Page 33 of Ruthless God

I take an Uber to Snow’s parents’ mansion that sits on the top of a hill, surrounded by trees. The city is alive tonight but you don’t have to worry about paparazzi following you around. The small buildings made out of cobblestones light up the dark sky.

I need to figure out who Bailey’s boyfriend was and if he was the one who drugged us the night of the accident. Before we went to Snow’s party, we went to a football party. A memory pops up in my head about Bailey. I remember a cop pulling me over, tapping on my window, then I blacked out and woke up in the hospital. I believe someone roofied me, because I didn’t take any drugs at the football party. Someone offered it to everyone, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. Professor Carter and Professor Neil busted the party, so we left. I remember Bailey telling me she had to use the bathroom, but maybe she spoke to her boyfriend because she came back to me looking pissed off.

After the funeral, I couldn’t show my face here because I caused her mother to go into a bout of depression. I’m the reason why their baby girl is six feet under.

I swallow the pain in my throat, trying to work as much courage as I can, then I knock on the door. Several moments later, the maid answers.

“What brings you here, Lyrical?”

“Is Mrs. Williams around?”

She nods. “She’s in the living room.”

“I need to speak to her. It’s about Bailey.”

She opens the door wide, letting me through. When I step inside, the smell of lavender air freshener hits my nostrils, and memories flood my mind. It’s like stepping into a time capsule and for a second, I imagine Bailey rushing down the stairs, throwing her arms around me as if she hasn’t seen me in a long time. She was always an affectionate person, and I wish I had more time with her.

I walk into the living room, and Mrs. Williams stands near the window, looking outside at the trees in her backyard. We only exchanged a few words at the engagement party, nothing more. When I clear my throat, she turns around.

Surprise flickers on her face and a sad smile stretches across her lips. “Lyrical, what brings you here?”

From what my mother tells me, she’s supposed to be taking antidepressant pills and her depression is driving a wedge in her marriage. But that’s the thing about grief, it changes you in so many ways, so I have no business passing judgment on her. I hope to God I never lose a child.

My anxiety is getting the best of me. “How are you holding up?” I ask, biting the inside of my cheek.

“Barely hanging on. Sometimes, I can hear her coming down the hallway, asking me to eat some delicious chicken sandwich she made.”

She’s stuck. Everyone else seems to have moved on with their lives, but not her. She’s stuck with the memories of Bailey, and so am I. I often find myself sketching old memories. That’sanother thing I hate about grief. Everyone moves on with their lives while you are stuck on the person you’re missing. She’s right; Bailey did make some fire-ass chicken sandwiches.

“I miss her too. I’m here to grab something from Bailey’s room, if you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind at all.”

She turns her back to me, and I take that as my cue to head upstairs. Once I arrive to her room, I suck in a breath as I turn the knob of her door, exhaling when I step inside and shut the door behind me.

Tears gather in my eyes as I take in her room. Pictures of us and her family and sketches are all over one wall. Her faint cherry scent lingers in the air. Her mother hadn’t changed anything about this room, and I’m grateful for it, though she’s kept her room clean because not a dust mite is in sight.

I exhale, trying to not get caught up in my memories of my best friend, and I go to her drawer. I open it, finding our journal that we used to draw in. I scan through the pages.

The tears finally fall down my cheeks as I study a picture of me sitting on her lap, kissing her cheek, with Snow in the far corner with tears in his eyes. The caption reads,Crybaby.I remember this picture. Bailey told me Snow was pissed that I blew him off to go to the movies with her. She often said her brother had a crush on me and how I didn’t want to see it. I don’t think he ever loved me in the same way I loved him before all of this.

I flip through to the last page, which was completed by us a few days before the party. Bailey drew a picture of herself in a hospital bed, and she pictured this one,Bad tummy aches. I drew a picture at the bottom of it with a red rose—my caption,Get better soon. I hold the sketch journal to my chest and sob like a newborn baby. I miss her so much, I don’t know how toprocess her death. I usually deal with it by cutting myself, but sometimes that doesn’t work.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I tuck the sketchbook under my arm, then search through her drawer. Here I find a photo, so I pick it up, studying the person who has his arms wrapped around her waist. He has a tattoo on his chest—a snake with anXover it, but the face of the person is cut out. They both seem to be on a beach.

I don’t know anyone who has a tattoo on their chest. I flip the picture over and it reads,Me and my forever person. The love of my life. Him and Bailey for life.

Tears fall down my cheeks because I’m the only who believed she was dating anyone. And I was the only one who didn’t think she was crazy and accepted her for who she was.

“I’m so sorry, Bailey.” My tone echoes in the room. “I’m so sorry.”

Lyrical

After I leave Snow’s parents’ mansion, I take an Uber back to my apartment. After a long and emotional day, I can use a hot, steamy shower. I glance in the direction of Lilac’s room. When I glance at the bottom of the door, I notice there aren’t any lights on, so it means she’s either sleeping or she’s not home. Which sucks because I could use some girl time.

Shaking my head, I turn the knob to my own bedroom door and flick the light switch. My eyes widen in horror and fear wraps around me like a cozy blanket. My stuff is gone. My desk, my bed, even my bookshelf. It’s like I never lived here. I rush to the bathroom, and all of my towels and facial products are gone too.

“What the fuck?”

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