Page 130 of Forbidden Lyrics

It isn’t fair.

None of it is.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Dove

My entire body feels like it’s been injected with heavy concrete. Like each step takes every ounce of energy I have. Like all the muscles in my body have been overworked and overused in ways that’ll take weeks to recuperate from. My eyes burn. My throat aches. My head hurts. And my chest… My chest feels like it’s been stabbed a hundred times since I left the party. I don’t have my keys. That would be way too convenient. The only things in my possession are my purse, my phone, and the clothes on my back. Which means I get to face my sister without a good night’s sleep under my belt.

Lovely.

Standing in the breezeway, I rest my head against our apartment door, taking a few deep breaths before lifting my hand and tapping my knuckles against it with the energy of a slug.

Knock.

Knock.

I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

But there’s no answer.

I try again before checking the time on my phone.

It’s four in the morning. And almost twenty-four hours since my world fell apart. No wonder Maddie isn’t answering the door. Only a lunatic would be up this early.

Chewing on my lower lip, I pull up her contact info and push the call button.

“Please tell me you’re the one banging on our door right now, and I’m not about to be murdered,” Mads says, bypassing a normal greeting entirely.

“It’s me.” My throat feels like I’ve swallowed sand.

The call goes dead before the door’s hinges creak a few seconds later.

“You woke me up,” she informs me, her hair piled on top of her head and her arms resting on her swollen stomach.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The gap between the door and her widens as she steps aside and lets me enter. I can feel her stare. Her concerned look. Her worried brow.

“Are you all right?” she murmurs.

“Not now.”

“What happened?”

I lift my hand to cut her off. “Seriously, Mads. Not now.”

I trudge down the hall, my feet dragging against the worn carpet before I round the corner and collapse into bed. In clothes that are two days old. With makeup still caked on my face. And a stale taste of who-knows-what still lingering on my tongue.

The floor creaks behind me, but I don’t bother to lift my head. Instead, I cover it with a pillow and pray for sleep. For a chance to forget. For a chance to find peace even if it’s for no more than a few hours before reality crashes into me all over again.

Not now.

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