Page 13 of Kill, Sleep, Repeat: Vol II

I grab a drink from the counter, anything to fill the space between us. "Just, y'know... Hanging out with my mom and trying not to stab some random guy in an alleyway.” I say it too casually, but it’s out before I can stop myself.

“That’s New York for you.”

“No kidding. In Texas it’s easier. We just use guns.”

Malik laughs, the sound light, like it’s all just a joke. But there’s a flicker in his expression, something that shifts, subtle but noticeable. “You’re funny, Sophie Jones.”

I tilt my head back, swallowing down the burn of whatever drink I’ve grabbed. It’s cheap, it’s bitter, and it’s perfect. Because in a second, the noise of the party fades away, and I’m not thinking about the knife in my hand or the blood on my clothes or what happened in that alley. Just for a second, I can forget.

I take another drink, feeling the edges of my thoughts blur. The party spins around me, people laughing, dancing, doing all the things kids my age are supposed to do. And for a moment, I think about what it would be like to be one of them. To live a life that isn’t measured by how many bodies you’ve left behind.

But then Malik asks another question, and I’m pulled back into reality. “You ever think about what peoplereallywant?” he asks with an offhandedness that feels deliberate, like he’s testing me.

I glance at him, trying to find the right words, but my mouth is too dry. “What do you mean?” I ask, though I think I already know.

He shrugs, flicking a finger toward the chaos around us. “You know. Everyone’s out here pretending. Like we’re all doing this because we want to. But do you think we even know what we really want? Or is it all just...this?"

He gestures at the room, at the mess, the noise. “It’s kind of funny, don’t you think? We’re all just pretending to be someone we’re not, wanting something we really don’t.”

I can’t help it. I laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s the truth. “You have no idea how often I think about that.”

He raises his cup in my direction. “Birds of a feather,” he says, and I hate myself a little because I think I might actually like him. Neither one of us can afford that.

So I have another drink, and then another. The party is still loud, the music thumping in my chest, but my head’s already somewhere else. Somewhere darker. I can feel the knife in my hand again, the way it felt to twist it into someone who thought they were safe. The look in his eyes when he realized he wasn’t.

I smile, though, as I lead Malik out to the balcony, because no one here knows and I can be whoever I want.

And maybe that’s the only thing I have left to hold onto.

11

CHARLOTTE

Istep off the curb, scanning the street for a cab. Sophie’s still behind me, trudging along like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

The sun is up, the heat rising off the pavement, and I feel the sweat gathering at the back of my neck. But it’s not the heat that’s bothering me. It’s her.

Sophie stumbles to a halt beside me, rubbing her eyes like she’s just pulled herself out of a dream. Her steps are slow, uneven, like she’s wading through molasses. She’s barely holding it together, and we’re not speaking.

“We’re not here for nothing,” I say. “This is called having a job, Sophie. You know, responsibility.”

She doesn’t even look up. The hangover’s got a hold on her, and for some reason, she assumes I’m the one who’s supposed to fix it.

We’re on our way to check out an apartment, which was one of my better ideas, that much is clear. Texas is entirely too far away, and right now, the only thing that matters is dragging Sophie back into the game, not letting her fall into whatever mess she’s trying to create for herself.

I hear her sigh behind me, but I don’t care if she’s tired or hungover. I don’t care if she feels like shit. She said she wanted this life, this world. I didn’t drag her into it, and it’s too late for second thoughts now.

We step into the polished lobby where the agent greets us, but I barely register the niceties, the smiles, the small talk. I’m focused on Sophie, barely able to keep her eyes open as we head into the first apartment. She’s there, but she feels miles away.

When she asks to wait in the lobby, I don’t give in.

I look over the sleek space—modern, spacious, just the right amount of anonymity. It would work. But I don’t care about the apartment. I care about getting Sophie back into focus. Ever since we arrived in NYC, I could feel her fading further away, like she’s not even here. It’s like I’m carrying both of us, and I’m not sure how long I can hold her up.

The agent is talking about the kitchen, the layout, the “luxurious” amenities. But all I hear is Sophie, mulling about in the background, her coffee sloshing around in her hands.

I glance back at her, taking in the slumped shoulders and distant eyes. It’s like she’s somewhere else entirely, her mind running miles ahead of her body, and I know she’s thinking about that boy. He’s trouble—for her, for me—and Sophie’s too young and too naive to see it. She thinks she can have it all, but she has no idea the effort it takes to keep up that kind of lie.

That’s when I hear her soft sigh. It cuts through the agent’s words, pulling me back to a moment I should’ve left behind, one I shouldn’t be thinking about now. In my mind, we’re back at the hotel.

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