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The drive back into Seattle flew by, especially as I began thinking about what to wear tonight.

I can't show an inch of my chest without exposing the hickey's Monroe left.

And the last thing I need is for Maricel to see the hickey's and piece together the letter they're formed in, along with where I just came from.

She would quickly assumeit was Monroe.

I've been checking my phone constantly for a text or a call from an unknown number, but there was nothing.

Monroe hasn't reached out, but this is good.

It's really good.

This is what I needed.

I left the retreat to put space between us again.

So why can't I stop thinking about her?

Or that annoying fucking kiss we shared...

How our bodies were pressed together, the softness of her lips against mine, even the way she groaned.

All I can think about is that moment we shared.

Or just her.

Why do I wish she had at least texted me?

She probably already knows I left.

I'm sure she has eyes on me too.

Or maybe she's just as done as I am.

I tried to push her to the back of my mind, especially once I made it to my apartment.

I didn't have long to get my shit together.

Luckily, I already mentally picked out my outfit for tonight.

A black halter neck top with matching flare leggings and Saint Laurent kitten heels.

My hair already looked good, so I just put on some makeup with the extra time I had.

I told myself I wouldn't do makeup, but I also wanted to do a cute eyeshadow look to spice up my all black outfit.

I managed to run only five minutes late, which was on time for me, considering how late I normally am to things.

The bar Maricel specified was only an eight-minute Uber ride away, which gave me time to recall Dr. Kincaid.

I forgot to text her that I made it back to Seattle.

I decided to send her a really brief text, something along the lines of: made it back safe!

Once I sent it, I locked my phone and put it on Do Not Disturb, focusing on my plans for tonight.

I wasn't sure if I would drink, or be able to, given the last time I tried, Monroe had me blacklisted.

I assume she took it off, given she ended everything, but honestly, I doubt it.

She's still having me watched, and refusing to let me go, even if it means keeping me at a distance.

There's no way in hell Monroe corrected the whole blacklist issue.

Luckily, when I arrived, Maricel had secured a corner table and drinks, so I didn't have to order quite yet.

She was with two guys, which alarmed me at first.

But as I got closer, I recognized the silk Louis Vuitton scarf around one of their necks, and the really tight pants that the other wore.

The blonde had blue eyes and the stereotypical boy next door look—while the other had a darker complexion, his skin nearly glowing and his hair in curly ringlets.

They stood close together, the blonde keeping his arm around the other man's waist, laughing over something with Maricel.

She wore a small silver strapless dress that clung to her small frame.

Her dark hair was down, framing her face, covered in light makeup.

She looked really pretty—every time she reminds me why Monroe was interested in her.

Why she got so much more time, and I barely got anything with Monroe.

But I refuse to let myself focus on her tonight.

I seriously need to let loose and chill for once.

"Liberty!" Maricel gasped, dramatically parting her lips as she threw her arms around my shoulders.

I smiled as I got settled in the tall chair, "Hi," I murmured, briefly hugging her back.

"Guys, this is Liberty. She's the best," Maricel introduced me as we pulled away from the brief hug.

I awkwardly waved as the two men looked at me with smiles.

"Ian," the blonde man introduced himself. "I'm obsessed with your name, by the way."

I smiled wider, "Thank you, it's nice to meet you," I said, glancing over to the other man when he extended his hand.

"Howie," he introduced himself as well, smiling widely at me.

I reached up to briefly shake his hand. "It's nice to meet you as well," I told him.

"Let's skip to the shots," Maricel determined, motioning to the glasses on the table.

Instead of shot glasses, they were in tiny martini glasses.

It was so fucking cute.

This entire bar was really unique—from the wall covered in greenery, to the dim lights and checkered floors.

It's also not too packed, but enough people to bring up the energy.

I loved it.

"I'm kind of a lightweight now," I jokingly warned as I grabbed one of the shots with everyone else.

"We won't go too hard then if you want," Maricel assured me, naturally catching me a little off guard.

Not in a bad way.

It's just...

The last friend I had like this was Kaia, and I imagine she wouldn't care if I was a lightweight or not.

In the moment it wasn't a red flag, but now that I'm out of that friendship, I see how fucked up that was.

