Page 96 of Satan's Spawn

“Thanks…I guess.” I continue typing on my phone.

“What are you doing?” Hendrix asks after I press send on the message.

“I need Archer’s brain. Since mine is clearly broken today.”

Broken…

SHIT.

I slap myself on the forehead and jump out of bed. I forgot to take my second dose of meds. Ineverforget to take my meds. No wonder why I was so impulsive and off kilter at the party.

This has to be it. My ADHD took over and made me think I’m attracted to an evil spawn obsessed with goats and BDSM.

Not quite how ADHD works, Bex.

Let a girl live, conscience, damn.

I snatch the clutch off my desk and pull it open, knowing taking a dose so close to my evening one is a bad idea, but I’m doing it anyway.

I’ll do anything to stop my brain from malfunctioning the way it did today.

Except, when I open the clutch the small bottle isn’t inside. It’s gone. How did I not realize my medicine is missing? I went through this bag several times in the car.

Even though I know the bottle isn’t in there, I empty the contents onto my bed anyway, hoping like hell my mind is still defective.

It’s not. Of course it’s not. Why would it be defected when I actuallywantit to be defected?

A small piece of paper catches my eye, one I know for sure I didn’t put in my bag, so I pick it up to see what it is.

The words “Ghost’s don’t need medicine, they’re already dead” are written in black ink, with the numbers 666 underneath it.

As if the digits became his stupid trademark.

A mix of outrage and panic has my hands shaking as I crinkle the paper.

Since I’m always one to have a back up plan for all my plans, I dart over to my dresser where I keep the spare bottle Mom convinced Dr. Lance to prescribe me for scenarios similar to this. Not that I could’ve dreamed of being in a situation like this before moving to Manhattan. I pull open the drawer and push my white tanks to the side, only to find a single tablet sitting on top of another random note.

No. Fucking. Way.

I pick up the medicine and paper to examine it, ignoring Hendrix as she asks me what’s going on. I can’t answer her, not only because I’m still astonished by how low that spawn of the devil stooped, but because of how much worse my predicament actually is.

Crayton stole both of my fucking medicine bottles, and now the only way for me to take my morning dose is by finding him.

Which is exactly what the asshole wanted because he has “see you at 7:30 A.M.” written on the back of a random CVS receipt, the exact time I take my first dose every morning.

Not only has Crayton been watching every move I make throughout the day, but he broke into my dorm room and rummaged through my shit.

This invasion of my privacy takes his stalker vibe to a whole new level. One I refuse to tolerate.

Oh God, what else did he find?

My mind switches into full panic mode as I eye the area under my bed that I keep myspecialbag of goodies.

I’m about to check and see if it’s still there when a knock at the door makes me jump.

Hearing Archer’s voice calling out for me settles my nerves enough for me to rush over and let him in.

“What the hell, Bex? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Archer steps inside our room, keeping a dubious eye on me.