Page 14

CHAPTER

TEN

REMI

I text Van that I’m fine in response to his message from last night, and add I’ll see him for lunch before I heave into the toilet again, on my hands and knees in the bathroom I share with six other girls.

It’s not even five in the morning.

I barely slept over the weekend and I couldn’t bring myself to run at Hyde Park again. It’s Monday, four days since I last saw Cortland, and I’m exhausted.

I’ve tried my best to sleep. Sloane and I watched The Office last night. Ate popcorn. Settled in for the night. I saw the soft glow of her phone as she texted Asa, giggling every now and then and telling me he’s into “the nerdiest things.”

My stomach churned. I flipped away from her, on my side.

Sleep didn’t come.

I thought about Cortland’s blood in my mouth. His hand over my face. The EU hoodie he was wearing after my therapy session.

Chase’s threats in my ear.

Now, I press my brow to the cold porcelain which smells of bleach, like the entire bathroom, freshly cleaned.

Last night when I finally drifted off, unable to hold on any longer, I dreamt of them.

Of Chase’s fingers in my hair, jerking my head back. His stinging palm against my back. That branch down my spine.

“Do you ever play with knives?”

I woke up feeling sick, and I hauled ass to the bathroom.

I haven’t puked from nerves in a long time.

Not since the nothingness.

Shaking those memories away, I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth. The tile beneath my knees is hard, and I’ve got on sleep shorts and a hoodie, sleeves pulled down over my palms. I set my phone on the ground, knowing Van is sleeping and won’t see my message for a few more hours.

“Remi, I’ve heard about your dad.”

Brinklin’s words echo in my head and I heave again, bile churning up my throat.

But despite my gagging, nothing comes out, and I just spit in the toilet, my heart racing as I rise unsteadily to my feet, reaching with shaky hands for the silver handle.

I flush and bend down to retrieve my phone, feeling a little dizzy as I straighten again.

I turn from the toilet as the plumbing vacuums down my mess, then rest my head against the faded blue stall door.

I knock my temple against it, relishing in the pain as I squeeze my phone in my palm.

What would Sloane think of me? I haven’t even told her he’s back. Haven’t discussed it at all.

I laugh wryly alone in this stall, head still resting against the door.

For a split second, I think about Cortland back in school. His easy smile, quiet nature. People gravitated to him. Including me.

And when he set me in his sights, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

I’d lived in my head most of my life. I used to daydream I had superpowers in elementary school, could fly up to the ceiling, where everyone would watch me, cheer for me, love me. And when I was home, I could fly away, too. From my stepdad.

To my mom.

Maybe I could have saved her, if I knew how much I’d need her.

Sloane’s parents filled in where they could, but they have a big family and their own issues and it’s just not the same.

The escape I had in horror movies and books, getting lost in imaginary terrors, that was ripped away from me after that night, too.

I shudder, thinking of the movie Cortland put on after it was all over. Like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t done a single bad thing.

In the end, the courts confirmed just that.

I clench my fists and I try to push the image aside. Men with good looks and money always get whatever they want.

I’m not sure anyone has ever told my stepdad no before in his entire life.

I slam my head one more time against the stall door, then I hear a feminine voice ask, “Are you okay in there?” and my face flushes red.

Fuck. Me.

I take a breath, snatch open the metal lock on the stall and walk out in my black flip-flops, only to make eye contact with a half-naked girl standing in front of the mirror doing her makeup, her onyx hair in a bun on her head.

“Great,” I mutter, walking to one of the sinks adjacent hers, turning on the rickety faucet and absentmindedly washing my hands after I shove my phone in the pocket of my hoodie.

“I’m Lyza,” the girl says, making small talk before the sun rises.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and see her smiling at me. Her eyes are deep brown, and she’s in black booty shorts, a low-cut black lace bra, the swell of her tits making me cross my arms over my own small ones.

She’s pretty and warm, and in another lifetime, where I could talk to strangers without wanting to disappear into the floor, we might be friends.

Now, though, I swallow down my nerves, feel that familiar flush of heat that comes when I try to connect with anyone at all. I have no idea how I was a cheerleader. How I forced the pep and the bullshit and wore that mask for so long.

I realize Lyza is staring at me, waiting for me to respond. I notice she has a streak of dark purple in her hair, and her eyes are taking in my own orange locks.

