Page 14 of Play Dirty (Villalargos University #1)

Chapter Ten

Shiloh

M y phone vibrates beside me as I curl further into myself.

Trying to hide from the light touching me.

Inhaling the pink cotton sheets, trying to engrave the scent of her skin into my memory.

Tears prick the corners of my eyes as a sob racks my body.

I’m expected to speak today, to hold my composure and be the ice queen everyone is expecting of me. However, I don’t think I can do this.

This time, the mask won’t stay on.

My pain bleeds through every pore of my body. My hands fist the sheet, bringing the soft fabric closer to my nose. It’s been three brutally long days and even longer nights. I don’t know the last time I showered or even left this bed.

I’ve been existing… not living.

Nothing can bring her back. All this money. All this power. What good is any of it if I can’t bring her back? It seems like all the stars vanished from my sky, leaving me floating in vast, consuming darkness.

My phone rings this time.

Lifting my head slightly, I see it’s another call from people who call themselves my friends.

I don’t answer, I just watch it ring. It’s all superficial, all for show.

People will do anything for the inside scoop.

Nothing hotter than the ice queen finally melting in the most devastating way possible .

A soft knock at the door catches my attention, and as always, I ignore it. I shift my body so I can stare at the lines in the ceiling and the tapestry of colors June placed above her bed. She was such a colorful woman, with so much potential and so much love to give.

My heart squeezes painfully in my chest, reminding me that despite being broken, it still beats inside me. How dare she leave me? How dare she think I can shine without her light?

Her guidance.

Friends since we were young.

Friends during our worst moments.

Friends who turned into sisters.

That’s what I lost, my sister. My heart.

My person.

How am I supposed to cross the finish line without her, live the life that was perfectly planned for me…

without her? Bringing my knees to my chest, I try to control my breathing the way she taught me.

Blood rushes in my ears; everyone is back to their regularly scheduled programming, if nothing has happened, while I reside in the past. Still lying on her cold and lifeless chest.

Time stopped there.

The bitter scent of death still lingers on my skin– a phantom smell I cannot escape.

Another soft knock pulls me from my spiral of thoughts.

I groan as I stretch my body. I haven’t been out of bed since it happened.

Cops came to ask about anything that could help solve the case, to look for clues, but like everything that happens on campus, this will soon go away.

Slowly, I rise from the bed, not bothering to put on a brave face or get ready for the day.

I look at myself in the mirror, my eyes swollen from crying.

All I can hear is my mother's voice as she rips me apart.

I feel her phantom touch as she cakes my face with the velvety mixture of Chanel foundation, using my index fingers and hooking them to the corner of my mouth.

I try to smile, but even my fake smile is no good.

Not today.

I stand there for a moment longer, dissociating.

Until my face contours to something demonic.

Something is wrong. I let my fingers fall from my mouth and continue my path towards the door.

Surely whoever was here is long gone by now.

At least, I hope. Taking a sharp breath, my hand wraps around the brass doorknob before turning it.

I brace myself for the invasion of privacy, for a phone in my face, for fake friends like Tracy and Glenda to run in and hug me.

However, what's waiting for me is a giant box of strawberry Pocky sticks and a six-pack of microwaveable shrimp noodles.

My knees buckle, and I collapse. Only June knew these were my favorite snacks.

I don’t know if I should feel some kind of solace. Reprieve. But all I feel is pain. My head turns quickly, looking for whoever left this here. There’s no note. No message. No expectation.

Just a small reminder.

“June.” I choke out as my shaky hand reaches towards the items, retrieving them once I get close before bringing my hand towards my mouth to hold back the scream threatening to rip from my throat. The pain is feral, heavy, all-consuming.

“June.”

With tears streaming down my face and my hands full of the snacks I love most, I shuffle towards the couch and plop down. Small sobs escape my lips as I grab the packet of Pocky sticks and remove them from the plastic.

I look at the vacant spot beside me, feeling the emptiness even more tonight. Pulling out a Pocky stick, I lift it into the air and cheer with my friend. However, there isn’t another stick to cross against the biscuit—just hollowness and darkness .

