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The Boy Who Died
Last Updated : 2024-12-29
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I watched Ryan die. So how is Ben wearing his face? Six years ago, I watched my best friend--and secret crush--splatter all over the pavement. He died. I saw him. Yet, in the back of my mind, I've never stopped looking for him. Seeing him in crowds, in the classroom, in my dreams--and my nightmares. It's cost me everything--my identity, my sanity, and maybe my life. So when I walk into class to see a man who looks exactly like Ryan standing before me, I freak out again. My therapist tells me to stay away from Ben. He's no good for me. I'll end up back in a padded room. But I have to know the truth. Is Ben really Ryan? That's not possible. But Ben has scars--real ones and metaphorical ones. If Ben is Ryan, why doesn't he just tell me? Is he trying to drive me crazy? Or worse--is he trying to kill me? The Boy Who Died is the first romantic suspense novel from bestselling romantacy author Bella Moondragon writing as B. Moon. If you love romantic suspense, are a fan of Colleen Hoover, Gillian Flynn, Christopher Greyson, or Paula Hawkins, you won't want to miss this page-turner!
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The Boy Who Died Closing Time
MarcieI throw my head back, my sides aching from how hard I’ve been laughing.“I knew you wouldn’t believe me!” Ben says. “I warned you!”“You said she bit you!” I splutter between giggles. “A real, adult, adult model!”“She didn’t understand that I was a real photographer, not a set-up for a scene.” He laughs with me in a rumbling baritone I wish I could bottle.“Hi, uh, sorry to interrupt.”I close my mouth around the last of my laughter and open my eyes to see Anaya, one of the baristas who I’ve had a few classes with, standing next to our table.“Are we being too loud?” My face burns. “We can keep it down.”She shakes her head. “I came to let you know we’re closing up for the night. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here and all.” She puts a check on our table and walks away.I blink a few times then pick up my cup of coffee and sip it to clear my head. I must’ve misheard her. But my coffee is ice cold. And she gave us a check for the pastries that used to occupy the
Last Updated : 2024-12-29The Boy Who Died Mistake
MarcieNo. No, no, no. I didn’t spend a whole night talking to Ben. I didn’t spend all week texting Ben! My breath races. My heart hammers. He can’t be Ryan because…because….Ben catches my eye and smiles. He’s wearing a pair of jeans so crisp I have to assume he ironed them before leaving the house and a short-sleeved button-down with a tiny print I can’t make out from here. Oh, fuck, he’s walking over. I shove one of my hands beneath the table and squeeze it into a fist so tight, bright crescents of pain spark through my system as my nails dig in.“My dear Lancival.” He half-bows as he approaches. “I should’ve known you’d beat me here. Do you mind waiting while I get my drink?”I shake my head. He can’t be Ryan. He just can’t be. I watched Ryan die, even if I didn’t know that until his mom told me the next day. I went to his funeral. But oh, God, he looks so much like Ryan.He turns away and joins the still-short line. I stare at his back. He holds his shoulders like Ryan did. I thi
Last Updated : 2024-12-29The Boy Who Died Date Night
MarcieThe following Tuesday, I breathe out slowly and stare at my open closet door. My clothes stare back at me, no more helpful than the last twelve times I’ve looked at them. My phone vibrates, and I dive for it instead.Is it too lame to say I’m really looking forward to this?I clutch the phone to my chest and try not to squeal. I feel like a kid, but my mystery man—it feels too weird to call him Gwendivere in my head, even though I already know I’ll probably never change his name in my contacts—has been texting me all week, and my stomach fills with butterflies every time. It’s a proper lying on my stomach and kicking up my heels crush. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this. Okay, I can, but I’m not thinking about him tonight. I open mystery man and I’s message thread and text him back.Don’t worry. I’ll slay the dragon of lameness for both of us. I’m looking forward to it tooThe message doesn’t even send me into a spiral, wondering if I’ve actually made everything s
Last Updated : 2024-12-29The Boy Who Died Repercussions
MarcieSomeone is jackhammering my skull. Not only that, they’re shining a search light right at my closed eyelids, trying to burn away my corneas before I’ve even really woken up. Someone wants me really, truly dead. I crack open an eye—fuck, it’s so goddamn bright—and make out hazy, familiar shapes. That dark brownish lump could be my desk. The dark blue underneath me could be my bed, if I passed out on top of my comforter. The searchlight takes on the distinctive rectangular shape of my window. Everything hurts.A warm, tempting smell winds through the air. Eggs. And bacon! My stomach rumbles. I grumble back at it. We’ll be staying in bed until they turn the searchlight off, thanks.My bladder also protests, and it’s in a far less negotiable mood. With a great act of will, I sit up. My stomach lurches, but last night’s drinks don’t make a reappearance. Thank god for that. I’m still wearing Heather’s dress. Achingly, eyes half-closed, I fumble through changing into sweatpants and a
Last Updated : 2024-12-29The Boy Who Died Homecoming
