Page 42 of Wherever You Are

Mattie looks…scared, just from hearing Lo. He doesn’t even see the venomous glare attached.

“I…uh,” Mattie stammers. “Is that…?” Befuddlement crosses his face, and I step forward and sort of corral him out, all without touching him.

I’m lucky that he doesn’t put a hand on me.

“Wait…” He gawks, dazedly leaving my room.

I shut and lock the door.

“Thanks,” I tell everyone on the computer. “I have this now.” They voice encouragements and “stay safes” before I close the laptop.

Anxious heat still clings to me, even though the guy is gone.

It’s in these moments that I wish I took up meditation. Daisy suggested it. She’s been doing twenty-minute sessions in her treehouse every morning with Sulli. It’s apparently good to refocus the mind. I need some intense refocusing.

A message pings my phone.

Garrison:Landed. In cab. See you soon*pizza emoji* *smiley face emoji* *heart emoji*

My anticipation ratchets up, and I quickly text him the apartment building’s door code. I was going to meet him at the airport, but he said he’d meet me here. He knows I get anxiety at airports, but I wish I braved it for him tonight.

It would’ve been better than staying behind at this party. But just thinking about confronting the airport crowds made me break out in a nervous sweat for two hours.

I let out a tense breath and rest my back on the thumping wall. Music still blasting. Chants of “chug, chug, chug!” still happening.

And then I eye the smashed pillows and crumpled comforter. Gross.

Strip the bed, Willow.

I move my feet and do just that.

10PRESENT DAY – August

London, England

GARRISON ABBEY

Age 21

Once I’m in the apartment complex, I hear club music and drunken laughter, and I’m thinking there’s no way that’s my girl’s place.

A house party?

On a Wednesday?

It sounds like Willow’s worst nightmare. Yet, I stroll up to the ajar door where the noise booms out. Weekend-duffel slung on my shoulder, I double-check the apartment number.

This is her flat.

What if she likes parties now? I’d like to believe she hasn’t changed so much that I don’t know her anymore. We saw each other a decent amount this summer.

I push into the rowdy, packed apartment. About fifty students here. Already hammered. Guys are wobbling and spilling their shit on furniture. Beer. Liquor. Fizz.

I glance back at the door. Can’t believe that was literally half-opened.

Any stalker or creep could just prance right on through. This is a serial killer’s wet dream and the way idiots die at the start of horror flicks, before the movie title even appears.

Thinking about someone killing Willow makes me nauseous. I rub a hand over my mouth, and stepping forward, my black Converse crunches a beer can.