Page 36 of Tell Me You Like It

But what could have happened in the last day or two to make her want to go off-grid? It’s possible, I guess, but still doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.

Before going to my room, I head to Bree’s room andknock on her door. It’s late, and I feel bad for disturbing Bree's roommate, but I have to see if she popped up at some point.

I hear rustling on the other side of the door a few seconds before it’s pulled open. My heart leaps into my throat, and I pray it’s Bree on the other side, in her pajamas, looking annoyed.

It isn’t.

“What’s up?” Bree's roommate asks, bleary-eyed like I just woke her up from a dead sleep.

I try to peer over her shoulder at Bree's bed, but it’s pitch black inside the room. “Hey, sorry to wake you. I know it’s late. Did Bree make it home?”

She glances at the bed behind her and shakes her head. “Doesn’t look like it.”

My heart sinks. “Did she mention where she was going, or if she was planning on staying somewhere else tonight?”

She blinks at me like she’s trying to clear the sleep fog from her brain. “Shouldn’tyouknow? Aren’t you her best friend?” She doesn’t sound accusatory, just genuinely bewildered by my question.

I push out a breath. “If you see her, tell her to come see me. Doesn’t matter what time it is.” I pull her phone out of my pocket and hold it up. “And tell her I have her phone.”

The roommate holds her hand out. “You want me to give it to her?”

“No, thanks. I’ll give it to her when I see her.”

If Bree is deliberately avoiding me, then I want a reason for her to come see me. And I know she can’t live without her phone. She’ll come looking for it sooner or later.

The roommate's hand falls to her side, and she’s already shutting the door. “Okay, cool. I’ll tell her you came by.”

“Thanks,” I say just as the door clicks shut.

As I walk to my room, my stomach tightens, and I start to feel sick. If I don’t see the whites of Bree's eyes by tomorrow, I’m going to the police. Period. I can’t do this on my own, and I now I know I can’t count on Roman’s help–he’s so damn unpredictable, I don’t know from one minute to the next what mood he’ll be in. Besides, his help comes with strings–strings that look a lot like chains.

I unlock and open my door quietly, so I don’t wake up Emily, but she’s not here. She must still be at the sorority party. I strip my clothes off and find my sweatpants. I don’t even bother brushing my teeth or washing my face. I just crawl under my covers, and lie there, staring up into the darkness.

My mind immediately wanders to Bree—wondering if she’s safe, wondering if she’s okay—but I push those thoughts aside. Worrying going to help anything, and honestly, it’s just as likely she’s sleeping off a bender on someone’s couch. I mean, that’s what college is about, right? Making questionable decisions.

My thoughts shift to Roman. He’s such a mystery—and despite the seriousickhis personality is giving me, I can’t help but be curious about him. He’s like a puzzle I’m itching to piece together.

I’d be better off not knowing what makes him tick, and just walking away—which, to be fair, is what I’ve been trying to do since the second I met him. Maybe I just need to try harder and be more forceful.

The guy is determined, though, and maybe that’s part of the appeal for me. His relentless pursuit. God knows I have a weakness for that quality in a guy. And look where that got me. Some serious emotional trauma, and hundreds ofhours of therapy. Not to mention aseriouslyfucked up view of romantic relationships.

I manage to get a few hours of sleep, somehow, and when I wake up, my roommate is already gone, her bed made. Damn, I must have been dead to the world when she came back last night. And I know she came back because her computer and backpack are gone.

Sitting up, I rub the sleep from my eyes. My head hurts, like I’m hungover. I didn’t drink nearly enough to be truly hung over, so it must be from all the stress about Bree, and Roman, and just…everything.

I fish my phone out from under my covers and unlock it. No text from Bree. Though I don’t know how she’s supposed to text me without her phone—I don’t even know if she knows my phone number by heart.

I stick my phone on the charger while I hurriedly get ready, going down the hall to brush my teeth and take care of all my bathroom stuff in record time. Back in my room, I throw on some jeans and a T-shirt and put on some deodorant.

I grab my phone, Bree's phone, and my backpack, then fly out the door. But I don’t go to my first class. Instead, I head straight to Bree’s room. No answer. My next stop is the student services building. Inside the registrar’s office, a middle-aged woman is sitting at a desk, and I walk straight up to her.

“Hi, excuse me.” She looks up from her computer with a smile, and I continue, “I’m looking for my friend, but I don’t have her schedule. Can you tell me which classes she has today?”

I obviously know her major, but we hadn’t yet shared our schedules with each other. I could call her mom and askif she knows, but I don’t want to worry her parents. It’s better if I just handle this myself, for now.

The woman’s smile falls. “I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to share another student’s schedule. Is everything okay?”

“It’s just….she didn’t come back to her dorm room last night,” I say. “And I was hoping to find her in one of her classes.”

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