Page 18 of Lucy and Her Wicked Three

It's official. I'm going crazy. After a week of hiding out in my apartment, my anxiety has transformed me into a wild beast.

I've been avoiding social media, the barrage of hurtful lies and comments from Delaney's followers, and my advertiser's constant emails, concerned over missing content, since I haven't been posting. And even though I've talked to Mateo, he's deliberately avoiding any meaningful conversation, and I feel like we're trapped in this endless loop of uncertainty.

I've left millions of my followers unattended while speculation and conspiracies fill the void; I could fix it all with one post, but then what? Admit to having a breakdown? Admit to everyonethat one of my closest friends lied about sleeping with my boyfriend to drum up drama for the sake of followers? That those are the types of friends I keep?

Admit I can't handle the pressure?

Since Mateo won't talk to me, I can't make myself post, and I've barely left the apartment, I came up with a brilliant plan to regain control of my life: dress in disguise—re: no makeup, since that basically makes me unrecognizable—and follow around my unsuspecting boyfriend.

I blame Portia, since it was her idea.

I've been following Mateo for hours. Wearing black leggings, a white tank top, and a black, wide-brim hat, I've tried to disappear into the crowd on the streets. He walked several blocks from his office, changed cabs twice, entered random stores along the way. I nearly lost him three times, and I'm no closer to answers, but feel guiltier with each passing moment.

He went inside an apartment building nearly an hour ago. I assume this is where he's staying since the two doormen standing outside greeted him like they knew him, so I should just go home, but I can't bring myself to leave.

Hiding behind a newspaper stand, I bought a magazine, chewed some gum, played on my phone, ignored all forms of social media, and waited. For what, I don't know; there's no reason for me to follow him. I just want answers. I want to know what he meant when he saidI never wanted it to touch you. Whatit? What did he mean?

Does he even want to save our relationship? If he isn't cheating on me, then what's he hiding?

It's getting late. The sun set an hour ago, and I feel like a fool. Just as I'm about to give up and go home, Mateo reemerges from the building with two men. They grab a cab, and I rush to flag one down, doing my best to hide my face behind the brim of my hat.

The beauty of my plan is in its simplicityandits stupidity. There's no reason for Mateo to think he's being followed, because he's likely under the assumption that his girlfriend is sane. He would be wrong.

The cab driver must assume I'm on some sort of cheating-fishing-expedition because I tell him to follow their cab, and, surprisingly, he does. We follow them into the warehouse district, the businesses fewer and further apart, the atmosphere seedier. Worry clenches my gut at what he could be up to, at what secrets he's been keeping, what dark shit he can't admit to that would bring him all the way out here.

My cab driver pulls back without me having to ask, but eventually, it gets so dark and quiet that it's obvious we're the only other car on the streets.

"Want me to get closer or drive past?" He asks when Mateo's cab pulls down a narrow alleyway.

"Drive past. Slower, please." The cab driver, fully invested, slows right down, both of us gawking down the darkened street.

No other cars are around, no lights, only what appears to be the entrance of a nightclub with streams of people in front of a door with glowing lights. I ask the driver to loop back and pull over. After paying him, I climb out, lingering because I know I shouldn't be here; I shouldn't have followed him.

My nerves are on fire, fear licking my skin while I approach the swarm of people. Oddly, I don't feel anxious. It's a different kind of fear, the energy of it dancing inside me. My heart still races, but I don't feel like my chest is overheating, overwhelming my senses.

I don't see Mateo or either of the men he was with. Sneaking closer, I scan the crowd for the guy with the close-cropped black hair and warm brown skin and the other with long, dark brown hair and light, almost pale skin. They were dressed far more casually than Mateo, both in t-shirts, but I didn't have time tothink about his companions before I was following them through Port City's downtown into the warehouse district.

There's a common thread amongst the various people crowding the entrance—couples, thruples, men, women, trans, gay, straight, bi—they're all dressed similarly. Lots of little black dresses. Leather, latex, tight, sexy, revealing clothing, all waiting, trying desperately to get into the club. I'm out of place in my cotton, country bumpkin clothes and big hat.

While I hesitate, wondering if I need to be on some sort of list to get in or at least dressed in something black and shiny, a heated argument erupts between two couples, causing a loud, chaotic commotion.

On a whim, because apparently, it's a night of stupid decisions, I slip past them all unnoticed, innocently hiding behind the distracted bouncer who deals with the yelling men, walking backward till my back hits the door.

I'm too curious, too nervous, too worked up to turn back now. In a rush, I dart inside, easing the door so it shuts quietly behind me, then hurry down the long, dark hallway, relieved when no one comes after me.

The warm, inviting glow of the low-lit sconces guides me forward. I'm alone, in a vacuum of silence, each step echoing around me, but I know something big is coming, something life-changing. My heart skips a beat, thinking of Mateo in this beautiful, hidden, ominous place.

The moment I press open the door at the end of the long hall, I'm transported. Cool air hardens my nipples, and I self-consciously shrug my arms across my chest, but no one's paying attention to me. The potent scent of jasmine and lavender permeates the air. Sultry dance music and gold filigree adorning the black walls set the mood; it's a strange combination of high-class, dark, and sexy, with an old-world yet youthful energy.

Awestruck, I walk slowly past all the dancing bodies and scattered tables. The closer I get to the gyrating crowd, the hotter everything feels. I push my way through the room, searching for Mateo.

I wonder if this club was one of his secrets, and why he never brought me here.

I debate leaving. I should. If he sees me here, he'll know I followed him. That I don't trust him.

But that could force a conversation. It's been almost a week since I last saw him. We've talked on the phone a few times, but our conversations consisted mostly of me grilling him for answers, him being evasive, and both of us hanging up, unsatisfied.

I miss him fuckingterribly. Something's got to give. So, I keep searching.

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