"Yeah, let's just get tipsy and vibe out," Ian said as he lifted his shot.

"To vibing out," Howie chuckled at him as we lifted our glasses, briefly clinking them together.

"Let's vibe," Maricel said as we softly tapped our glasses on the table and threw the burning liquid back.

I silently laughed when Maricel hilariously shimmied her shoulders, swallowing the strong tequila.

"Okay, so we need the run down, Liberty," Ian determined, setting his glass down.

Howie nodded. "Yes, tell us all about yourself," he agreed, subtly leaning into Ian's side.

"Well, firstly, all my friends call me Libby," I started, already feeling so much looser with the alcohol in my system.

Maricel parted her lips, "Ay, you never said I could call you Libby?"

I laughed, "Oh, I'm so sorry.Please, call me Libby," I joked, glancing over to Maricel.

"Libby is such an adorable nickname," Ian said, his lips pursed into a soft frown of awe.

The word adorable unconsciously sent me for a loop.

She always called me adorable.

I really wish she would call me adorable now.

Or call me in general.

Focus.

It's the alcohol talking.

I barely have a sip of anything, and I'm already thinking about Monroe.

"Libby? Come on, tell us more," Howie snapped me from my thoughts, making me nod a few times.

"Right-right," I rushed out, trying to think of something interesting to tell them.

I started with college, telling them about my studies in computer science.

Then I verged over to the topic of fashion, and all the aesthetics I like right now.

We all agreed that cheetah print is making a comeback, but I got to vouch that I've been rocking it since elementary school.

I even pulled up some childhood photos on my phone to prove it.

There were some pictures of my mother in there, and also my dad.

Maricel recognized my mother immediately, given that she's the governor of California, and Maricel is from LA.

My dad was in a few of the pictures too, but I decided to skip over the fact that he died from cancer, or else it would dampen the mood.

We just carried on chatting, taking a few shots here and there until we settled on ordering drinks.

Ian and Howie offered to cover everything, so I didn't even have to order or provide my ID.

They probably should've asked for my ID even if I'm of legal age, but I think it's busy, and I'm with people a little older than me, so I got a pass luckily.

I kind of wanted to rub it in Monroe's face that I managed to go out and drink without her antics getting in the way.

I refrained, of course, knowing that might backfire.

But my thoughts still clung to her, especially as more alcohol filtered into my system.

She's just so perfect.

I've always liked her eyes.

And her smile.

I think she should smile more because of how beautiful her teeth are, but I also want to gatekeep it from everyone else.

Only because her smile is so fucking pretty.

I don't want anyone else to see it.

I'm sure Maricel's seen it.

God, I really need to stop comparing.

But I truly hope she hasn't seen her smile.

And I hope she never called Maricel adorable.

I want to be the only adorable one.

If I don't get anything else, I at least want that.

"Okay, let's spill some tea," Maricel said, her eyes heavy and the martini glass swaying in her hand.

Howie and Ian had excused themselves to the bathroom, so it was just us for a few minutes.

"Dr. Kincaid," I leaned into her to say, "Spill it right now, sister," I mumbled with a serious look, jokingly pointing my finger at her.

Maricel chuckled loosely, throwing her head back, and a laugh bubbled in my throat as well.

That was so funny.

I don't know why, but it was.

Why the fuck did I call her sister?

I laughed even harder, setting my glass down with a harsh clatter.

"You're totally my sister now," I determined, my words slurred together as I tried to force a fake serious look.

"Soul sisters, mamacita," Maricel said, reciprocating my joking serious look.

My lips unconsciously twisted up in a smile, "I love your accent—teach me how to be you,please," I groaned dramatically.

"No-no, teach me how to be you," Maricel said, reaching for her glass again, "You're so pretty, and your style is unique—ay, you're also in college."

I jokingly flipped my hair behind my shoulders, "Oh please keep going," I murmured with fake cockiness, earning a soft laugh from Maricel.

"You are the best, Libby," she sighed, leaning closer to me, "Which is why you stay away from Dr. Kincaid."

