“That’s not enough. It’s—”
“Perfectly adequate, Dad.” I stretch up and kiss his cheek. “I promise if I feel threatened or anything serious happens I will let you assign a bodyguard to me then. Remember, most students on campus are not keyboard warriors. Those nasty bitches online are fans of the series and idiots who ship Reeve with Saffron. Lots are teens with nothing better to do. I doubt I’ll have much trouble on campus, but if I’m wrong, I promise I’ll tell you.”
They reluctantly agree, and I return to our apartment sans bodyguard.
21
The first week back is a little rough, but I keep my head down and try to ignore the attention. Whispering and finger-pointing are the norm, along with a few taunting comments, but it quickly dies down, like I predicted. A few girls try to befriend me, purely to get information about Reeve, but I’m on to them immediately. Something I hadn’t predicted is guys hitting on the crazy broken girl, yet it happens. Most of them think it’ll raise their profile to be seen with me, and others want to be able to say they’ve dated Reeve Lancaster’s childhood sweetheart.
We live in crazy times, that’s for sure.
Exams start next Monday, so I throw myself into studying, and it helps to distract me from the mess in my head. Reeve sends me daily texts telling me he’s sorry and he loves me, but I don’t respond, even though it’s hard to ignore him knowing he’s in pain too. My head and my heart hurt too much, and I’m not ready to talk to him yet. I need to try and figure out what it is I want. I still love him. I think I probably always will, but I don’t know if love is enough anymore. For now, I’m focusing on my exams, and there’ll be plenty of time to talk to Reeve when he’s home at Christmas.
I return to my parents’ house on the weekend, because being home comforts me right now. Which is a bit weird, because home also reminds me of Reeve. Reliving cherished memories hinders as much as it helps. Maybe I’m one of those girls who gets off on the whole pleasure-pain thing. Or I just like torturing myself with all the what-ifs. I don’t know. I imagine my head is a therapist’s worst nightmare right now—or maybe a wet dream—so don’t expect me to figure out the inner workings of my mind or my heart any time soon.
Everywhere I turn, I’m accosted with memories of the boy I have loved since I was a little girl—it soothes the ache and adds fuel to the fire.
Audrey has a hot date with this new guy she’s seeing, and I wanted to give her the apartment to herself, so coming home this weekend killed two birds. God knows my bestie has earned it, putting up with me and my mood swings these past few months. She seems to like this guy, and I hope it works out for her.
At least one of us should be happy.
I rise early on Saturday morning and have breakfast with Mom before locking myself away in our home library to study. Needing to work out the tension wracking my body, I attend an evening yoga class at our usual studio in downtown L.A. After the class ends, I hang back to shower and change, having already decided to pick up food from Mom’s favorite restaurant on my way home.
My parents have been so good to me lately, and I want to do something nice for them. I’m planning to surprise them with a romantic candlelight dinner tonight. I already told them not to eat, and I set the table in the small dining room before I left, locking the door and taking the key so they don’t peek. Rose petals are scattered across the table, and an abundance of scented candles—which I intend to light when I return home with the food—fill the room. Chilled champagne is already hidden in the back of the refrigerator.
I’m smiling to myself, imagining my parents’ faces, as I step outside the studio. Darkness has descended, and it’s pitch-black as I walk through the narrow alleyway toward the parking lot where I left my car.
I haven’t gone far when someone shoves me forcefully from behind. Startled, I scream, arms flailing as I lose my balance and face-plant the ground. My head slams off the asphalt, and I almost black out. Stars swim behind my bleary eyes as pain ricochets through my aching skull. Bits of debris cling to my sore cheek, and I whimper. Something heavy presses down on my lower back, and alarm bells ring in my ears as adrenaline courses through my body. I attempt to use my hands to force myself upright, but the pressure on my back is solid and my limbs are weak and uncooperative.
“Stay the fuck down, whore,” an unfamiliar female says, her voice bristling with malice. All the fine hairs on the nape of my neck stand at attention, and blood thrums in my ears as I struggle to clear my mind and think of a way out of this situation.