by Danah Logan
"Are you okay?" He even sounded worried.
Interesting.
I shook my head, taking a step back. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just a headache."
Before he could call me out on the lie, I sidestepped him and made my way to the sink to fill up the kettle. He was too close, and I needed to put distance between us. When I turned back around, Rhys was standing in the same spot, shoulders slumped, and I almost felt guilty for brushing him off. Almost.
Screw it; he did it first.
We used to tell each other everything. A few years ago, I would’ve confided in him in a heartbeat. One day, we were best friends, and the next, we weren’t. He didn’t want anything to do with me.
I’m on my way to deposit some books in my locker and then hand in the journalism assignment to Mr. Davey. He said we could drop it off at his desk at any point before his class this week, and to be honest, I want to get rid of the paper. I forced myself to stick to the facts—the way the press reported the case—and not let my emotional reaction bleed into my analysis.
I wade through the sea of students without really paying attention to my surroundings. Sleep has gotten less and less since this whole thing started.
Suddenly, an arm slings around my shoulder from behind. My mind has lost its ability to think logically, and I react on instinct. Spinning around, I start pushing the assailant into the lockers with my forearm against their throat. Thankfully, the brain fog clears, and I realize that I am not being attacked, but greeted, by my best friend. What I was about to do dawns on me before I completely embarrass myself in front of everyone—or worse, hurt Denielle.
Hands in front of herself, Den gawks at me with wide eyes. "Whoa, babe! What’s going on with you?"
Shit. Crap. Shit!
I mumble, "Uh...nothing, sorry. Just tired."
I try to turn away, but she grabs my arm and moves me to face her again. She has her typical that’s-bullshit-and-you-know-it glare: head tilted slightly, one eyebrow lifted, lips pursed. "Wanna try again?"
She wouldn’t be my best friend if she didn’t see through my lame excuse, but I don’t want to talk about it—I can’t. I have no idea what’s going on with me, and I’m not ready to share my concern about potentially losing my mind over a homework assignment.
"I just didn’t sleep well." She doesn’t believe me, but she doesn’t press any further. She would never do that to me in the middle of the school.
What the fuck just happened?
I was watching Lilly from the other end of the hallway when Denielle came up from behind and hugged her. Lilly could’ve done some serious damage.
Spence has been working on that move with her during self-defense lessons. During a sparring session, she once almost crushed my windpipe with that maneuver. I hurt for two days.
Being briefly distracted by the memory, I catch myself before a grin shows on my face. Lilly appears to be your stereotypical high school girl. The years of gymnastics and martial arts have given her an athletic build. Her long blonde hair and minimal makeup just enhances the innocent look, but behind the five-foot-four girl hides a lethal weapon.
I want to know what’s going on, but when I take a step in their direction, Kat puts her hand on my arm. "Where are you going, sweetie?"
I peer down at her and exhale slowly, forcing a smile on my face. "Nowhere."
I fucking loathe her pet names for me, and lately, everything with her just annoys me. I put my good-boyfriend face on and pretend to listen to her conversation with Jenny, one of my teammate’s girlfriends, about some new boots she has to have and her dad refuses to buy her because they cost more than a small used car. I have the urge to bang my head into the nearest locker.
Make. Her. Stop.
Taking another glance in Lilly’s direction, I notice them walking away now.
I think of Sunday and the way she looked at me when I came home from the gym to grab my clothes for the week. All my clothes at Wes’s were dirty, and I hadn’t had time to wash them yet.
I didn’t expect her to be in the kitchen that late. One second, she stared at me, and the next, she held onto her head, eyes squeezed shut. I dropped my bag and took two long strides toward her, but I stopped myself from touching her at the last moment. I wanted to grab her shoulders, demand to know what was wrong, but her eyes opened, and she instantly shut down. This is all my fault. She used to tell me everything, and something is obviously wrong with her. These days, she would rather swallow her tongue than talk to me.
Understandably.
I need to find out what’s going on.
