Luke's POV
They say when something burns, it smells like truth. That night, all I could smell was chlorine, blood, and betrayal.
Oliver almost died. And the worst part? It didn't surprise me.
Maybe because some part of me always expected the world to do this to him. Or maybe because Oliver has been running on empty for so long that collapse felt inevitable.
But that didn't make the sight of him floating in that pool any less terrifying.
I keep replaying it in my head—how he looked like he was drifting between worlds. How his fingers moved underwater like he was trying to hold onto something that wasn't there. It's like how I wanted to drown in the first of place.
And I wasn't fast enough.
I don't remember running. Just fists. A blur of Nico's face. The crack of my knuckles against his cheekbone. The way he looked at me like I was the enemy.
He said it like a curse: "He came to me because you all left him empty."
Those words dug deeper than any punch I threw. Because before Oliver quit the swim team—before I stopped talking to him, before we both pretended we were strangers, we used to share things no one else knew.
Like how his house never felt like a home. Like how my dad leaving made me hate swimming because the water was the only place I felt alone. Like how he used to watch the ceiling at night and count all the ways he didn't fit anywhere.
We promised we'd never let each other drown.
Funny how promises fade.
We all watched the ambulance disappear like it was stealing part of us. Then the cops showed up, late, like always, flashing lights painting the street in colors that didn't feel real.
Everyone lied. Even me.
Marley told them there was a fight, but it wasn't serious. That Oliver slipped. That no one knew about pills or parties or Nico standing in the yard like he wanted to burn the whole world down.
But Nico saw the way I looked at him. He knew I knew.
He stood on the porch afterward, bruised and bleeding, arms crossed like he was daring someone to ask him what he gave Oliver. I wanted to hit him again. Ask him why he saved Oliver if he helped break him.
But I also wanted to ask something worse:
Was I the reason Oliver went to you?
I didn't ask. I walked home instead, hoodie soaked, hands shaking. Couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Oliver sinking.
The next day, the school was quieter than a graveyard. Whispers followed me down the hallway. People watched me like I was the one who OD'd. Like fighting Nico had made me part of the tragedy.
No one knew what to say. So they said nothing.
Even Ava was silent. She hadn't shown up to school. No one had heard from her. I didn't blame her.
She was always the strongest of us. That's what I used to think.
Now I wasn't sure any of us were strong. Just really good at pretending.
After lunch, I went to check the nurse's office just in case. Still no Ava. Just a girl crying behind a closed door and a nurse pretending not to hear it.
I walked out and texted her. Nothing. I called. Nothing.
I couldn't shake the pit in my stomach. So I went to her house.
Her porch light was off. Curtains drawn. I almost turned back. But I knocked.
No answer.
I tried again.
The door creaked open.
Not Ava.
Her sister.
Eyes red. Hair messy. Jaw tight.
"You're late," she said. Like I was supposed to be there hours ago.
"I—I just wanted to see if she's okay."
The girl—Sky, I think—bit her lip. "She's not here."
"Where is she?"
"She left last night. Packed a bag. Said she had to fix something."
"Fix what?"
"She didn't say. Just that it was about Landon. And that if anything happened to her, I should burn his house down."
My chest went cold.
"She didn't take her phone," Sky added.
"What the hell is she doing?" I whispered.
But I already knew.
Ava was going to confront Landon.
Alone.
I thanked Sky and ran. Called Marley on the way. She didn't answer, but she texted: Don't do anything stupid.
Too late.
By the time I reached Landon's place, the front door was open. One of the garden gnomes was shattered on the steps. A picture frame shattered on the porch. The hallway light was flickering.
I stepped inside.
The living room was chaos. A table flipped. A lamp broken. And blood.
Ava was sitting in the middle of it, her hands stained red, her face pale.
I froze. "Ava?"
She looked up slowly. Her lip was split. One eye already swelling.
"He came at me," she whispered. "I didn't mean to. He—he wouldn't stop. He said it again. Said he blackmailed Nico. Told him if he didn't give Oliver the pills, he'd ruin him. He wanted to watch us all fall apart."
She looked down at Landon's body. His chest wasn't moving.
"I hit him too hard."
I stepped forward. "Ava…", she didn't cry. That scared me more than the blood.
"I didn't want to kill him," she said. "But I'm not sorry."
The silence that followed was so loud I could hear my own heartbeat.
We didn't call the cops.
The cleanup took hours.
We wore dish towels on our hands like gloves. Used bleach that burned my throat. Wiped down every surface. Every doorknob. Every shard of broken glass.
Ava kept scrubbing the same spot on the floor long after the blood was gone.
At one point she whispered, "He laughed while he hit me. He said no one would believe me."
I didn't know what to say. So I kept cleaning.
We dragged Landon's body to his garage—covered him with an old tarp. Moved him like he weighed nothing, even though the weight of what we were doing felt crushing.
We found his phone. Broke it. Threw the pieces into a storm drain.
Ava burned the fire poker in a metal trash can out back, flames lighting her face orange. She didn't flinch.
I drove her home using roads no one used at night, headlights off for long stretches. The whole ride felt like we were holding our breath.
On her porch, Ava finally spoke.
"If anyone finds out," she said, "you don't know anything."
"I do know," I told her. "That he deserved worse."
By morning, rumors were everywhere. Landon was "missing." Some said he ran away. Some said he overdosed. Some said Ava finally dumped him and he couldn't handle it.
No one cared enough to look deeper. Not yet. But they will.
Oliver was awake.
I went to see him.
He looked different. Tired. Hollowed out.
When he saw me, he didn't smile. Just asked, "Did you know?"
I didn't answer.
He nodded like he expected that.
"I don't love him," he said. "I don't even know why I went. I just wanted to forget."
"You scared me," I said.
He looked at me. "I scared myself."
There were no promises made. No forgiveness handed out. Just silence. The kind that says everything without needing words.
And in that silence, something cracked open between us.
Not healing.
But maybe the start of it.
January 26 2008