I sit with that feeling for a while, absentmindedly chewing on the sticks until I’m sick of the sweetness. Sick of the pain, sick of the crying. Until my eyes burn before growing heavy and taking me into sleep’s embrace.

“I miss you,” I whisper into the dark.

Days later, and it still doesn’t feel real.

Rather, I didn’t want it to feel real, but the emptiness in the dorm is a constant reminder, and the ache in my chest tells me it’s real. Today is the funeral, our last outing…

Today is the last time I’ll see my sunshine, yet the skies are grey as if mourning the angel this place destroyed.

I look out the window of the SUV, resting my head against the cool glass as I watch the rain fall down against it.

The drive to the cemetery is short. The roads are full of fog and puddles.

The ocean's angry waves are crashing into the rocky coast. This was June’s favorite type of weather—the kind that allowed her to slip into sweats and read one of her romance books. She loves the rain .

Loved .

It’s going to be hard to get used to using the past tense and June in the same sentence.

I don’t think I will ever get used to it.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Alfred’s worried glance through the rearview mirror, but I smile.

A small crooked smile, just to let him know I see him and that I’m okay.

The car comes to a stop. We are late. Thankfully, no one notices.

Everybody is too wrapped up in grief to care.

“We are here.” He says solemnly before stepping out of the car.

The door swings open, and Alfred lets me out quickly, placing the umbrella over my head as I step out. Swiftly, I scan the area, my head darting in each direction. A sinking feeling comes over me when I realize he’s not here.

Nico isn’t among the guests.

Her boyfriend…not here.

Why do I care?

“Is everything okay, Ms. Shiloh?” Alfred asks with a concerned smile on his face— he looks sad, eyes rimmed red as if he also mourned the girl who would sit in the back seat. The very same girl he saw growing up alongside me. I offer him a small smile, tilting my chin slowly. “It is.”

But that’s a lie.

One, I will have to continue to say, for as long as I live. There’s nothing okay about me– not before this and certainly not after. I stick my hand outside the protection of the umbrella, feeling the cool drops gather in my palm.

June.

My phone goes off in my hand, bile rises up my throat, choking me with my own venom as I look at the screen. Another fucking blog.

The Pulse Blog

Once June’s funeral is over and done with, I need to figure out who could be behind this blog. Scanning the cemetery, I take mental notes of the guests. Trying to see if somehow I can see something out of place.

Anyone who could be connected to the blog…

Everyone looks solemn.

That’s all I see, feigned and genuine sadness bleeding together in a wave of frowns.

What I can confirm is that June’s father really didn’t come.

Mrs. Morelli is all alone. It shouldn’t shock me, June’s father is a piece of work and a workaholic, but is he really not here to lay his daughter to rest?

I shove the phone into my small Louis Vuitton clutch, blinking away the tears, the disgust, and hold my head up high for her.

Making my way to her casket, my knees wobble, and my throat constricts.

From behind my sunglasses, I can see the group of classmates by the front, drama nerds, we call them.

They look just as distraught as I am, especially the girl with the black hair and shades.

More somber faces, grieving the loss of one of their own.

And beside them, feigning grief so convincingly, are the same girls who bullied her.

The girls I sit with to have Sunday dinner, the girls I call sisters because of the sorority.

The same ones that belittled her behind my back.

They’re shedding crocodile tears, but what really has my gears grinding fiercely together is Allison, holding the hand of June, taking a fucking selfie.

Tissue paper perfectly placed to capture a tear that was never shed, the fury takes over, and I storm towards her.

Snatching her phone from her hand. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Allison’s hazel eyes widened, “Oh dear, you must be so–” My hand strikes her, connecting hard with her cheek. The words die in her mouth, but before either of us can continue, a firm hand wraps around my fragile one.

Peter Morelli, June’s older brother. “Enough. Allison, thank you for coming. Please leave. ”

Allison’s eyes flutter in disbelief, and her mouth opens to speak, before Peter’s dismissive hand shoots up—silencing her and walking away with me in tow. “Please. Let me go.”

He stops, looking over his shoulder, and his eyes soften. “I am.” He lets me go and gives us a sliver of space, running a hand over his perfectly combed brown hair. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” I let out a shaky breath, rubbing my wrist, feeling the eyes on me. “I should be the one apologizing.”