Page 89 of Remy

“What happened?” He inches forward to lean his elbows on the desk. “You messaged and said you were okay…I didn’t know if I should panic.”

I don’t know how to tell him. If I even should tell him.

“Liv?” His brows knit. “Remy told me you agreed to a communication ban. That you willingly handed over devices as a sign of good faith.”

It was a little more complicated than that, but… “Yeah, I did.”

“But?” He eyes me, concern bleeding into his sickly features.

He’s still extremely unwell. His posture lacks the usual professional confidence. His energy is at an all-time low.

“But nothing.” I paste on a smile. He doesn’t need the extra burden. “I wanted him to know there was no threat of me talking to anyone. So I gave him my phone and laptop.”

“Good.” He exhales with relief. “I wasn’t sure what to think at first. Then he sent photos to prove you were okay and?—”

“He sent photos? Of what?”

“You.” He leans back in his chair and retrieves his cell from his pants pocket. “Here. I’ll show you.” He unlocks the phone screen and slides the device across his desk. “We chat through an encrypted messenger app. It’s the one on the home screen with a big E.”

I’m reluctant to see what else Remy has been doing without my knowledge. But curiosity gets the better of me.

I snatch up the phone, navigate to the app, and then open the only chat available.

A photo of me drinking tea in my backyard is the last thing that was shared late yesterday afternoon. I’m in sweats, my heavy black parka draped over my shoulders, the steam billowing from my mug as I take the much needed outside time to get away from Remy.

I scroll to the image before that—I’m in the kitchen unpacking the dishwasher.

And the next—I’m asleep in bed, the dim light from the hall casting a slight glow over my relaxed features.

It’s a surprisingly favorable photo. Hair curtains one side of my face, my other cheek nestled into the pillow. And the front on view… He must’ve crouched down to my level to take the image head-on.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Dad murmurs. “I asked him to keep sending them just to make sure.”

I can see that. Can read the conversation that accompanies the images.

Carlo

Is she still okay?

Remy

She’s holding up well. Just finished eating.

Another image is shared, this one of me clearing the dinner table.

I keep scrolling all the way back to the disastrous Saturday night.

Remy

She didn’t eat much today. What should I order for breakfast to make sure she doesn’t continue to starve?

Carlo

Burritos.

Remy

And lunch? Dinner?

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