Page 37

Billie

YOU WANNA KNOW how I know things are getting bad? When I start looking forward to studying organic chemistry.

Being in a library has almost always felt like a safe haven for me, a place to go when my other options aren’t great, like foster homes or shelters with leering eyes or carboard boxes that offer no insulation, let alone waterproofing. Libraries are public spaces, and they’re quiet and warm and dry and rat-free—for the most part. Plus if they’re big, and if you’re small, you can find nooks and crannies to crawl into and nap without worrying about leaving yourself vulnerable to an attack. And as much as I love science, chemistry has always been my least favorite. And organic chemistry? Just so freakin confusing—the concepts, the shapes, and so much memorization.

Yet here I sit, going on over my flash cards, with Mastodon’s Crack the Skye thrumming through my ears and a big dopey smile on my face. “Come on, Billie. Just think: Alkane, alkene, alkyne,” I mutter, thinking of ways to remember, A. E. Y. Single. Double. Triple. I bob my head, finding the pattern, the link to remembering. “Higher in the alphabet, the more bonds. Bond, James—” I giggle, and my brain delights in the track of thought. “Oh no. Bonds, Carbon Bonds. Pour me a double carbon, Jimmy. No, wait! Make it a triple, ’cause a single’s got a hydrocarbon...”

The sound of Maria loudly whispering, “Is that her?” breaks me from my bond digression, and I look up to find her, Taylor, and Heather all standing in front of the desk I’m sitting at, looking at me with... not happy faces. I remove my earbuds.

Heather finger taps her chin and drawls, “I don’t know. It looks like her.” Her head cants to the side, and her brows knit. “Sort of. The hoodie for sure, but it’s just been so long.”

“Oh, stop it!” Taylor exclaims, rolling her eyes and pulling out the chair across from me. Setting her bag on the floor, she sits down. The other two grumble but follow her lead, Maria taking the chair at my side and Heather next to Taylor.

“Hey, guys,” I weakly say, gazing at them while slumping forward like I’m taking cover. “How have you been?”

Maria spins to me with brows at her hairline and snaps, “How have we—”

“Stop,” Heather mumbles, pushing the hood of her pink hoodie back and leaning forward on the table, head in hand. Her blue eyes go from Maria, who’s glaring hard at her roomie, and then to me and then back to Maria. She does a tired wave with her other hand and blows out a breath. “Maria, look at her.” She points at me, slumping even farther down. “She knows she hasn’t been around, and based on her efforts to become one with the table, she feels bad about it.”

I nod, and my chin hits the table. “Ouch,” I hiss, rubbing my fingers over my chin while looking at my friends, who I haven’t really seen or talked to since soccer ended. Nothing social since Jax’s attack, and that was weeks ago. “I know I’ve been MIA, and I do feel bad. It’s just with everything that’s happened, my schedule is ridiculous, and I have, like, no free time.”

“You mean with...” Taylor swallows and the edges of her lips turn down. “With the assault? Because we understand. We want to be there for you. All of you.”

“Partially,” I admit, sitting up and rubbing my eyes with my palms before slumping forward and resting my heavy head on my hand. Gazing at my friends, I raise my brows and lowly scoff. “I know you guys care and that you wouldn’t treat Jax differently, but well, socializing hasn’t gone the best for us. Just about every party or gathering I’ve attended has ended in either an attack, an assault, or”—I roll my eyes— “waking up to a video of me on social media.” Their faces either pull down in frowns or cringe at that. “And then”—I wave a limp hand— “with Xander’s father passing, a ton of responsibilities have been put on him—nothing he was prepared for—and it’s taking all four of us to manage the workload. Add in school and finals coming up, I just...” I blow out a tired breath. “No time for much.”

“We understand that a lot has happened Billie,” Maria affirms, her voice soothing, the snap completely gone. I gaze at her, and she tucks a curl behind her ear while saying, “Believe us, we do.” She splays a hand over her chest, her burgundy nails matching the color of her tight turtleneck sweater. “I’m just worried you’re losing yourself with them. That all of your decisions are based on them, on what they need, and that eventually you’ll no longer be you, individually.”

