Page 114 of The Lair

George has a few more questions after that, but they blur together. Adrenaline pumps through me in powerful waves, making me sick to my stomach. Not because I regret this interview, but because everything suddenly becomes real. My parents are going to see this, and they are going to sue me.

We are done in two hours. Tom and George thank me profusely again, and some members of the crew kindly ask if they can give me a hug. A while later, a car drops me at the hotel George’s production company arranged for me. But before I make it to the reception desk, I can’t take it anymore and call Jada.

“Allie,” she breathes out, the worry in her voice so evident, it makes me feel like the worst human alive. “Is it you?”

“It’s me,” I whisper, my eyes watering. “I’m sorry, Jada. I’m so sorry. I’m in LA. I talked to George Eden.”

She sucks in a breath. “Oh, honey….”

“I’m at a hotel.” I rattle off the name. “C-Can you pick me up?”

“Of course, sweetie. Oh, Allie, we were so worried. We’ll be there shortly. Please don’t move.”

I don’t. And forty minutes later, I’m sandwiched between Jada and Paul, clinging to their hug as if I’d crumble if they let me go. I’m not convinced that I won’t.

We barely speak on our drive to their home. Jada sits with me in the back seat, holding my hand the entire time, while Paul keeps asking me if I’m okay, if I need to stop. I couldn’t possibly love them more.

I skip dinner. Jada tries to convince me to eat, but anxiety is knotting my stomach so tightly, I can barely drink water.

One look at Jada’s and Paul’s faces is enough to know they want to talk about today. Keeping them in the dark makes me feel like crap, but I can’t speak tonight. I can’t.

They tell me they understand.

I’m so mentally exhausted, I fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow.

The next day, I wake up at noon. Jada leaves me a note in the kitchen, reminding me to eat something and assuring me that she and Paul will rush back home after work. I eat half a banana and go back to bed.

I can’t stand being awake.

Hours later, the sound of the front door closing wakes me up. Hushed voices filter under the door of the bedroom I’d once claimed as my own. A bedroom I never thought I’d sleep in again.

I’m rubbing the sleep off my eyes when a soft knock makes my heart do a downright jolt. “Allie? Are you there?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I come in?” Jada asks.

“Sure.”

Her expression is wary when her eyes meet mine. “Hey, honey. I’m sorry if I woke you up. I sent you a couple of texts, but you didn’t reply. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

With a tired hand, I reach out to my nightstand and grab the glass of water, taking a sip. I clear my throat. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I was sleeping and turned my phone off.”

I should just let it die.

“That’s okay.” Jada hesitates. “Paul and I are going to start making dinner, if you want to join us.”

The biggest part of me wants to say no. It wants to fester in bed until fear, anxiety, and guilt eat me alive. It would be so easy to let that part win.Soeasy.

Surrendering to fear isn’t scary or even difficult because it’s always the safest option. It won’t cause your skin to prickle or your heart to stall or your brain to turn to danger mode. It’s comfortable.

But then there’s a tiny voice inside my head that wants to have this conversation. That needsto. George Eden’s interview is airing tomorrow night, and it’s okay if I admit to the people I care so much about—and to myself—that I’m not ready for the aftermath.

“Let me take a quick shower first,” I find myself saying, swallowing past the lump in my throat.

She gives me what I think is a relieved smile and says, “Take your time,” before shutting the door behind her again.

Twenty minutes later, the hardwood floor creaks under my weight as I walk into the kitchen. Paul is whispering something in Jada’s ear that makes her chuckle, but all signs of glee vanish as soon as they notice me.

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