Page 34 of Kill, Sleep, Repeat: Vol II

Mom has flown to London for a few days to retrieve my juvenile delinquent of a sister, but somehow she always sees me as the problem child. That’s fine. It gives me a few days to live, to beat peace.

It’s not all fun and games, though. I still have school. I still have work. I still have to gain access to an afterparty, and this time I amnottaking Lily. She hasn’t really spoken to me since everything happened. I looked it up, and this is common with sexual assault victims, the withdrawing into themselves, so I try not to take it personally. It’s kind of sad, though, because I thought we might be friends, but then I realized I can’t have friends.

But no one said anything about a lover. Surely I’m allowed at least one of those. Mom has several. She thinks I don’t know, but she’s never been as good at hiding things as she thinks she is. Besides, I saw those people the other night and I had to know. Is that what it’sreallylike?

The passion, the heat…it was…well, it was a lot. Every boy I’ve ever known and even a few “men,” they just sort of fumbled their way through things. It looked nothing like that. So you could say I was curious, and you could say I had a certain amount of time to kill.

I couldn’t help myself. I called Malik.

And I’m not going to go into all the details, but let’s just say heknowsthings. He can definitely find his way around, so to speak. It was great. Until it wasn’t.

Because now what am I going to do? It’s not like you can settle for a two when you’ve had a ten. Even a seven couldn’t remotely compare. I just can’t figure it out…why would anyone, ever, want to settle? It’s like when you know, you know. You can’t un-know what you know.

Which tells me only one thing. This is bad; this isverybad.

It got me thinking…how manyMalikscan there be out there? Is it a numbers game? Is it luck? I didn’t know. So I started asking around, and let’s just say this…there area lotof disappointed women out there.

So I did the only thing I could do. I went out with him again. Even though I know better, even though Mom is going to kill me, even though things are probably going to end in a very terrible way.

Thankfully, I have work to take my mind off things.

The club tonight is called Nocturne, which is about as cliché as it gets for a place that charges a cover fee you can’t even afford if you’re not VIP. The bouncers don’t even look at me when I walk past them; they just nod and let me through. Could be the dress. Could be the cash I slip them. Either way, it doesn’t matter.

Inside, the bass is vibrating the walls, and the lights flash in time with the pulse of the music. People are packed like sardines around the bar, but I’m not here to hang out with drunk girls who don’t know what to do with their bodies. I’m herefor business.

I make my way to the VIP section, sliding through the throngs of sweaty, writhing people. The bodyguards all wear black. They’re armed and wearing ear pieces, which means one thing: important people are here. People I need to know about.

I scan the crowd, trying to find a familiar face among the sea of influencers, actors, and random socialites. But then my eyes land on him. Tall, dark, and wearing a perfectly fitted suit that tries too hard to stand out. I overhear someone refer to him as "Rico" and that’s all I need to know. He’s a bodyguard for some pop star I don’t recognize. Probably not my business to know her name either.

I wait for the right moment. Finally, he steps away from his post, just far enough that I can make my move. He looks distracted, and I don’t waste the opportunity.

“Hey,” I say, tilting my head in a way that I hope readsmysterious but approachable. “You a fan of the music?”

He smirks, a little amused, a little cocky. “I’m here to protect the talent. I don’t listen to this crap.”

“Well,” I raise an eyebrow, glancing around the room, “I’m not here for the music either.”

His gaze sharpens. I can tell I’ve piqued his interest. He’s going to ask what I want, which is a good question, and one I don’t have an answer for. I’m here because the agency told me to be here. I’m here because they gave me an assignment, they need information, and the rest isn’t my business to know. His brow raises, and right on cue, he says, “What are you here for, then?"

"I was hoping I could get into the afterparty. My friend knows someone at the label. Says you know who’s going."

His eyes flicker with suspicion, but he doesn’t ask me for proof. Doesn’t need to. He's been working this job too long to trust anyone at face value, but he’s a man of a certain type, and I know how to appeal to that.

A few minutes of small talk, a promise of a night that could be more than just another job, and I'm in.

As he leads me through the velvet ropes, I hear someone shout his name—a voice sharp with authority. My stomach tightens. This could go south fast. I just have to remember what Mom always says: Stay focused. Remain in character. Don’t get murdered.

30

SOPHIE

Iblink, and suddenly I’m slipping into a cab outside a sleek, modern building on Columbia's campus, the neon lights of a downtown bar flashing in my peripheral vision. I blink again, and I’m stepping into a private party, champagne spilling into my glass as laughter and the steady pulse of New York’s heartbeat mix. I blink three times, and I’m at an afterparty, the music louder, the people sharper, the night stretching somehow as far as the skyline.

I wake up to the chaos of a lecture hall, my thoughts tangled between last night's cocktails and a professor’s monotone. A quick swipe of my phone and I’m scrolling through invites—party at a club, an exclusive rooftop event, some private loft in Tribeca.

Life is one invitation after another. I look up, half-dazed, and realize the day's blurred into night again. Somehow, I’ve made it to dinner with friends—exhausted, but I make it work. It’s all the same. Blink and I’m awake. Blink again and I’m drifting. Blink three times, and I’m back where I started—always moving, never quite standing still.

That’s the rhythm of it.

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