Page 26 of Reign

“Ugh,” I moan, leaning my forehead into my hand as I struggle to stand.

“Good. Alcohol poisoning didn’t take you like I thought it might.” Emma sits up, her blonde hair a scraggly mess on top of her head.

“I’ll deal,” I groan, then stumble out of her bed, cutting through our central area and into my room.

We don’t talk much as we get ready, Emma showering first while I funnel Tylenol and find a piece of bread to line my stomach. Neither of us mention last night or the way Emma patted my back and stroked my hair, offering comfort where her brother couldn’t—or wouldn’t.

It’s not in Emma’s nature to rehash her sincerity, and I don’t expect it from her as we finish putting on our uniforms and head out the door.

She was there for me, like she always is, in my worst moments.

Emma’s glued to her phone as we wander down the hallway, glowering so hard at it, I’m surprised the screen isn’t forming cracks under her glare.

“Do you have plans for the holidays?” I ask her as we pause wait for the elevators. The look on her face instantly makes me feel dumb for asking it, but what am I supposed to do? Ask her how she’ll handle Ivy’s murder and Sabine’s revenge over the break in a public hallway?

A few girls cluster behind us, instantly putting hands to mouths as they whisper to each other and slide glances at me, but I ignore them.

“I’m going to my Mom’s in LA,” she answers, but twists her lips. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”

“Is Chase going, too?” I ask, then frown as the girls’ giggles get louder.

The elevator dings open and we step in. The three girls follow.

“He usually hangs back with our father. They’re Scrooges on Christmas day, but they go to the Harringtons on Christmas Eve. Father and Sabine might go on a couples’ vacation. My brother might just be the Grinch this year, alone in our lake house, instead of Scrooge.”

“How nice.” My voice comes out hoarse. “I’m sure it’ll be extra special for everyone this year.”

“She wishes he was the baby daddy, just like Piper did.”

I turn sharply to the voice. One girl catches her breath in surprise, then grins. “Can I help you?”

“What did you just say?” I ask.

Emma pockets her phone and grabs my arm. “Leave it. Let’s get through the morning.”

The girl responds, anyway. “I didn’t say anything, you furry whore.”

My brows jump. “Excuse me?”

“Do you even wax down there?” Another, braver girl asks. “Or is that what Dr. Luke liked so much about you?”

“He’s hot, sure, but he’s so fucking old. He probably enjoys a full bush,” the last one adds.

I gape at them. “What the hell?”

The elevator slides open and Emma latches onto me so hard, I trip over my feet as we exit. Emma wears a look of such determination as she pushes through the front doors, I’m forced to ask, “What are they talking about?”

“Another dumb rumor,” is all she says before I stumble out of the building and into the blinding white of day.

* * *

Emma leaves me in the West Wing, wishing me an aloof “good luck” before she heads off to her Global Studies exam.

It’s with the listless trail of a ghost that I make it to Biology and take my seat, aiming to be just as invisible.

I’m amazed I’ve made it this far, considering the trauma that keeps replaying behind my eyes, the dulled, vodka-induced headache acting like a macabre music track replaying over Ivy’s dying body and Chase’s coldblooded dismissal.

Is this all that’s left of me? I wonder as I stare at the black laminate of my desk. Am I nothing but a vessel of death and loneliness?

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