Chapter Four
Over the next week and a half, I’m convinced I am losing my mind.
The school team often uses Butler’s gym for practice sessions so we don’t have to share the gym with all the other teams at school. After our mandatory practice session on Wednesday, I procrastinate in the shower, and everyone is gone by the time I walk to my Jeep. I’m almost at the driver’s side door when I glance over to the small park across the street. Just a small, fenced-in playground with two slides, some swings, and a merry-go-round. It’s freezing. Yet, kids are still playing there, bundled up in snowsuits and oblivious to the cold, while their parents or sitters look beyond miserable. A little girl is running toward a woman who catches her, and the girl squeals in delight when she spins her in a circle.
Thankfully, I’ve already reached my car when it hits me. I lean against the side, knowing what comes next, and wait for the agony to subside. This one confuses me more than the previous migraines.
I’m running toward a woman. Who is she? I’m wracking my brain, trying to remember if I have ever seen her. She seems to be in her early thirties, long blonde hair, fair skin. She is dressed in jeans, a white cap-sleeve blouse, and sandals. I come up blank. Maybe a friend of Mom? But why would I run toward her like that?
The following Sunday, Dad knocks on my door, peeking his head in. "Wanna go to the range with me?"
Hell yeah!
A broad grin spreads across my face. We haven’t gone in a few weeks due to Dad’s travel schedule, and I’ve missed our unusual daddy-daughter dates.
Rhys and I were nine and ten when he first sat us down and showed us his .45. He talked for over an hour about gun safety rules, what it means to handle a firearm responsibly, and eventually, he started taking us to the range. By the time I turned fifteen, I was able to hit my mark up to twenty-five feet.
Spending the morning with Dad takes my mind off everything else, and when he suggests going to eat lunch at our favorite diner, I jump up and down, clapping my hands like Natty when Mom surprised her by telling her we were going to Disneyland a few years go. I have no desire to be back home yet.
I have just scooted into the booth when the sledgehammer hits again.
Not now!
I grab my temples and squeeze my eyes shut. Here we go. I’m sitting in a booth similar to this one. Across from me, a couple is talking to each other, the man smiling at me in between their conversation. It’s the same woman from the park, but like last time, I have no recollection of her. The man next to her has black hair and seems to be around the same age. His arm is wrapped around her shoulders.
When my vision clears, Dad looks at me with concerned eyes. "Everything okay, sweetheart?"
I smile tightly, still waiting for the remaining pain to subside. "Yes, I’ve been having some headaches lately. Probably need to get my eyes checked; I can’t find my glasses."
Nice save, Lilly.
I want to pat my own back for that one.
He nods in understanding. "That’s a good idea. You may need new glasses with all the screen time you have. It’s not good that you stare at your computer all day and not use your glasses."
I nod and divert the conversation by asking about the upcoming weekend trip with Mom. Every few months, they go away for a weekend to make up for all his traveling. This time, he is whisking her away to New York, but Mom doesn’t know yet. He got them Broadway tickets with a supe
r-fancy dinner beforehand. She’ll be ecstatic; she’s been talking about seeing that show forever, but the opportunity hasn’t come up.
Early Monday morning, Dad leaves for his last overseas trip before Christmas, Mom is busy with Natty and her upcoming Christmas recital, and Rhys and I don’t talk as it is, which makes it easy for me to just hole up in my room when I’m not in school or at practice.
I start avoiding my friends because I’m scared of when the next migraine could hit. I don’t want to deal with potential questions. Denielle throws sidelong glances my way whenever she thinks I don’t see it, but she doesn’t press the issue. She knows me. If she’d push for more details than I’m willing to give, I’d simply shut down. It was the same when the whole Rhys thing first went down. I wouldn’t talk to anyone for weeks. If Den finds out that I think I’m losing my mind, she’ll make me tell my parents, and I’m not ready for that.
The next three days pass without any further incidents, and I let hope creep in that the migraines are gone.
I was wrong.