I nodded almost three times in a row, "Yes, stay away, got it," I mumbled, taking a long sip of my drink, "Why... do you say that?" I stumbled over my words, swallowing the sweet liquid.

"Girlllll," Maricel dragged out, shaking her head to herself, "So after it ended with you know who—wait, allegedly," she quickly corrected herself, "I was with her allegedly."

I quickly nodded as I set my heavy glass down, "Yes, allegedly," I said, knowing she couldn't openly say she was with Monroe.

I wouldn't tell anyone, but I know she's probably paranoid anyway.

"Sí, so Dr. Kincaid... tried to flirt with me at this bar I was at," Maricel said, her words stuck together, "She was always very friendly—but it was so weird that she was at that same bar, ay?"

I nodded immediately, making Maricel sigh dramatically.

"Libby, I found out she had followed me—like a stalker kind of thing," Maricel leaned into say, making my brows shoot up, "But I already fucked up so bad and slept with her. I swear I didn't know she was a stalk—"

"Wait, you slept with her?" I unconsciously cut her short, realizing Monroe never clarified that part of the story.

"I was at a really low point in life—but get this," Maricel rushed out, leaning closer to me, "She tried to mimic Ro. I swear she was insane."

"Oh, like mirror her?" I asked, recalling Monroe describing it as that.

"Sí, mirror, but I mean while touching me, Libby. It was so weird," Maricel whispered, leaning away from me to take a lazy sip of her drink. "She... told me she would be better than her. She even wanted to do the same positions."

I felt my face burn up, yes, from this information, but also at the idea of Monroe putting Maricel into different positions.

Fuck.

Okay, don't think that.

Do not think that.

"And she wouldn't leave me alone," Maricel sighed, setting her glass down with a loud clatter, "Ay dios mio, she would still watch me even after I told her to leave me alone."

"So what—did you do?" I slurred, my brows furrowed deeply, wondering how this story would end.

"I couldn't tell anyone or I would have to explain more, and... I signed that NDA," Maricel murmured, briefly closing her heavy eyes, "Ro did something. I don't know how she made it stop, but I stopped running into Celia at random places."

I nodded a few times, soaking in this information.

I guess Monroe did have enough power to make instances like those stop.

Then again, Celia—or Dr. Kincaidwas stalking Maricel, so that's easier to put an end to.

At least compared to harmless flirting.

Or is it harmless?

I don't know.

All I know is I want to talk to Monroe so badly.

The more time that passes, the stronger the urge becomes to call her.

"Mija," Maricel snapped her fingers, pulling me away from my deep thoughts, "Where's your head at?"

I shook my heavy head, "Nowhere," I quickly said, reaching for my martini glass.

"It's that situationship, isn't it?" Maricel smiled, watching as I took a brief sip of my drink.

"No," I lied, earning a blank look from Maricel, "Okay, maybe, but I'm trying to move past it."

Maricel shook her head. "Have you tried any hookups? We could find someone here," she offered, subtly glancing around the bar.

"I can'thook up with anyone," I immediately shut her down, sighing dramatically as I set my glass on the table. "The idea of someone else icks me out."

Maricel raised a brow, "Oh, you're in deep mija," she determined, "Staying busy isn't working either?"

"No—nothing is working," I emphasized, determining I might have to take Monroe's advice.

I'll have to work through it, instead of around it.

I need to face it head-on.

"This might be overstepping," Maricel suddenly said, immediately piquing my interest.

"Never... we're soul sisters now," I murmured with a growing smile.

Maricel chuckled loosely, reaching for her glass. "You're right," she determined, taking a brief sip of her martini, "I just—don't want to scare you off."

I shook my head, "You can't-not ever," I assured her, my words slurred together as I anticipated what she would say next.

"Okay, so there's this club," Maricel started, making my lips part in excitement.

"Club? I love clubs," I quickly said, wondering why this could possibly be overstepping for her.

"Not that kind of club," Maricel emphasized, taking another sip of her drink, only this one was longer. "Do you know... what BDSM is?"

I couldn't prevent my thoughts from showing on my face, feeling entirely caught off guard by her question.

I mean, of course, I know what it is.

Monroe introduced me to it.

Or us both to it.