“And we miss you,” Heather chimes in with fluttering lashes and an overdramatic puppy pout.

A smile creeps over my face, and I huff a laugh. “I...” I stop because I’m about to do that automatic response: I miss you guys too, but truthfully, I’ve been too caught up in everything to really miss almost anyone. Then thinking about the fact I should be missing them and haven’t, I would just feel grumpy. And more than anyone, I miss The Den. Feck, do I miss The Den. But... “I miss how we were too. I miss hanging out, having lunch, having dinner, playing soccer, studying, and all of that. I do, but right now...” I falter, feeling the noose of responsibilities tighten around my throat, making that recently ever-present lump pulse. I intake a harsh breath. “I can’t do it. I don’t have the time, and I...” I look at my friends, and my eyes water. “I’m not losing myself. Trust me, I’m not. There’s so much more pulling at me—at Jax, Xander, Ethan, and me—and I don’t want you to think I’m not around because I don’t want to be around or that I wasn’t planning on being around. It’s temporary, and I hope you understand.” My face heats, and the tears I’ve been trying to hold back make their escape. Using the sleeve of my sweatshirt, I wipe them away. “I want us to stay friends, but if you need me to be around more, go out to parties, or get together more often in order to be friends, then... I can’t be that right now. I don’t want to feel pressured to make time when I don’t have it, and honestly...” I roll my eyes to the ceiling and snicker. “Any time I do have, all I want to do is sleep.”

“Seriously, Billie,” Maria contends with an arched brow. “You really can’t make time for your friends? Because I’ve seen you with Annabelle from time to time.”

And that’s an ouch, and what the fuck am I supposed to say? Well, Annabelle is a shifter like me, and she understands what’s going on and is helping us. When I’m with you, I can’t talk about any of that. I have to be on my tiptoes, shut my mouth, and bite my tongue—and I don’t have much to talk about that’s not shifter related, and...

“You’re right,” I relent with a resigned roll of my shoulder. “I’ve been with Annabelle, Heydar, Assad, and Alessandro because some of the businesses Xander’s father was involved in are connected to Annabelle’s father. They’ve been helping us. As for making time for my friends?” I raise an open palm “Unless you want to know when I’m here studying or maybe getting a bite to eat at the allotted time in my schedule, because that’s how tightly I’m stretched, that’s all I’ve got.”

Maria opens her mouth about to speak, but Heather cuts in first. “Then we’ll do that.” Maria whips her head around to stare at Heather in shock.

“Maria,” Taylor says. Maria looks at her, and Taylor waves a hand in my direction. “Look at her. Look at our friend. Really, truly look at her.”

Maria turns to me, and I turn to her. Her hard brown eyes begin to soften the more of me she takes in, and her lips tug up on one side “Damn, girl, you look like shit.”

I numbly nod my head because, yeah, I do look like shit. Not like I ever dressed up before, but it’s worse lately. My eyes drift over to one of the tables in the front where Rachael and her friends are stationed. Rachael’s hair is glossy and blown out, her makeup done flawlessly, enhancing every flawless part of her gorgeous face. Her jeans fit her perfectly, and paired with her high-heeled boots, they give her bum a lift. Her cowl-necked, cream-colored sweater accentuates her olive skin tone, the tapered waist doing what it’s supposed to do. I chance a glance down at myself, and it shows that my only criteria for my clothes are smell and layers. If they don’t stink and I can adjust for the swings in temperature I’ve been feeling lately, then solid. I used to wear mascara and at least put earrings in, but those have gone, too, and sometimes it’s long johns instead of panties—because again, I want the layers. No makeup means there’s no hiding the lack of sleep and stress I’m under. And my hair? It’s the ultra-messy bun, and yeah, sometimes I don’t even bother brushing it.

