Page 69 of Tricky Girls

I don’t even know what she meant by all that. I can’t remember half the stuff I’ve said to her over the last year, most of it said when off my face. I can barely even recall last night’s adventures.

She returns wearing last night’s slutty outfit, ready for her walk of shame back to wherever the fuck she lives.

‘If you do fuck her,’ she says to Tilda on her way out, ‘just make sure you do it sober. She’s a bastard when she can’t get off.’

Without another word, she flies from the lodge.

There’s a beat before Haz starts slow clapping, the only sound in the silent room. ‘Great show, Nic. Great show.’

‘What did she mean about you stalking me?’ Tilda asks, fiddling with the handle of her mug with a frown.

Not one to shy away from risky questions, this one.

‘Dunno, Tilda.’ I put my arms in the air and stretch. ‘You’re the one living in my fucking house. Maybe you’re stalking me.’

‘I don’t have to be here,’ she says quietly.

‘Yes, you do,’ Haz counters. To me she says, ‘Nic, go fuck off until you’re in a better mood.’

I don’t need to be told twice.

Flexing my bruised knuckles, I head back upstairs to wash up, taking a pit stop at the bottle of 5-HTP Haz gifted me the last time.

I pick at the label, already the guilt clawing in.

I know they worry about me. I know I promised I wouldn’t do it again, not after last time.

It’s just with Tilda and Tommy and all these fucking memories—

Putting my head in my hands, I release a harsh breath, rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed.

I can just never escape it, no matter how fast I run.

Granted, Hazelhurst probably wasn’t the best place to do that, considering my legacy status.

Although, they’re no family of mine anymore.

If only I could tell my fucking heart that.

About Tommy and Tilda both.

CHAPTER 18

Tilda

‘And where the hell do you think you’re going?’

I whirl round in the kitchen, spotting Haz in her sleepwear—joggers and a tank—her hair pulled back into a low, stubby ponytail.

I always do a double take when she wears it like that, her face coming into stark focus without that more feminine fall of hair. It makes her look stern, more severe. I’m not usually one to tell someone how to wear their hair but, yeah, she should wear it like that more.

‘You’re not in uni until later,’ she accuses with narrowed eyes.

‘Maybe I’ve got a life outside of you lot.’

‘Lies. You’re sneaking off.’

‘Well, yeah, but for wholly legitimate reasons.’

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