I guess it's just a little weird to openly discuss it with Maricel or in public, even if it's a brief mention.

Maricel is only referring to one of those BDSM clubs.

I recall Monroe mentioning one—she met one of her other past arrangements there.

"Ay, I'm sorry. It's too much. I thought spicing up your life could help you move past this situationship thing, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable—"

"I'm not uncomfortable," I quickly cut her short, my lips twitching up into a reassuring smile, "I think I'm down for something like this."

"Really?" Maricel asked, as if it were the last thing she expected from me.

Do I look that innocent?

"I had an entry ticket to one tomorrow night, but Ian and Howie wanted me to come to this exhibition to help legitimize any art they purchase," Maricel briefly explained, "You can take my ticket if you want?"

I blinked a few times, trying to decide if this was a good idea.

But maybe Maricel is right—maybe spicing things up could help me.

Maybe I can't do hookups because I've already experienced a world beyond them.

BDSM is that world.

Monroe isn't the only one who provides it, either.

Wow, okay, this is actually really smart.

It's the perfect outlet.

"I would love the ticket," I suddenly determined, deciding to just do it.

This is my last resort, and then I may or may not be back to square one.

"Ah, I'll text it over now," Maricel immediately said, smiling as she reached for her phone, "I'll also send—the details, they have a dress code and run through specifics. You also have to sign things."

I nodded a few times, watching as she tapped on her phone, sending numerous things to me.

"This would've been my first time trying this, so I can't really give you my own advice," Maricel explained, clicking on her notes, "But I did some research and I wrote it all down."

I smiled, noticing that she was sending her notes of research to me as well.

"Thank you," I murmured, "I'm sorry you have to miss it."

Maricel waved me off, "It's all good, mija—I'll sign up for the next one," she determined.

"We're back," Ian suddenly interjected, making my stare shift over to him and Howie.

I smiled immediately. "Finally," I murmured.

I don't even want to know what took them so long in that bathroom.

Either way, it worked out for me.

I got the scoop on Dr. Kincaid and an exclusive invite to a BDSM club.

Luckily, Maricel left the situationship topic alone and ensured I received all the information she sent over for me.

With Howie and Ian back, our conversation shifted to something lighter with laughter instead.

After another thirty minutes, we all decided to call it a night, which I was happy to do.

I felt so tired.

I was the first stop on our shared Uber home, which I was really happy about.

I didn't waste any time rushing past the lobby, pressing the elevator button to head up to my apartment.

The first thing on my agenda was to change.

I swear I've never stripped so fucking fast in my life, but it was so worth it once I pulled on my baggiest t-shirt.

It was faded and fell past to my knees, but fuck, was it so comfortable.

I focused on taking off my makeup next and washing my face, quickly rubbing some of my skin serum and lotion on.

Then I tied my wavy hair up, walking into my bedroom and flicking off the lights.

I didn't bother with water or ibuprofen.

I just climbed into my bed, grabbing my phone to check my notifications.

I turned my phone off Do Not Disturb, reading over my blurry lockscreen.

There was a text from the contact that read Celia.

It was from hours ago—I just never saw it.

I quickly clicked on the message, reading over her response.

I drew in a deep breath at her extended offer, which would normally be kind.

But after hearing what Maricel just told me... I'm realizing it's all a front, which I think is scarier.

How can someone pretend this fucking well?

At least Monroe lives in her truth.

But Dr. Kincaid—

"Oh my god," I unconsciously whispered, staring at the incoming call buzzing on my phone.

Unknown Caller.

That's what it read at the top.

I slid my thumb across the screen before I could think it through.

Or maybe it was the alcohol still in my system, contributing to this bad choice.

But all I wanted to do was talk to her.

The urge is stronger when I'm tipsy—sober me would've at least let it ring a few more seconds.

Fuck.

I answered way too quickly.

"Liberty."

I forced a hum at her familiar soft voice, suddenly hesitating over my own words.

What the fuck do I say now?

"I guess... you noticed I left," I forced out, my voice breathless and my words stuck together.

Maybe I shouldn't have answered.

It's too obvious that I've been drinking.

"Hours ago," Monroe clarified, making me draw in a slight breath, "I went to your room."

