Page 27 of Our Ruined Beginnings

“Then it’s got to be here somewhere,” Kinsley says, a frown marring her usually smiling face.

But the pit in my stomach grows, becoming a black hole that threatens to devour me. I don’t know how, but I know it’s not here. Someone has been in my room and taken it. But why?

It makes no sense. My laptop remains on the desk where I left it, the wireless keyboard and mouse in the same place they were this morning. The expensive bracelet I didn’t wear today still lies in the trinket box, untouched.

With all this money on display, why would someone take a ratty old sweater?

Cold dread seeps through me as I think about what this means. When did I last see it? Have I noticed anything else missing? What were they doing here in the first place?

“I think someone’s been in here,” I say, my eyes drawing over the room.

Kinsley pauses, halting with her hand in the drawers where she’s pulling out the newly stocked clothes in search of the sweater. “What do you mean? Why? How?”

“I mean, I’m one-hundred-percent certain that I left the sweater here, and now it’s gone. Someone must have taken it. And someone obviously got in here that first weekend, so it’s not a stretch to think they could do it again. But why?ThatI don’t fucking know.” They’d broken the lock that first weekend, but maybe they’ve had more time to think it through now.

“Shit, Harp, are you sure?” she asks, her nose wrinkling in confusion. I nod with wide eyes, hoping like hell she doesn’t think I’m overreacting, but I should know to have faith in her. “Is anything else missing?”

I gaze around, shrugging. There’s nothing out of place, no missing objects that I can tell. There were very few salvageable items left after the ransack. The only reason they didn’t manage to get anything of value the first weekend is because I had most of it in my duffle as hand luggage, not trusting the airline to take care of it appropriately. But I didn’t think to commit anything to memory, and I have no idea what to even look for now.

It’s only because the jumper is so sentimental that I even noticed.

My shoulders slump heavily, and I suddenly realize how bone tired I am. It’s fucking exhaustingmoving onand telling the world to fuck themselves when all you want is to curl into a ball and beg it to stop fucking with you first.

Kinsley’s eyes soften as she takes in the sheer defeat that is no doubt etched into my expression. She closes the drawer softly, a sad sort of sigh escaping her lips before she grabs her keys from the countertop and makes her way to the door.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” she says, pulling her phone from her pocket and glancing at the screen. “You are going to get a proper look around, see if there’s anything else missing, and I’m gonna run to the hardware store and grab some new locks. We can get one inside for when you’re in here so you feel safe, and one on the outside so whatever cunts are breaking in don’t get another opportunity.”

“Kinsley, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” she says, peeling the door open and stepping into the hall. “And don’t pretend you wouldn’t do the same for me.” She flicks her steely gaze to mine, a soft smile playing on her lips, and a light chuckle crawls up my throat. “See, I knew it. I’ll bring back the pizza too, so we don’t have to wait for takeout. Love ya.”

The door slams behind her before I can echo the sentiment, or even utter a thank you … though at this point, I’m not even sure thank you is enough. Without Kinsley, I’ve no doubts I’d have sunk long before today—I’d have curled up in a ball and let the world turn around me.

Instead, as my gaze falls longingly on the bed, I pull in a deep breath, push the urge to the back of my mind, and fortify myself for the war I know is coming.

I sleep like shit. Even after Kinsley helped me change my locks and we stuffed ourselves with pizza until I was smiling again, I toss and turn all night.

After peeling open the curtains, I crawl back into bed and watch the sun’s slow rise into the winter sky before deciding I may as well get up. If I don’t deserve a fancy drink that someone else has made this morning, I don’t know when I will.

Dressing quickly, I bundle up in my coat, scarf, and hat, and grab a couple notes from the emergency cash I thankfully thought to stash in my duffel before leaving home.

I make my way to the coffee shop just off campus, smiling in thanks as the barista hands me my indecently large to-go mug, filled to the brim with hot chocolate, marshmallow, and cream. I try to cheer myself up and romanticize my life on this perfect winter’s morning as I sit at one of the small outdoor tables, but my heart is just too heavy. They really hit me where it hurts this time.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to answer the call from Kinsley. “Hey girl,” she calls brightly down the phone. “How’s it going?”

I have a feeling she’s checking up on me after last night, and I love her a little bit more for not giving up on me, even when I’m moody as all hell. “Good, how are you?”

“Can you be ready in an hour?” she asks, ignoring my question.

“I can be ready now. I’m out at the coffee shop.”

“Oh, perfect. Grab me a latte and come over. You can help me decide what to wear.”

“For what?” I ask, pushing out of my seat before rejoining the queue inside.

“We’re going to the soccer game,” she says breezily, but that’s definitely not how I feel about it.

“Erm, why would I do that?”

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