Page 35 of Envy

To be used.

To be owned.

To be sold.

I bolt out of the chair. Rush into the men’s bathroom. And throw up.

That motherfucker bought her like a dog.

“Let’shead to my dorm. We can get ready and then go to the party,” Amy says with a smile as we exit our lit class.

I don’t know how to tell her that the only decent outfit I have is a hoodie and leggings—the same ones I wore earlier this week. I really want to go, and in a way, I should make the most of my time before Garret comes for me. And it won’t be just to tell me he has breakfast waiting in the kitchen.

He’s been avoiding me all week. I hardly see him except when he feeds me and drops me off at school. The rest of the time, he’s nowhere to be found. Not that I’m looking for him. Who would want to see the one person who is going to kill you?

Maybe he’s giving me space.

There isn’t much I can do.

“Um . . . I didn’t bring any clothes to change into.”

“No worries! I have something that would look great on you. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

No one has ever offered to let me borrow anything. I can’t shake the feeling that I might be overstepping. I don’t really know her that well—aside from the time we went to Babylon and our classes together.

“Yeah, I have this perfect dress with a black leather jacket that would look sooo cute on you.” Her eyes sparkle with excitement, and I can’t help but smile.

I check myself out in the bathroom mirror of the dorm building. I look different. Amy applied eyeliner and a layer of foundation to my face. I’m wearing a tight dress with over-the-knee boots. I’m grateful for the jacket, but I’m unsure about showing five inches of thigh between the hem and the edge of Amy’s heeled boots.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask nervously.

I’ve never intentionally dressed up for anything. The few times I had no choice were for reasons I prefer not to think about right now.

I’m sure Garret wouldn’t care I didn’t show up. But maybe he might. He never said I had a curfew or that I was obligated to wait for him after his swim practice. I simply didn’t show up and ignored his last text asking where I was.

“You look gorgeous, Rose.”

I catch Amy’s red-lipped smile in the mirror’s reflection. “So do you.”

Amy is wearing skintight black jeans and a pink crop top that highlights her trim waist. Her strawberry-blonde hair is a cute contrast to her outfit.

As I shut the passenger door of the Uber—Amy insisted on paying for it—my legs shake. I watch the two red lights disappear down the road as the sun sets.

The volume of the music blaring from the house fluctuates, fading each time the front door opens and closes.

“Come on,” Amy says, grabbing my hand. I stumble as she practically drags me toward the front door.

A couple of guys hold the door open with wide smiles when they see us. “Welcome, ladies,” says the one with freckles, stepping behind us.

My internal radar kicks into full force as the smell of alcohol, heat, and perfumehits me like a wavefrom all the people crammed into the living room.

People dance to the beat of Kendrick Lamar’sNot Like Us, singing the lyrics.

“Holy shit,” Amy says over the music. “This is crazy.”

A guy holding a keg of beer cheers while a girl underneath it tries to drink as much as she can, not caring that beer is pouring down her shirt—her nipples visible through the soaked fabric.

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