I furrowed my brows, her words hitting me deep in my stomach, "You did?" I whispered, unconsciously sitting up in my bed, "Why did you do that?"

"It's not relevant now," she determined.

"It is to me," I said, now regretting that I left when I did.

I know she wanted to talk earlier, but I assumed it was just her trying to pull me in all over again.

But the fact that she went out of her way to speak to me—that she went to my room...

What if there's more?

What if... she might've considered giving in?

And I just ruined it all.

"You've been drinking," Monroe said, her tone full of distaste. "We're not having this conversation right now, Liberty."

"There's a conversation?" I asked, my words more rushed than I wanted them to be, "About this?"

"Tell me you have water and medicine."

I blinked a few times at her words, glancing over to my bare nightstand.

All that sat on it was my lamp.

No water, and definitely no medicine.

"No—but don't change the subject," I mumbled, lying back down in my bed.

I heard her let out a long sigh. "Have you had any water tonight, Liberty?"

I remained silent in thought, not even recalling the last time I drank water.

I think at dinner?

That's probably really bad.

"Have you eaten?" Monroe suddenly asked, earning a dramatic sigh from me.

"This is—too many questions," I mumbled, staring up at the dark ceiling.

The line remained silent.

So silent that I couldn't tell if she had hung up or put herself on mute to think deeper about my terrible life decisions.

"Do you think I'm adorable?" I suddenly asked before I could think it through.

I'm going to regret this in the morning.

"Always," she answered, making annoying knots tie in my stomach.

It even made my face burn up, drawing in a slight breath.

"What about Maricel? Did you call her adorable too?" I whispered, my words barely audible.

It was such an embarrassing question to ask, but I knew Monroe would be honest.

And I really needed to know.

"Liberty."

I drew in a deeper breath, realizing she was only going to shut this topic down.

I shouldn't have even asked.

"She's not you," Monroe suddenly spoke again, her words much more serious with me, "There's no need for comparison when you're incomparable."

I pursed my lips together, feeling so many emotions blur around me.

Her words made me feel really good.

But I also wanted to cry?

I miss her so much.

"I never called her adorable, Liberty," she clarified, her voice growing softer with me, "Now I need you to answer my questions."

I let out a long exhale, trying to fight the urge to cry, "I don't have water or medicine, and I haven't eaten... since dinner," I whispered, closing my heavy eyes.

"Dinner doesn't count. You hardly ate anything," Monroe corrected me.

"I know," I whispered, feeling tears burn in my closed eyes.

"Jesus, Liberty," Monroe sighed stressfully.

"I'm fine, I'll just eat tomorrow," I forced out, quickly wiping the dampness away from underneath my eyes.

"All three meals?" she clarified, making my annoying crying grow worse.

"I can't," I sighed, my voice cracking, "I'm not hungry, and it's not your business whether I am or not, Monroe," I pointed out, wiping away more of my tears.

"We've been over this, Liberty," Monroe said, her tone growing more serious with me.

I shook my head, "Well, you can't make me eat," I mumbled, sniffling a few times.

The line remained silent for a few moments, making me anticipate her next words.

It also gave me time to get my shit together.

I hate crying like this when she's completely okay and unaffected.

"My sweet girl."

Everythingcrumbled inside of me, my composure was officially gone.

It was her soft voice—the familiar pet name she always used with me.

"I really need you to eat. Your beautiful body needs to be fed, darling," Monroe said, making my face burn up.

I know I shouldn't be focused on the compliment buried in her words, but I can't help it.

I let out a deep, shaky breath, "I just don't want to," I admitted weakly, squeezing my eyes tighter shut.

"And why is that?" she asked.

Tears burned heavier in my eyes, rolling down past my temples as I laid on my back.

I was silent for a long moment, contemplating whether I should be honest with her.

"I..." I trailed off, sniffling as I pressed the phone harder against my ear, "I like the pain of it," I hesitantly whispered.

Silence.

That's all I was met with.

It was so silent that it made me anxious, but I knew she was only processing my words.

It always takes her a little longer to process most things, but maybe I said too much.

"Why do you like the pain, darling?" Monroe suddenly asked me, her voice lowered and tense.

