Be With Me


 
 
 
 
 Be With Me
 
 Table of Contents
 
 
 Contents
 
 
 Dedication
 
 
 Prologue
 
 
 One
 
 
 Two
 
 
 Three
 
 
 Four
 
 
 Five
 
 
 Six
 
 
 Seven
 
 
 Eight
 
 
 Nine
 
 
 Ten
 
 
 Eleven
 
 
 Twelve
 
 
 Thirteen
 
 
 Fourteen
 
 
 Fifteen
 
 
 Sixteen
 
 
 Seventeen
 
 
 Eighteen
 
 
 Nineteen
 
 
 Epilogue
 
 
 Acknowledgments
 
 
 About The Author
 
 
 Copyright
 
 
 She's With Me Sample Chapter
 
 
 
 
 Landmarks
 
 
 Cover
 
 
 Half Title Page
 
 
 Title Page
 
 
 Table of Contents
 
 
 Dedication
 
 
 Prologue
 
 
 Body Matter
 
 
 Epilogue
 
 
 Acknowledgments
 
 
 Contributors
 
 
 Copyright Page
 
 
 
 ALSO BY
 JESSICA CUNSOLO
 
 She's With Me
 Stay With Me
 Still With Me
 To those of us who sometimes feel lonely. 
 Prologue
 No one warns you how much blood there will be when you stab someone in the neck. But unless an artery was hit or today is the exception, there is a gory, horror-movie amount of blood seeping out of Stan Roven’s neck. It’s splattered all over me, my white work uniform, the mattress, the carpet. 
 My younger sister, Gia, gazes up at me from where she’s cowering against the headboard, bruises already forming on her tan skin. 
 “Siena,” she gasps, wiping at the splash of blood on her face with a shaky hand. “He . . . I . . .” 
 “It’s okay,” I shush her, approaching the slumped body on the bed. He’s lying facedown on the mattress Gia and I share, his neck hanging over the edge, causing the blood to drip onto the carpet. 
 Gia wraps her arms around her legs, hugging them to herself and trying to hold together the torn edges of her shirt. There’s barely any blood on her. “Is he . . . ?” 
 “Dead,” I confirm. Living in this sleazy building on the wrong side of Los Angeles means we always tried to be careful, especially with the number of strangers regularly traipsing through our apartment, so we kept a large kitchen knife in the bedside drawer for emergencies, though we never really thought we’d have to use it. Now that same knife is sticking out of Stan’s neck. 
 Gia shudders, her tiny body seeming even smaller than usual. “He just . . . burst in here from the party. I tried fighting him off, I swear.” 
 “It’s all right, Gia. Everything’s going to be fine.” I think I’m in shock. I don’t feel scared or panicked or petrified. I feel numb. Numb mixed with hatred for Stan Roven and what he was trying to do to Gia—a fifteen-year-old girl barely a quarter his size—before I walked in. Outside the walls of our measly ten-by-ten bedroom, Aunt Julie’s party rages on. It’s a wonder none of our neighbors ever call the cops on us, but they’re probably here too, probably just as high as our aunt. 
 “What do we do?” Gia whispers, still staring at Stan’s pale face like he might start swinging at her. 
 “Stan?” Aunt Julie’s voice is right outside our bedroom door. “Where did you go?” 
 Gia’s panicked eyes meet mine, and I know I have to keep Aunt Julie away from this room, at least long enough to give me time to think. 
 I grab a cardigan that’s escaped the gore and put it on over my shirt, wrapping the ends tight against myself before slipping into the hallway. 
 “Siena!” Aunt Julie exclaims, a baggie of cocaine dropping to the floor. “You scared me. Have you seen Stan?” 
 Yes. He’s dead on my bed with a knife sticking out of his throat. 
 At my blank look, she sighs with impatience. “Did he leave? Did you insult him? You know he was about to give me my big break! The one I’ve been waiting for forever!” 
 She plucks the baggie she dropped from the floor and gives it a little shake as if to make sure it’s all still there. “I’ll finally be famous for something other than being Florence Bowen’s sister . . . what’s that on your chin?” 
 I furiously wipe what I’m sure is blood away. “Nothing,” 
 I say, wrapping the cardigan tighter around me. I just need to get her out of here. I’m not sure what I’ll do next, but dealing with Gia is my first priority, and I’ll figure out the rest later. 
 Her bloodshot eyes go from my face to the white carpet on the floor. “What’s that?” she asks, pointing at the deep-red liquid seeping from under the door. 
 “Nothing!” I exclaim quickly, but she pushes past me into the room before I can stop her, and gasps at the sight. 
 Gia freezes where she is trying to sop up the blood on the carpet, and Aunt Julie’s face turns white. She stumbles until her back hits the wall, and she grasps at it as if trying to stay upright. 
 “No,” she says, shaking her head rapidly. “What—this can’t be real.” She blinks rapidly, trying to clear off whatever drug-induced fog is wrapped around her brain. 
 Gia jumps up and I scramble to her side, wrapping my arm around her and pulling her close. 
 Gia’s voice trembles as she speaks. “Aunt Julie . . . he was—” 
 “Save it.” Aunt Julie holds up her hand. She refuses to look at the body sprawled on the bed. “As your mother’s sister, I thought I had seen it all, but this . . . Florence never did anything like this.” 
 Tears form in Gia’s eyes, and she clings to me harder. 
 “But . . . Siena