Page 8 of Hate So Deep (Hate #4)

NOW

Lauren

I lick my wounds the next few days while the world continues to orbit around me.

After Dirk’s lecture which I’m still trying to process—I mean, was he being an ass or does he really believe that shit—I came home.

Mom must still be at the hospital and while I feel bad that she’s alone, I know my overtures are unwanted and therefore I leave it alone.

Still, I wish she could see that I’m hurting too. We could be grieving together.

Instead, I’m on my fucking own…the story of my life.

Of course, her ears must have been burning because while I sit through my pity party of one, she calls me.

Groaning under my breath, I answer only to pause when she says, “Lauren?”

She’s the only one who refuses to call me Lala as though having a pet name is beneath her. Or maybe she doesn’t fucking care enough to bother.

“Yeah?” I say.

When she pauses, I lean forward, staring at the fluffy tufts of carpet between my fingers.

We’ve never been particularly close but the distance between us since Buck’s accident feels insurmountable, despite the fact that I’m her child too.

“I spoke to the police,” she says, and I close my eyes.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you saw your brother that night?” she snarls.

This is it. What I feared. What if I hurt my own brother?

We were no closer than Mom and I but he was my brother…

“I…I don't remember,” I mumble before shrugging helplessly.

There’s a beat of silence before she says, “Of course you don’t.”

I shiver at her cold tone but don’t bother to respond. It wouldn’t matter anyway.

Her mind is made up.

“He came to find you, Lauren. You don’t remember any of it?” she asks.

“No, I woke up in my room.”

Her sigh echoes through the phone and I grip the damn thing tighter before saying, “How do you know?”

“Because you called him, idiot. The police need to speak to you. I’ll meet you at the station in twenty minutes.”

She hangs up before I can respond and with a groan, I push to my feet and walk to the window.

I hoped that whatever happened would blow over as having nothing to do with Buck but now I can’t ignore it.

I have to retrace my steps starting with the asshole who broke my soul into a million pieces and left me like yesterday’s trash.

The drive to the station is quicker than I would like, and I shiver when I find Mom standing inside the door with a prohibitive stare.

She frowns as she looks me over in my hoodie and jeans but it’s not my fucking fault she gave me no time to get here.

I move to step around her, and she grabs my arm, hissing, “Do you really not remember anything ?”

Bowing my head to hide my clenched jaw, I say, “No.”

When she sets me free, I stagger back and turn away, although I glance at her sideways when she runs her hand down her face before squaring her shoulders.

Once we’re sitting opposite the two detectives, I wrap my fingers in my sleeves and summon the dead ass expression that I’ve come to cultivate.

As a Stark, we’re not allowed to be anything other than perfect little dolls and instinct pushes me back into the role my mother browbeat into me.

“Miss Stark,” the first one says, eyeing me over his glasses. When I nod, he continues, “After searching through your brother’s phone records, we found to our surprise that he communicated with you on the night of the incident.”

Mom snorts and folds her arms, muttering, “It wasn’t an incident. It was attempted murder.”

The detective’s brows flicker but he doesn’t comment as his partner leans forward to say, “This could be an important part of the timeline, Miss Stark. Why didn’t you mention it before?”

Good question and maybe now is the time to confess all but I can’t do that, not with my mom sitting here. Not knowing what will happen if I do.

We may not see eye to eye but she’s still my mom and I need her. She’s the only one I have left.

Buck is gone and Dad has moved on. She’s the last tether holding me to the ground. Without her, I might float away.

“I’m sorry,” I finally say, holding up my hands. “I was drunk. I don’t remember.”

The detectives share a look before the first one holds out his hand and says, “We’ll need to see your phone.”

Simultaneously, the other detective says, “Walk us through what you do remember.”

Once they’ve taken my statement and searched my phone, they leave, while we sit in that fucking room alone together.

The entire time, Mom refuses to look at me and when the first detective finally returns, he says, “If you don’t remember what happened, Miss Stark, why did you delete the history between you and your brother?”

Thoroughly confused, I shake my head but before I can explain that I didn’t, he says, “It’s rather odd wouldn’t you say?”

With no answers, but hell of a lot of suspicion, I’m forced to give the names of the people who saw me that night.

Although I skip over what happened with Dirk because explaining that I fucked him in front of my mom is not an option, I have to give them his name.

People saw me with him. It’s only a matter of time before someone says something.

Once back at home, I circle the drain of my thoughts before sitting on my bed and pulling up social media.

I’m still confused as to why there were text messages between Buck and I that night and how they got erased.

Was he bringing me home? Why?

Come to think of it, if the messages are gone, how does anyone know what we actually said to each other?

I guess the police have access to stuff like that?

I haven’t looked at Dirk’s page since he fucked me and told me to go over nine months ago, so it’s with a heady feeling that I pull it up now.

Strangely, for someone who was all over the shit before he graduated, his social media page has barely been updated since.

Good for me, it makes it easier to find a post from that night. My throat burns to see him smiling with some chick, but I ignore the feeling as I zoom in on the picture and to my horror, find my scowling facade in the background.

Shit. Did Dirk see this?

He didn’t post it, thank fuck, but come on…where the hell is my damn dignity?

Long gone, it would seem. Ugh.

Focusing back on the picture, I zoom around the background again, avoiding my fucking face but I don’t recognize the house.

The white furnishings and art on the wall lead me to believe it wasn’t one of our typical haunts though.

Is this the place Caro took me after I told her I didn’t want to go home?

And Dirk was there? Hm.

Why? He made it clear how he felt. Did I follow him, or did he follow me?

If there is a god, he was the one doing the following.

With a groan, I pull up Caro’s number. As soon as she answers, I say, “I need your help.”

Two hours later, I’m sitting in the car in front of her house while she stares at me wide eyed.

Thank God her parents are out shopping because I can’t imagine doing this by myself.

“Caro,” I snap, and she rubs her forehead.

“Sorry, I just…wow. You don’t remember anything ?”

“No,” I sigh, gripping the steering wheel. “Now the police are asking shit and …fuck!”

“Okay, we’ll figure it out but trust me, you didn’t hurt your brother, Lala,” she says, and I eye her sideways.

“How do you know?”

“Because you don’t have it in you. Did you ask Lover Boy?”

Don’t I? Sometimes I think I feel the same darkness beneath my skin that I saw in Buck’s eyes. Maybe I’m just better at hiding it?

“No,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “What would he know? I blacked out after he dumped me, again .”

Chewing her lip, she says, “But he was there. At the second party.”

“Yeah, but for how long?”

“Jesus, Lala. You really don’t remember anything. After you disappeared with Gage, he came storming in. When I couldn’t find you later, I assumed you left with him.”

“He did?” I whisper. Did I leave with Dirk?

Then how did I get home and why was I covered in blood when I woke up?

“You need to ask him. Unless…”

When she pauses, I turn to her. After a moment she dips her chin and says, “Do you think he did something to you?”

“No.”

I really don’t but am I being stupid?