Thursday evening, Mom announces we are having family dinner together. Dad is not back until tomorrow morning, but for some unknown reason, Rhys is home. I don’t remember the last time he was home for dinner during the week—on a non-holiday weekday. Mom takes it as a sign and makes spinach lasagna—Rhys’s favorite. Most guys go for pizza or burgers, but not my brother; he takes anything veggie over junk food.
We sit down at the kitchen dining table Mom bought a few months ago on a whim from the same furniture store my headboard is from. It’s a distressed gray trestle table made from salvaged wood. She took that as an opportunity to give the kitchen a redesign. She had new gray Carrara marble countertops put in and painted the walls in the palest turquoise-green color. I have no clue what the actual color is called, but that’s how I describe it when someone asks. A matching bench replaced our old wooden kitchen chairs on one side of the table, and diamond-tufted chairs in a similar color as the walls were on the remaining three sides. With the white cabinets and gray-ish wooden floor, the new color scheme made the kitchen become my second favorite room in the house—besides my own.
Dinner passes relatively smoothly. Rhys keeps eyeing me but doesn’t say anything. He gives me the same look as Denielle, and it’s getting annoying.
Who’s he to act all worried?
He participates in Mom and Natty’s conversation about her next dance lesson and when she has to go for her costume fitting. For a brief moment, I see the old Rhys, the one who was home for meals, played board games with us in the evenings, talked to us about his practice, and always inquired about what was going on in our lives—in my life.
I start gathering my empty plate, taking another look at everyone before getting up. That’s when the fireworks explode behind my eyes.
No, no, no, no.
I drop my plate and press my palms into my eyes, trying to control my breathing. A similar rectangular dining room table appears in front of my mind’s eye. A young Rhys sits next to me, laughing and throwing a fry at my face. I squeal and grin at him. Dad sits at the head of the table, and Mom is to the right of him, deep in conversation with someone else. Oh. My. God. It’s the couple from the diner migraine.
Who the hell are these people?
I slowly lower my hands and blink. Once. Twice. Mom’s and Natty’s blurry forms start to come into focus, both staring at me, wide-eyed, while Rhys is on his feet next to me, ready to act.
"Dad told me you’re having headaches. Did you make an appointment for your eyes yet?" Mom asks, concerned, head slightly tilted to the side as if she’s assessing my physical well-being.
Heart pounding in my throat, I recover from the shock and shake my head. "Not yet. I’ll call tomorrow."
"Okay, make sure to call first thing in the morning. Now go take some Tylenol and lie down."
Unable to face my siblings, I nod at Mom and crouch down to pick up the broken plate. Rhys squats next to me, and our hands briefly touch as he takes the pieces from me. I experience a flutter-like sensation in my chest, which shocks me deep to the core.
What the hell was that?
"I’ll take care of that." We’re hidden underneath the table, and I stare up at him. Even when he squats, he’s taller than I am. His voice is so tender and concerned. One look at him and it’s clear he doesn’t buy the headache excuse. Shaking my head, I don’t allow myself to think of him as the old Rhys. I stand up without another word and head to my room. I need to be alone. I need to think.
I’ve been watching Lilly all week—whenever I could without bringing attention to myself. She has withdrawn from her friends. Physically she is with them, but she doesn’t participate in conversations and mostly stares off into space. She’s also wearing less and less makeup as the week progresses, and her usually styled hair hangs either flat or is up in a messy bun. The looks Denielle gives her tell me that her best friend also doesn’t know what’s going on, which makes the pit in my stomach expand by the day. Lilly tells her everything since I’ve stepped out of the picture. Before that, it was me she confided in.
I contemplate asking Den directly, but I’m not sure she would tell me even if she does know something.
Thursday was the first day I didn’t have practice, and I decided to go home in the evening.
After what happened during dinner, I text Wes that I’m sleeping at home tonight. Within two seconds, he sends me an emoji with raised eyebrows.
Fucking great.
