Ryke crashes into more pipes, cursing and then shouting back, “There’s so much fucking mold down here. No one should be fucking living on this floor until we hire someone to clean it.”
I read in between the lines.
Daisy lives on the lowest level.
I saw the way he looked at her in the bathroom when we first arrived at the townhouse. For so many reasons, I can barely stomach the possibility that he could like her more than just a friend.
I squat again and see Ryke heading to the door. “If this is your way of getting Daisy to room with you, you can forget it. I’m just barely tolerating your friendship.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ryke retorts. “There were rats in her bedroom, she’s living near mold, and your first assumption is that I want to fuck her?”
I glower, trying not to picture that. “I didn’t say anything about fucking her.”
Ryke groans. “I’ll fucking room with Scott,” he shouts. “Daisy can take my room. Or I’ll stay down here and switch with her. I don’t give a shit. None of the girls should be around this.”
“And what if she hears Lily and me fucking through the walls? There’s a reason she’s on the lowest level.” It’s hard to believe that Daisy is the one protecting our secret—a girl who jumps off cliffs, rides a motorcycle and runs headfirst into life.
I wish I could keep her ten-thousand feet from all of this. The basement is safe from Scott. From most of the leering cameras. From us.
Maybe she can grow up normal, have a real, peaceful adolescence that none of us really had.
Ryke gives me one of the darkest looks I’ve seen in a while.
I frown and crane my neck over my shoulder, looking at Connor for his opinion.
“You can’t censor a girl who’s nearly seventeen, especially not a high fashion model,” he says to me. “She’s heard and seen everything you have, if not more.” So it’s too late for her then.
She’s all grown up.
“I’ll call someone to look at the crawl space,” Connor continues, “but until it happens, Rose would want her sister somewhere clean.”
I let out a breath. “Ryke, you’ll room with Scott?”
“I said I would.”
“Fine. More eyes on that prick, the better, right?” Especially if Daisy is moving upstairs.
Ryke mumbles a yes, and his arm thumps into a hanging piece of wood. “Fucking A,” he curses, reaching the door. I grab underneath his arms and help pull him through the small exit.
We both stand on our feet. He clutches the trap, a dead rat attached, the tail nastily caught in the silver metal.
Connor grins. “Have we found you a new profession?”
“At least I can get my hands dirty, princess.” He swings the rat trap in Connor’s face.
Connor remains completely stoic, his grin only spreading wider.
Ryke rolls his eyes and reaches for the trash bag.
“Wait,” I say, putting my hand on Ryke’s arm. My chest thrums, blackness stirring inside of me. “Maybe we can do something with this thing.” Scott needs more than just a few words to back off. He hasn’t stopped getting in my face, or Lily’s.
“No,” Ryke and Connor say in unison.
I narrow my eyes at them. “You didn’t even let me finish.”
“You want to use it against Scott,” Connor says.
Haven’t they seen what he’s like? Aren’t they worried at all about what he could do to us, to the girls?
We have to stop him now.
“He’s the fucking producer,” Ryke explains off my anger. “You start a war with Scott and he could turn you into a psycho on the show. Just fucking relax.”
“He made Lily bawl!” I scream. Don’t they get it? He shames Lily every time he nears her. I hate Scott more than I’ve ever hated another person. Because I did nothing to him. And he’s still coming at me. “I’m not going to sit here for six months and ignore all the shit he says. This is different than social media and gossip blogs. We’re living with this bastard.”
I breathe heavily and both guys stare at me like I’m the crazy one.
Because I’m the addict.
Because I think irrationally.
But I’m a person. I can feel.
And there’s only so much I can put up with before I begin to drown.
{ 17 }
0 years : 05 months
January
LILY CALLOWAY
I tuck my shower caddy under my arm and use my free hand to keep the towel above my boobs. My wet flip flops slap against the tiled floor as I waddle to my bedroom. The only upside to this situation: I’m not naked underneath my towel.