Page 10

Then, I sink back into oblivion.

"Teagan?" my mom's voice calls as she pounds on my bedroom door. "I hope you're just about ready. Blakely is going to be here in twenty minutes. Surely, you're not sleeping."

A putrid scent assaults my nostrils before I force my eyes open. Dried vomit runs from my mouth down the side of my comforter to the floor. I try to reply, but my mouth is like sandpaper, and barely any sound comes out.

I swallow hard, clear my throat, and try again. "No, I'm not asleep," I lie.

"Okay," she says. "I'll see you downstairs soon. There's coffee, but you'll probably have to warm it up now."

"Okay."

Once I hear footfall on the staircase, I roll onto my back to take inventory of this shit show. I remember last night; I remember drinking and falling asleep, I remember the man in the gold mask, but…

But now, I'm fully clothed. My shirt and bra are both in place; my underwear, sweats, and even my black Chuck Taylors are on and tied.

I don't even remember putting those on.

It wasn't real. Of course, it wasn't. I sigh with relief before reminding myself that lucid hallucinations like that aren't a good sign, and my imaginary friends weren't supposed to follow me home from San Flores.

The comforter is a problem, though. So is the smell.

I open the window before rolling the blanket into a ball, carrying it down the hall, and throwing it in the washing machine. Then, I turn into the bathroom, pull my hair into a bun, strip down, and stand under the spray. I'm stickier between my legs than usual, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything other than I haven't gotten laid in months and had a vivid sex dream.

I didn't take my pills yesterday, either. Of course…that makes sense. I'm used to being spoon-fed my medications instead of remembering on my own. I step out of the shower, towel off, brush my teeth, then pop two pills into my mouth and wash it down with water from the bathroom sink.

I throw on a pair of jeans with a t-shirt and apply some mascara and lipstick before heading downstairs.

"God, you don't look very good," my mom says. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I just didn't sleep much," I tell her. "I was having nightmares. Is there any cereal or anything?"

"Your sister will be here any minute," she says. "Better just grab a protein bar and a travel mug instead."

"Awesome."

As if on cue, Blakely walks through the front door. "Hey," she says. "Ready to go?"

"We're ready," Mom says. "I'll drive."

"I'm so glad we're doing this, Teagan," Blakely says as we climb into the Range Rover. "I'm really glad you're here with us."

It's superficial, and I know that. Still, I tell her, "Yeah, I am, too." I force something I hope looks like a smile before I bite into my protein bar and listen to my mom and Blakely go on and on about the wedding details during the twenty-minute drive, which doesn't help my hangover. I lean against the window and close my eyes until we pull into the parking lot.

"We went with lilac for the dresses," Blakely says as we get out of the car. "Which I know you don't love, but it'll look so pretty with your coloring, Teagan."

I'm not sure how to reply. Was there a time when I would have cared about the color of the dress I had to wear? I guess there was, but it seems so trivial now.

Some days, I can barely wash my face. All I can think about is Luca and Declan. I definitely don't care about the color of some fucking dress.

"I'll survive," I say.

Once inside, my mom reminds the woman in charge of the appointment of what we're looking for—something in lilac that we can buy now and have altered in time for the wedding in a couple of weeks. After the woman, Angela, grabs all the lilac sample dresses in my size or larger and puts them into a changing room, I strip down and indiscriminately step into the first one.

It's a ruched A-line with spaghetti straps; it'll need hemming, and it's maybe a little bit snug, but it's good enough.

"Honestly, this one's not that bad," I say, stepping out of the dressing room.

Angela gasps loudly, covering her mouth with her hand.