Page 119 of Wicked Dreams

It’s a number I’m not familiar with, so I ignore the call and go back to Unknown’s conversation. They’ve sent me another text.

Unknown

Now… what to do with that? So many options.

What do you want?

That would be too easy.

Keep your phone on you. I’ll be in touch.

My stomach heaves. I rush to the bathroom, falling to my knees in front of the toilet. When I’m done, I stand on shaky legs. My mouth and throat burn from the acid.

Lenora is in the doorway, her expression sympathetic. “As if you needed another reason to not overdo the alcohol.”

I cup my hands under the faucet and rinse out my mouth. I spit and clear my throat, then straighten. “I’m sorry.”Again.

She hands me a towel. “There are consequences you’ll learn on your own. It’s part of becoming an adult, unfortunately. Are you feeling hungover?”

“I was okay up until now.”

A little white lie never hurt anyone.

She pats my shoulder and leaves me alone. I close the door and fall onto my bed, burying my face in the pillows.

I should delete the video and any evidence of Unknown.

They could ruin everything—my life at school. Staying with the Bryans.

What if my foster parents saw that? It’d be icing on the poisoned cake. One mistake is just that: a mistake. But two? Or more? Someone has a video of Caleb putting his hand down my pants, and that isn’t an accident.

The funny thing is—it wouldn’t even blow back on him. He’d be lauded as the guy who got some action from the drunk outcast. Oh, she was his girlfriend for a night? Weird.

Just to be clear, I’m the drunk outcast in that scenario.

I contemplate begging Unknown to delete it. But the more I think about it, the more I know it’s a bad idea. They’ve been out for blood before I even started going to Emery-Rose. And now they finally have a blade sharp enough to cut.

My phone rings, and I flinch. The sound goes straight through my throbbing brain.

I check, and it’s the same unfamiliar number. This time, I answer it.

“Margo?”

I sit up straight. “Oh my God, Claire! I just asked Ms. McCaw?—”

“She dropped it off,” she interrupts. “Things have been crazy here. I wanted to reach out, but I had to get a new number. My phone smashed; it was tragic?—”

“Awful,” I murmur. “How’s Hanna?”

“As well as can be expected.”Pause. “We were able to stay together, thank God. But it’s been a hard transition. We loved—well, you know.”

I do. It’s hard to get attached to a family. But once you do, something usually comes along to fuck it up. That’s why I want to keep the Bryans at arm’s length. I like them. But if I were to be ripped away, right this moment, I wouldn’t bethatdevastated.

Okay, maybe I would.

It’s the grief of losing families—over and over andover—that kills your spirit and hardens your heart to that kind of relationship. I’ve seen it happen too many times to let it happen to me. I’ve only got a few months left, and I need to emerge intact.

“Are you near Rose Hill?” I ask her.

---