She didn't love him anymore.
If she ever had loved him; she wasn't sure if she ever had. He'd been handsome, charming, and totally infatuated with her. It was nice. She loved the fact that he'd loved her. She wasn't sure if he still did. She hadn't seen him since she'd cut his face open with a letter-opener that night… oh, if only she hadn't done that, if only she hadn't done that he would still be here and he wouldn't have decided to sign up for The Long Walk.
She hadn't known that he'd been planning on doing it. It was her. It was her fault, she was sure of it. She hadn't known until she'd decided to watch the drawing of the names and heard his name. Peter McVries. That name that had now again managed to leak its way into her brain and force its way into her every thought. How was he planning on winning? Did he want to win? Had she so totally destroyed him when she'd cut his face open and told him to get out?
She hadn't meant to hurt him – no, that was a lie. She had meant to hurt him. She'd wanted to hurt him. He'd screwed up and wanted to make up for it by screwing her and she hadn't been about to have it. He'd freaked out and it was understandable, really, but then the blood and the tears and mixed on the floor and she hadn't been able to take it so she'd gone into the bathroom to collect herself and had ended up throwing up.
But she'd… she'd called his parents, at least, to make sure that he'd gotten home. She'd explained everything and she'd been crying and it had been the worst time of her life especially when her roommates had come home and asked her, very concerned of course, what had happened and she'd said that she'd broken up with Peter, and they'd asked about the blood and she'd had to lie, she'd said that he'd tripped and his nose had started bleeding. They hadn't believed it, whose nose could bleed that much unless it was broken, and even then?, but it had been enough. It had been just enough.
She'd enrolled in the nearest highschool in Newark, just so that she wouldn't have to go home to her mother and so that she could keep her job. Most of her roommates had left, gone back to their homes, but she'd been left with one of them. They didn't speak much. The one that was left was often out, and Priscilla spent near every night at home, trying to see how she could spend the least amount of money possible and still manage to pay for food and rent. Thank God she'd saved up all that money from the summer, right?
And then his name had been drawn. Her entire world had shattered then and she tried to cling to the pieces – he probably wouldn't have to Walk, he wouldn't be a Prime, he'd drop out if he was, he wasn't suicidal.
Because she didn't love him anymore.
But that didn't mean that she wanted him to die.
robert cormier has crushed my soul so i decided to write some sad Priscilla-centric stuff