Free Vendetta by Katie Klein

Cutting and chewing and swallowing. Fork clinking against the ceramic plate.
    "Would you ever consider giving him another chance?" Seth finally asks.
    "No. Not as long as I have you."
    "What if you didn't have me?"
    "I do have you."
    "Bu t what if you didn't," he insists. "Would you ever go back to him?"
    Why is he even asking me this?
    "What? I don't know, Seth. No."
    "Why not? Because when it comes down to it . . ." 
    A fiery blush stings my cheeks. "It doesn't matter. I made my choice. I picked you."
    "But look where it's gotten you," he says, voice rising. "You could be living a normal life right now. Going to college. He could get you whatever you needed. That Italian restaurant by the sea. You would be taken care of forever."
    "I don't n eed anyone to take care of me," I tell him.
    Seth sighs. "That night you were with him at the country club—before I showed up—that's the kind of life you deserve, Genesis. Not these nightmares. Not hunting demons. And I hate. . . ." He trails off, unable to finish.
    "What is it, Seth?" I ask, tone bordering on defensive. "What is it that you hate? Viola? The demons? My decision?"
    "Me," he answers. "I hate myself for interfering." His voice barely moves past his lips. "That night? I should've stayed away from you."
    My pulse edges a degree. "Well, you didn't. And I'm not sorry," I tell him. "So get off it."
    I continue eating, ignoring the heavy silence wedged between us.
    When I finish, I push my plate aside. "We should go to the beach tonight. Before curfew," I announce.
    "I think Mara wanted to . . ."
    "Forget Mara," I say, groaning. "Let's get out of here for a while. You and me. Do something real for a change. It'll all be waiting for me tomorrow. Do you hear me, Mara?" I ask, voice rising. "I deserve a night off, too!" I turn to Seth. "Is she hanging around?"
    He shakes his head. "It's not safe," he says.
    "It's not safe to stay locked up in a pool house all day, either. You know my money will eventually run out, right? I'll have to get a job. I can't hide out f orever."
    "But until we figure out what Viola wants and how we can eliminate her, you should stay close to home."
    "There's a better way to handle this."
    He lifts an eyebrow, and I make a cutting motion with my index and middle fingers. "Best two out of thre e. You win, we stay in tonight. I win, we go to the beach."
    His shoulders fall in a resigned exhale, and, on the first count of three, makes a rock.
    "Paper beats rock," I say, waving my flattened palm.
    "One. Two. Three." This time I make a rock and he makes scissors. "Scissors beats rock," I reply, unable to hide my smile. "You really, really suck at this game."

 
     
     
    T WELVE
     
     
     
     
    I pull my old Honda into one of the public access lots, turn off the headlights, and kill the en gine. The lot is half-covered in sand, but I wait until I reach the rickety steps before kicking off my flip flops. I glance around, pushing the hair away from my eyes, looking for Seth. The warm sand squishes between my toes, and a line of broken shells s nakes across the beach from the last high tide. I step over it, continuing toward the sea, until I'm ankle-deep, the dark water flowing over my feet. 
    The moon hangs low, suspended in the sky, and the evening stars twinkle overhead. I scan the horizon, ga zing into the night. Still no sign of Seth.
    The beach is empty. It's dangerously close to curfew, and the police will be making rounds soon. A rush of air swirls past, raising goose bumps on my arms.
    I sit down at the water's edge. The tide is coming in, and I watch the sea ebb and flow. Drifting in and out. Waves crashing, thundering in front of me. I brush my fingers across the damp sand, making pathways, and find myself writing.
    I AM NOT AFRAID.
    The deceitful words slant across the sand, mocking me. B ecause I am afraid. I'm afraid of what is. What was. I'm afraid of what might happen. What I've become. I wipe my hand over the words, erasing them.
    I feel a