“Exactly!” Heather agrees, slapping a palm down on the table, snapping me out of my critical self-assessment, on which I assessed poorly. “She’s looks horrible!” Heather exclaims, dragging her fingers down her cheeks. “Bags under her bloodshot, tweaky eyes. Gaunt cheeks, wrinkles already forming. Skin pallid and pasty. Probably a little too skinny—hard to tell with the layers upon layers.” She mockingly rolls her eyes. “I didn’t even know you could wear a flannel under a hoodie. She needs us to be understanding and supportive, not needy and snippy.”

Maria folds her arms over her chest and nibbles on her bottom lip, her eyes scanning me up and down. “I’m just worried, I’ve...” she hesitates, and her smooth features contort while she gazes around. Leaning in closer, she whispers, “I had a friend that got hung up on a guy... a bad guy. She used to bubbly and outgoing. She met him, and everything was cool in the beginning, but over time she started coming around less and less, and when she did, she wasn’t really present, constantly checking her phone. When I or my other friends would ask if things were okay, she’d get snappy and defensive about it. Then it was like we never really saw her, and she got skinny and pasty and unhealthy looking, rumors about her being hooked on pills—pills he got her into.”

So she’s saying I look like a newbie drug addict? Super. I touch a hand to my face, finding it a little dry. Lotion. I’ve got to at least keep putting on lotion.

“What happened?” Taylor asks, all of us now huddled together over the table.

Maria hitches a shoulder. “Not sure. As far as I know, they’re still together and still doing whatever it is they do. She did graduate, but I don’t think she went to college, and when I’d see her around, she wouldn’t even look at me.” Her worried gaze slides to me. “I don’t want that happening with you.”

“I’m sorry, Maria,” I say. “Truly, for you and your friend, it’s got to suck.” Not needing another look at myself and also not wanting to show just how concerned I am with my own appearance, I toss her a crooked grin. “And yeah, I can see where the concern is stemming from. I assure you; this is a completely different situation. I’m not doing any drugs or pills or whatever, and I’m not losing myself to them. Xander’s got a ton on him. His dad...” I blow out a breath. “His dad really fucked some shit up, and with him dead, it’s all on Xander to clean up.” I lick my lips and cautiously say, “Close to two hundred lives could be affected if he doesn’t do what needs to be done, and that’s just one of the areas he’s got under him. This is temporary.” I huff out a short laugh. “It better be temporary because we can’t keep up the way we have been. It’s not just me that’s being affected by this. Xander, Jax and Ethan are too. And it’s also emotional—there’s a lot that’s happened.”

“Then we’ll be here however we can, however you need us to be,” Taylor affirms.

“If that means just letting things go and being here when you’re able to, then that’s what we’ll do,” Heather adds.

“Fine.” Maria reluctantly nods and holds up a hand. “Just... if it gets worse, if you need help, we’re here, okay? And if I see you getting worse and avoiding us, I will find you. I will step up even if it’s uncomfortable, even you get mad or tell me to mind my business.”

“Never thought of you being a level-five clinger,” I jest with a hitched brow.

“If I need to be that”—Maria scrunches her nose up— “ merde , that dingleberry that hangs on, then so be it.”

“She’d be the only dingleberry I’d want,” Heather asserts in a flat voice.

“At least she’s a hot one,” Taylor adds, bobbing her head.

“Yeah,” I drawl side-eyeing Maria. “I bet she’s spicy.”

“The habanero on your ass,” Maria affirms, pointing a finger at me. “And I wouldn’t do that for just anyone, okay, chica ?”

Crossing my hands over my heart, I gush, “I feel so honored and”—I scoot my bum from side to side— “a little warm.”

Then the four of us laugh, and my friends pull out their schoolwork. We look at our schedules, and we find times to make it work, to keep checking in even if it’s just studying or grabbing food. Holding back my tears, I suck down the happiness, bottling it inside while taking a mental snapshot of this moment. The best friendships are those that allow for space, for understanding, and aren’t filled with feelings of pressure or expectation. Friendships where you know if they need you or you need them, the other will show up. Friendships you can pick up whenever and also have those hard conversations, those ones that make you look at yourself and vice versa.