It felt like she was holding herself back from saying more.

"It's distracting," I mumbled, hating that this turned into a full-on therapy session, "But it doesn't matter—let's just forget it."

"This does matter," she emphasized, making me shake my head, "And I don't want to forget this."

"I'm tired," I suddenly said, wiping away more of my tears, "I'm going to go," I mumbled, leaning the phone away from my ear.

"Liberty, don't end this call without saying goodbye," Monroe immediately said before I could cut the call short. "You've been walking away from our conversations and ending our calls short. That stops now."

Her demanding words made this warmth trickle down my body, my grip tightening around my phone.

"You tell me goodbye before you hang up, Liberty," she instructed, not leaving me any room to disagree.

I remained silent, unsure if I should give in or hang up just to see what she does.

But honestly, I wasn't in the mood to push her tonight.

I also didn't want to deal with the aftermath of this tomorrow—on top of my hangover.

Sober me will want space from her again.

"Bye," I reluctantly mumbled, deciding to think smartly for once.

"Good night, Liberty," Monroe said, making me roll my eyes as I quickly leaned the phone away from my ear to end the call.

Then I dropped my phone on my bed, tugging the covers over me so I could go to sleep.

But honestly, I wasn't even tired anymore.

Or my body was, but my brain wasn't.

So I laid there for hours, keeping my eyes closed as I tried my hardest to go to sleep.

But all I could think about was her.

For hours on end—until I finally fell asleep.

I don't know how long I slept for, maybe a few hours, before I heard knocking at my door.

It dragged me out of my sleep, leaving me disoriented and half awake at the same time.

My head was pounding and my mouth was dry.

My throat even felt scratchy when I swallowed.

I slept fucking terribly.

And to make it all worse, there wasn't even anyone at the door when I checked.

I thought I hallucinated the knocking.

And then I saw the bag.

It was tied shut with a DoorDash sticker on it.

I reluctantly opened my door to grab it, but only because I'm on the verge of starvation and dehydration all at the same time.

I didn't even care that the DoorDash sticker had Monroe's name on it.

That she's the one who sent me this food.

I just felt painfully hungry and fucking parched.

I tore the plastic bag open, opening one of the boxes.

And I swear my mouth salivated at the sight of the bagel sandwich.

It had bacon, egg, and cheese on it.

"Fuck," I mumbled through the bite of food I took, leaning over the counter as I basked in how incredible this sandwich tasted.

It was from a local restaurant—one that I haven't even been to, but I definitely need to go now.

I nearly finished the sandwich in a few bites, opening the other container of soft roasted potatoes.

I quickly grabbed one of the plastic forks, scooping some potatoes into my mouth before walking over to my fridge and grabbing a water.

I twisted the bottle open, taking a few long sips.

Then I walked back to the containers, scooping another big bite of potatoes into my mouth.

There was also fruit and a side of bacon sent too.

Not turkey bacon.

I'm sure Monroe, unsurprisingly, remembered how I judged her turkey bacon weeks ago, so she sent me regular bacon instead.

There was also another bagel sandwich in the bag, but I think Monroe was just trying to be extra cautious about me eating.

I don't know.

Either way, I put it up for later, deciding I might eat it.

I didn't want to eat it just to prove a point, but I'm not even sure I have any food stocked right now.

And my body isn't really giving me an option but to eat.

I didn't even throw any of it up—that's how hungry I was.

Honestly, I haven't been making myself throw up recently, it was just when Monroe sent me food at the retreat.

Otherwise, I've been doing good.

I just struggle to eat all three meals.

I walked back into my room, wondering if Monroe had bothered to text or call me, even if it was from the same unknown number.

But there was nothing.

Aside from the texts from Maricel.

They were from last night—oh my god, the tickets.

The club.

The research she sent me about BDSM clubs.

I knew the last thing I should do was go—it was a crazy drunk decision I made last night.

But it wasn't that stupid, and it might help me a little.

Plus, Monroe can't control it.

Well... she might able to blacklist me, but she doesn't even know I'm going.

Once she finds out, she might try, but I have at least one attempt.

Maybe I should take it?