Page 23 of Haunt

My first thoughtis that if this is the afterlife, there really shouldn’t be cell phones. Certainly not ones that vibrate and screech like mine is doing from the nightstand.

My second thought is filled with shock at the fact I’m waking upat all.When I was getting knocked out, I’d been sure that would be it. That if I woke up, it would be chained to a chair with a chainsaw in my face.

Not in my own bed.

Sitting up quickly proves to be a mistake, and I groan as every single inch of my body protests. “Fuck…” I groan, falling back down on my bed and flexing my fingers while my phone continues to yell at me. “I know. I hear you,” I mumble, and blink up at my lazily spinning ceiling fan. In theory, I have to be alive. I ache too much to be dead, I hope.

Finally, I reach out for my phone, fingers curling around it as I drag it back to me. It’s with a heavy, frustrated sigh, however, that I flop over onto my side and look at the screen to see who’s been calling me.

It’s Sierra, naturally. Seventy-two calls, forty-seven texts, and twelve voicemails stare at me from the screen, and I definitely have no intention of listening to the voice messages. Idon’t need to. Even without the texts, I would have a pretty good idea of what she wants.

Clearly, she thinks I’m dead. A groan escapes my lips as I unlock my phone, registering a bit late that it’s plugged in and charged.

But I certainly hadn’t done it. I’d beenout.

I’m alive. I send the message to the group chat, and immediately Sienna is typing back, screaming random letters at me and trying to call again. But I decline it this time, mouth twitching in a frown.

I’ll call you in a bit. Gotta get up first.I know she has questions. I get that. But I hit send and toss my phone on the bed before forcing myself to sit up despite the aches and pains. “God, I feel eighty,” I sigh, pressing my palms to my face. Belatedly, I realize that I’m only in my hoodie. No bra, no leggings—if there’s anything left of them—and no underwear. No shoes, either, but when I glance down at the floor beside my bed, I see them resting neatly on my floor.

Bloody and stained.

They’re not going to be salvageable.

“So much for my new shoes.” I push to my feet with a huff and walk across the room while my body screams at me to lay the fuck down and go back to sleep. I’m so tired, even though I’ve just woken up, and I almost dread flipping on the bathroom light so I can see myself in the mirror.

But I do it anyway. I have no choice, really.

My breath catches in my throat at the sight of my pale, tired face. My hair is a mess, and the dark circles under my eyes are so bad that I might as well invest in a concealer company for a lifetime supply. I reach up, fingers brushing over my throat and the fingerprint-shaped bruises that bloom starkly against my skin. “Fuck,” I murmur, but I can’t deny the thrilling shiver that travels up my spine.

“Fuck.” I almost laugh incredulously as I lift up my hoodie to look at my chest and stomach. More bruises litter my hips and sides, in the shape of varying fingerprints. Last, I tug off my hoodie entirely, pushing my hair back over my shoulder to look at my neck and shoulders clearly.

I look…awful.

Along with the fingerprints, there are multiple bite marks and hickeys staining my skin. My fingers brush over them, tracing the still-tender marks almost reverently. But I’m not upset by them. How can I be? They go along sweetly with the ache between my thighs that tells me I’dreallygone beyond my comfort zone last night.

Not that Harrow and Ravage had really given me achoice.

Not that I mind right now, truth be told.

I stare at myself for another few seconds, wondering how many more marks I’ll find on my body as the day goes on. After all, there’s a lot of me I can’t see in the mirror, and sometimes bruises take a little longer to form on me.

While there’s something like delight in my chest as I bite my lower lip thoughtfully, I know for afactI won’t be leaving my apartment for the next few days. There’s no way I could even go to Starbucks without someone calling the cops on me for some kind of home checkup.

I look like a victim of a crime.

And, okay, I kind of am.

The thought brings a laugh to my lips, and my mouth curves in a nervous, secret smile while I lean on my hands with my face pressed close to the mirror. “You’re really fucked up,” I murmur to my reflection. “And the worst part…” I tilt my head, studying my face and my light blue eyes in the mirror. “You miss them already.”

Sure, I’m grateful. Really grateful to be alive. But I know I’ll never find anyone like them in my real life, in the daytime. Theyonly exist behind Halloween masks and in the dark, where I’d found them. But the disappointment is bitter as hell as I push off of my counter and walk back into my room.

My phone rings again as I’m throwing on a loose, long-sleeved tee and shorts that just barely cover the bruises on my thighs. I can’t help rolling my eyes, a little irritated Sierra couldn’t wait five fucking minutes for me to call her back.

Sure enough, when I cross the room and snatch my phone up from my pillow to unplug it from the charger, the name on the screen is hers. I accept the call, putting the phone to my ear and greeting her with, “I told you I’d call you?—”

“What the hell happened to you?!”I’ve never heard her scream at me, and I jerk the phone away from my ear, nose curled in distaste. “Where the fuck were you? Do you know how worried we’ve been? We called the cops, but they said you weren’t missing yet. We-we looked everywhere for you, Noa!”

“Sorry,” I murmur, feeling a little guilty. From my nightstand I swipe a bottle of ibuprofen, shaking out four and swallowing them dry like a pro. It’s a mistake, though, I realize as my sore throat protests and it takes a few extra swallows to make sure everything makes it down without getting stuck or ejecting from my esophagus. “Just…stuff happened, and I lost my phone. You were right, I was in the wrong place. I, umm…” She’s going to want a better explanation than that. And maybe I owe her one, seeing as I’d ruined her night.

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