Page 18 of Kill, Sleep, Repeat: Vol II

Texas. I can’t stop thinking about getting back home. That’s where I belong. With Elliot. Not that he cares. Not anymore.

I stare at my phone, my thumb hovering over his Instagram story. It’s stupid, but I’ve been obsessing over it for days, watching every post, every laugh he shares with her. Zoe. That’s her name. She’s not even interesting. A glossy brunette with an over-filtered life. She doesn’t get him like I do. She doesn’t know him. Not the way I do.

It makes me want to scream. To break something. To dosomething.

I scroll to her profile and stare at her bio.Empathy enthusiast. Cat lover. Caramel latte addict.What does that evenmean? It's like some perfect little list of things she's supposed to care about, just to sound nice. It reads like she took it straight from her mother’s profile. But Elliot likes her posts. Every single one. And she likes his.

I hate her. I hate her for having the life I want. For havinghim.She probably doesn’t even care about him—not really. Not the way I do. I feel the anger bubbling up in my chest, hot and sharp, and I know I shouldn’t do it. But the idea takes root before I can stop it.

I could scare her.

My fingers move before I can even think about it. I pull upthat fake account I made months ago when I was bored and wanted to see what would happen. It feels kind of stupid, but also like I’m actually doing something for once. Something that’s just mine.

The cursor blinks at me like it’s daring me to go through with it.

I start typing.

You don’t know him like I do. You’re not safe, not like you think you are. If you’re smart, you’ll stay the hell away. I hope you listen. Otherwise, I’ll end you.

I feel a strange sense of satisfaction as I reread it. The words are heavy, and perfect. Possibly too much. But I don’t care. Reading them makes me feel dizzy. Almost happy. So, yeah, I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s too far. She deserves it. It’ll save her in the end. I’m protectingher.She’ll thank me one day.

Send.

The rush that comes after tapping that button is intense—a sick thrill, like I’ve finally done something that matters. I have the power now. Not her.Me. Elliot will die when he finds out. In a good way. He’llloveit. He’ll lovemefor it. He’ll realize what a mistake he’s made.

But then the rush fades, and the fear sets in.

Oh well, it’s done.

Still. What if she figures out it’s me? What if this blows up in my face? What if she reports it? What if Elliot finds out and hates me for it? My palms start to sweat and I toss my phone onto my bed like it’s burned me.

I lie back, trying to ignore the cold sweat creeping up my neck, but it clings to my skin like a warning. The room is too quiet, the silence thick and suffocating. Shadows dance across the walls, twisting into shapes I don’t want to see. I can’t shake the feeling that they’re closing in, just like the weight of what I’ve done. I try to convince myself it’s fine. No one will connect the dots. After all, I never typed hisname. Anyone could have sent that message. It could’ve been an accident, a misfire.

But still, the anxiety claws at the edges of my thoughts, gnawing at me with sharp, hungry teeth.

And the worst part? I still don’t feel any closer to getting what I want. I’m thinking about what a disaster this is, what a mess I’ve made. That’s when I hear the knock on the door.

15

HAYLEY

The door slams open, and Hannah steps in like she owns the place. She’s grinning, holding a bottle of vodka she swiped from God knows where. “You still alive in here, Hayley?” she says, her voice too bright, too loud.

I try to act casual, but the way the floor seems to tilt beneath me, the way my stomach flips, it’s all too much. “Unfortunately.”

She drops her stuff on the bed like she’s been invited, not like she barged in without asking. “Perfect. You need a drink. You look like hell.”

She holds up the bottle, shaking it for emphasis, and hands it to Max. He’s grinning too, clearly pleased to be here, in my space. Max takes a long swig, passes it back to her with a nod, and then he’s offering it to me, like it’s some kind of gift.

Normally, I’d turn it down. But not now. Not today. I’d give anything to forget the last fifteen minutes of my life, let the buzz wash everything away. I take the bottle from him without saying anything and take a quick gulp. It burns all the way down, a sharp sting that cuts through the haze of my thoughts. Maybe it’ll help.

A long pause hangs between the three of us, like the silence knows too much. I try not to let the panic show on my face. But then Hannah picks up the bottle again, her eyes flicking over to my phone, which is lying there on the bed, just waiting to betray me.

“Wanna take a pic for Insta?” she asks, her voice playful, mocking. “I bet you could do something cute with this bottle and that mess of clothes on your floor.” She doesn’t even glance at me when she says it. Her eyes are fixed on the clutter, the clothes strewn across the room, like none of it matters but the photo.

But it does. I see it all instantly. I feel the blood drain from my face. Every muscle in my body freezes. She picks up my phone. It’s too late now. I can’t stop her.

“Don’t—” I say, but my voice is weak, like a warning far too late. My throat is dry, burning. I can’t swallow. I want to grab the phone from her, but it’s already in her hands.

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