Page 101 of Mine

We had never really discussed my relationship with the guys even though I was a hundred percent sure she knew.

I shook my head. “They need to stay far away from me. If shit hits the fan, it’s best if we all keep to ourselves.”

“Valencia, at least tell them you’re ok and let them decide what they want to do.” She opened her mouth like she wanted to say more.

“Maybe later,” I said, turning around, hoping she got the hint.

I turned the shower on, stripping out of my dirty clothes and stepping into the hot spray. My eyes watered as a sob threatened to escape. I couldn’t cry now because if I did, I might not stop and all I wanted was sleep.

I washed my hair, and put on a hair mask she had in here. I let that sit while I washed my body thoroughly with my good hand, careful of my tender ribs. One wash wasn’t enough and not even two made me feel better. My skin was raw by the time I was satisfied. I got out, wrapping my hair in a towel, cringing when I realized my curls were going to be a mess, but honestly who cared at this point.

I dried off, and lotioned up before I went to see what clothes she had left. A pair of leggings, shorts and lounge pants were left on the bed with matching tops. I took the black lounge pantswith a matching top. They were almost a perfect fit and I was grateful we had similar body shapes.

I climbed in the bed, groaning at how soft it was. The sheets were soft and the bed practically hugged me. I sighed as I hugged a pillow, feeling my eyelids grow heavy. All I needed was sleep and then maybe I would be able to face the shitstorm that was brewing. Maybe I would call the guys. I missed them, but a part of me wondered if it was easier to stay away and let us just fall apart.

Everything hurtwhen I woke up. My face was sore, my hand was throbbing and my chest felt like I had something sitting on it. Dread. I wanted to continue sleeping, my body begged me to close my eyes and give myself another moment of peace.

Except, no matter how long I slept, I couldn't run from my problems. The room was bathed in orange light and the clock on the nightstand told me it was five-thirty in the evening. I hugged a pillow enjoying the last rays of the sun, thinking about what I had to do.

1. Figure out how much the media knew.

2. Take painkillers and eat.

3. Do some damage control.

4. Call my boss to see if I still had a job.

5. Find out where I could either find a pig farm or rent an excavator to bury the body.

6. Get a new identity

I groaned, rolling over on my back, worried about my mental health since I was contemplating murder. Someone fucked withmy life, a life I had carefully constructed and worked so hard for that was now being torn down.

My lip trembled, the pressure in my chest grew. I wanted to cry, and throw a fit because it wasn't fair. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the covers off, getting out of bed. I looked through my bag for my laptop, opened it and looked at the first gossip magazine I could find. There was a small piece about me, thankfully, with a good picture.

Two other websites had the same thing, but each article said more information was coming. I needed to know what information that was, then I could figure out what to do. Next was food.

I went to the bathroom to do my business. While I washed my hands, I inspected my swollen hand with split knuckles. I didn’t want to look up and see what I looked like. Everything hurt and I knew it was going to be bad.

Fucking slut, can’t make money the hard way like normal people do. Gotta have sex and bag two hockey players for the life she wants.

Fuck him for thinking he knew anything about me. I looked up, flinching from the state of my face. It was pretty bad, with a black eye and a bruise on my chin too. My ribs hurt as I lifted my shirt to see a bruised side. It was dark and angry, making me think that maybe I did need to see a doctor.

Taking a deep breath, nothing hurt, so maybe it wasn't that bad. That might have to be number three on my list before damage control. Lowering my shirt, I walked out in search of food. The moment I stepped out of the hallway, Noemi and Easton stopped talking. It smelled amazing. My stomach immediately complained and my mouth watered.

“Hey,” Noemi said, getting up from the sofa, opening her arms.

“Hey,” I said, walking into them, holding onto her tightly.

My eyes watered

“How did you sleep? How do you feel?” Easton asked, standing right next to us.

“I knocked out and I think I’m ok,” I said, not wanting to talk because I was on the verge of crying again.

“You hungry?” Noemi pulled away, inspecting me.

Her jaw clenched looking over my face.

---