Marcie“Chug! Chug! Chug!” I shout with the rest of the crowd at some keg-standing someone or other. The red plastic cup in my hand is almost empty, which means it’s time for a refill. My first. Or third?The keg-standing person splutters foamy beer, and I cheer with everyone else. Who the fuck am I kidding? These parties are fucking great. I have to go to more. And the music is… is also great. I stumble away from the crowd, on the hunt for wherever the bar ran off to.Something slams into my shins, and the room turns upside-down. I’m falling. Oh, shit! Before I can get my limbs together enough to catch myself, someone wraps warm arms around my waist and arrests my fall. I blink a few times and look up at my rescuer.Blurry jaw. Blurry hair—not that long, maybe pink. Or purple? No, wait, that’s the strobe lights, coloring his hair. Regardless, he’s blurry-handsome, and I smile easily up at him from where I sit in what seems to be his lap.“Did it hurt?” he asks.I laugh. I could fall
Last Updated : 2024-12-29The Boy Who Died Chickening Out
Marcie“I swear to god you look hot,” Heather says.I adjust the miniscule dress she insisted on loaning me, looking at my reflection in her full-body mirror, and make a tepid attempt at believing her. The dress is charcoal-colored, rather than a full, show-stopping black. The mid-thigh hem does show off my legs. They’re not nearly as good as they were during my theater days—the dancing in musicals helped, but standing up for that long was a huge contributor too. I’m taller than the average woman at 5’8, so my whole life has been filled with comments about how long my legs are. I guess they’re decent. But the way the fabric clings just shows off how little I still have in the way of curves, and my hair looks like a wreck. No, Heather’s just trying to be nice.Another screaming cavalcade of frat boys thunders by outside, and I struggle not to flinch. I should never have agreed to this party. The game finished an hour ago with our victory, apparently, and Heather has spent the whole ti
Last Updated : 2024-12-13The Boy Who Died Overreaction
MarcieTwo weeks into the semester, I lay on my stomach on the couch, typing up a lab report on my most recent phlebotomy practice. The blood didn’t make me sick nearly as much as it usually does, so I’m crossing my fingers that exposure really is dulling the intensity of the association. The week after Ryan’s death, I got my period and tested the limits of how long a body really can go without getting toxic shock syndrome because even my own blood sent me spiraling. Totally ridiculous.Just like my reaction to Ben. He really is a guest lecturer, and I’m a huge baby. I showed up to the second class shaking like a fucking Chihuahua only for there to be no sign of him. Just like every other class for the following two weeks. I’ve only barely seen him around campus. Ardent isn’t exactly a small school, but it’s not huge either, and I haven’t been going out of my way to avoid the Arkly offices. Without the constant threat of him hanging over my head, my classes are a lot more manageable.
Last Updated : 2024-12-13The Boy Who Died Asking Around
MarcieMy heart hammers so loudly I can barely hear myself ask, “The new photographer?”“Yeah, Ben something.” Heather drops her keys on the hall table along with a small pile of envelopes, likely bills.Oh, god. Oh, fuck. My feet move without my command, dragging me closer to Heather. Her blonde hair in its usual high ponytail shines in the summer sun. I try to focus on that, to ground myself. My ribs feel like they’re caving in.“What did he say?” I manage.“Well, he thinks you’re cute.” Heather furrows her eyebrows and takes a step back. “He’s helping out in one of your classes, right?”Heather doesn’t know about my institutionalization. She wasn’t on campus yet. And, god, I’d like to keep it that way. I need one person on campus who knows me and doesn’t look at me like I’m about to crack. Deep breaths, Marcie.“Yes.” I take another step back that I hope doesn’t look robotic and drop my laptop on the table. “How did he find you?”That seems to put her a little more at ease. She sau
Last Updated : 2024-12-13The Boy Who Died No Way Out
MarcieNothing else in that time slot. I can rework my whole schedule and drop one of the core nursing classes I need to graduate, setting me back another semester, or I can stick with photography. I spend the rest of my day turning the words over and over like there’s a loophole I’m just not seeing. The rest of my professors blur. I get lost in the familiar halls of McKinley, the science building. Somehow, I make it back to my apartment. My hands shake as I unlock the door without testing to see if it was locked all day. I’m not supposed to indulge.I don’t want to know.“Heather?” I call as I step inside.Silence. I drop my keys on the shoe rack-table combo in the tiny rectangle of space Heather calls our foyer. She must still be at work at the newspaper on campus. I spent the whole summer hearing about what an amazing opportunity being a staff writer for the Ardent Weekly—or, as she calls it, the Arkly—is for a junior like her. I like her well enough, but sometimes I can really fee
Last Updated : 2024-12-13
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New Year, New Me
MarcieI sling my backpack over my shoulder and step out of my apartment onto the sunny breezeway outside. Early September in Virginia retains most of the heat of summer, so I wipe instant sweat off my forehead before my brown curls can catch in it. This semester is going to be different. That means not showing up looking like a drowned rat, even if I doubt anyone in my photography elective is going to care.Birds sing as I lock the door then test the knob to make sure it actually locked. A voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like Dana, my therapist, reminds me I’m not supposed to be indulging those instincts. I’m safe here. The only person I’ve been in danger from since setting foot on the campus of Ardent University is myself, and she’s getting out of my way this year. I unlock the door, lock it again, and walk away without testing the knob.My heavy backpack bounces against my shoulder. I don’t want to have to return to my apartment between classes, even if it’s technically o...
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