“Remi,” I murmur to the girl, snatching paper hand towels from the metal container, drying my hands and balling the napkin up, tossing it in the trash in the center of the sink. “Nice to meet you,” I lie, then turn and head out the door while Lyza scoffs at my back.

Yeah, I don’t think we’re going to be friends, and I don’t blame her.

I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth and realize after my mini-vomit session I didn’t even bother to brush my teeth.

“Can’t you ever do anything right, Remi? Just one goddamn thing?”

No, Silas. Guess not.

I squat low, weight in my heels, dumbbells by my sides as I check my posture in the mirror of the gym.

I’m in a hoodie, with tight, black leggings on, and my white Chucks.

I straighten, setting the weights on the rack and tossing one of my long French braids behind my shoulder.

Sloane taught me how to braid, and now since I’ve got plenty of time when I get up before the crack of dawn, I do it as often as I can.

I take a deep breath, meeting my golden gaze in the mirror in front of me.

Sloane drops her own weights, dusting off her hands. “Nice ass,” she says with a laugh.

I smile at her, thankful I was able to puke this morning before she woke up.

My first class of the day is in two hours at eight, and I’m not sure how I’m going to stay up for it or manage to meet Van for lunch because I’ve been up all night.

Sloane asked me how I slept.

Great, just dreamt about my rapist.

But he isn’t a rapist.

Legally, Cortland Adler has never done anything wrong in his life.

But we both know what the law turned a blind eye to.

That night starts to play in my head again.

I breathe in through my nose. Out through my mouth, darting a glance to the raven-haired attendant at my back, looking down at her phone.

I’m always paranoid someone will see those memories playing in my head. They’ll see me for what I really am. Nothing.

But she’s not paying attention and Sloane is on to her next set.

I take another deep breath, then flex my fingers, grabbing the dumbbells again, using my anger as fuel.

Working out, getting sweaty, it’s the only time it feels like my mind is clear.

Like I can breathe; escaping all the damage, even if just for a moment.

I squat low, getting in one more rep as my legs shake.

I take a breath as I rise, lugging the weights to the rack again.

Sloane finishes beside me, putting her weights down and tightening her high ponytail. She tugs down her loose, teal workout shirt, and the color reminds me of West River.

Frowning, she reaches into her shirt and pulls her phone from her bra. It’s lit up, and as she sees the name across the screen, her mouth pulls into a wide smile.

“Oh my God,” she says, “he’s calling me!”

I widen my eyes at her excitement. I hate calls. “Yippee,” I tell her, my voice deadpan, but I’m smiling, too.

She sticks out her tongue but swipes to answer the call, holding it to her ear, her eyes on mine. “Hello?”

I pull out my own phone as she talks to who I assume is Asa, and I see Van has texted me back.

Van

I’ve got some good things for you today. Also. Friday. Ryann wants to meet you.

I briefly consider it for Van’s sake but still really want to say fuck no because he probably wants me at another party, when Sloane ends her call and nudges me with her shoulder. “He asked me out for coffee,” she says, gushing.

I glance up at her. “Go,” I tell her, jerking my chin to the door.

I don’t know much about Asa except he has a stepsister, is really hot in a nerdy way, and he’s a pre-med major. All good things in my book. He also likes ice cream and his parents own the little shop Sloane did her first marketing internship at over the summer, and that’s a bonus.

Sloane tucks her phone back into her bra. “I gotta get a shower,” she says, glancing down at her shirt, stuck to her skin with sweat.

Yeah, I need one too. I’m wearing a sweat trap of a hoodie.

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight,” she tells me.

“I’ve got that noon chem class.” She wrinkles her nose, because she hates science.

I do too. She knocks her shoulder into mine as I glance down at my phone, reading Van’s next message.

“Why do you look like you wanna kill a bitch?” she asks, her brows pulling together.

“Van invited me to another party Friday?—”

“But you had so much fun at the last one,” Sloane says, shaking her head and planting her hands on her hips.

I almost die laughing, thinking of Cortland’s hand on my face, but I don’t say a word.

“I’ll come, too.” Sloane shrugs. “Where’s it at?”

I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. “Sloane, I don’t want to go,” I tell her, stuffing my hand in my hoodie pocket, fingers around my phone. “It’s at some frat house anyway and uh, no thanks.”

Sloane’s eyes soften. Guilt seizes through me that I can’t be the friend she deserves. I wasn’t even it before. Introverted, quiet, lonely. Sloane is outgoing and funny and better than me.