For the past two years, I’d have rather slept on his hard-as-a-rock couch than my own bed, which has one of the most comfortable memory foam mattresses ever made. He’s not stupid, but I’m not going to elaborate. Not until I figure it out myself.
I plant my ass on my bed, leaning against the headboard, with the door slightly open. From here I have a direct line of sight to Lilly’s room across the hall. I’m determined to confront her.
Natty’s room is at the other end of the hall by the stairs, and Mom and Dad’s bedroom takes up the entire third floor. Mom is already upstairs, and I’m not too concerned about checking up on Lilly. If Dad would’ve been home, I probably wouldn’t have risked it, but Mom doesn’t care. At least I don’t think she does. I’m pretty sure she hates this fucked-up situation as much as I do.
The light shines under Lilly’s door until well after midnight, but she doesn’t come out. Resigned, I go to bed.
I need to get her alone.
When I see Lilly during lunch the next day at school, she seems even worse than the previous days. She has dark circles under her eyes, wears zero makeup, and her messy bun looks like she slept in it. Add boyfriend jeans and an oversized hoodie to the mix, and she looks like a mess. Wait a sec, that’s my old hoodie. What the—? She’d never voluntarily wear that thing if she were in her right mind.
Denielle’s eyes meet mine across the cafeteria, and for the first time in years, there is no distaste directed toward me. I see my concern reflected back at me, and she gives me a sad nod.
I have a wrestling match tonight and won’t be home until late, but the only thing on my mind is finding out what has put Lilly so on edge—and keeps her there. I’m obsessing over it to the point of losing a match. Kat is getting annoyed with my lack of attention, and in true mature fashion, I ignore her more. At one point, her face is almost as red as her Christmas-themed lipstick, steam basically coming out of her ears. But none of that phases me. I don’t give a fuck about her games anymore. I have more important things on my mind—someone more important.
Dad’s plane landed early Friday morning, and Mom and Dad left in the afternoon for their weekend getaway. Natty is staying with her friend Olivia until Sunday. I almost cancel my weekend workout session with Wes but then decide against it to not cause any more unwanted attention. We meet every Saturday, and Wes would be up my ass with a million questions.
The entire morning, he goes on and on about tonight’s party. Jackson is apparently throwing the party. Every party is the p
arty, but Kat has also been on me for the past two weeks to make sure we’re seen there together. I’ve neglected to tell either of them that I have no intention of showing up. The last thing I want to do today is watch my classmates get hammered and subject myself to Kat’s constant need for validation. It’s not like her confidence needs any more boosting; it already sucks enough oxygen out of a room to inflate a hundred egos.
I get home around noon and see Lilly’s car has not moved an inch. The branch I purposefully placed against her rear tire for that reason is still in the same spot. She didn’t train with Spence today.
Shit.
My pulse increases the longer I stare at her Jeep. She never misses her session. I climb the stairs, finding her door closed. It’s been closed whenever I’ve been home for the past few weeks. It never used to be closed. Usually, it was my door that was closed—to avoid running into her.
Suddenly feeling nervous about just barging in and demanding answers, I chicken out and take another shower. I already showered at the gym, but this seems like a plausible reason not to knock right away.
Afterward, I keep pacing back and forth in my room. What am I doing? Why am I so fucking on edge? Oh, yeah, I’ve been a complete dick to her for over two years, and she hates me.
She’s never going to tell me what’s going on.
I pace some more. Sit down on my bed. Turn on the TV. Turn it back off. Throw the remote back on the bed. Fuck! Back to more pacing.
I waste a whole hour with that.
When I end up sitting on my bed yet again, I put my head in my hands. I’m losing my mind. I haven’t worried about Lilly like this in a very, very long time. I’ve carefully maintained my distance for over two years. I built this nice, solid wall in my head, making sure to keep her at arm’s length until she finally stopped talking to me. When that day came, it hurt. Fuck, how it hurt. I stayed at Wes’s for two days, hiding from home, and have pretty much been there since. But I deserved it; I hurt her first.
