a whole
different kind of pain. I cry out and slump to the ground, my
crutches scattering. Lance has me in his arms a fraction of a
second later. Pain tries to override everything else but I refuse
to give in to it.