Page 11 of Arden and the Girl Downstairs

I promised Yasmin.

Shit.

I left the hospital yesterday and wanted to do anything I could to forget. I let my friends down.

“I’m sorry.” I focus on my coffee, trying not to look at all the disappointed faces around the table.

It’s been two months since Julia woke up from her coma, and I can’t forgive myself. No matter how many people try to convince me there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it, I still can’t help but blame myself. I should’ve answered my phone and been there for her.

“Maybe I should go,” announces the same voice that yelled at me before. I look up and lock eyes with her. How did I not notice she was here?

“You don’t have to leave.” Rhys turns to her.

“It’s fine. I need some more pain relief, and I should really get some more sleep. I have a double shift today.” She stands and turns towards the door. “Thanks for the invitation, though. I’ll see you around.” Before she makes it out of the room, Yasmin speaks.

“What’s wrong? Are you going to be okay to work tonight?”

“It’s fine, nothing a heat pack and a painkiller won’t fix. I can’t afford to take the night off.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask before I even realise I’m speaking. Why do I care? Something is off. I look her over again and pay attention this time. The same way I would have three months ago.

She has dark circles under her eyes, her breathing is shallow—like she isn’t trying to inhale fully—and she’s shifting her weight to her left foot, indicating that something is causing her pain on the right side. Something is wrong, and she’s trying to hide it from everyone. Well, not hide it, more like downplay it.

“I’m not telling you again,” she spits at me. The glare is back. Again? I’ve barely spoken to her.

She has spunk, I’ll give her that.

I look at her again, trying to make sense of what she said.

“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” I tell her, back to being confused.

“Of course, you don’t. Why should you remember?” she throws over her shoulder before storming out of the kitchen. That’s the second time in half an hour that she’s yelled at me and bailed in a fit of anger.

Something shifts inside of me. I feel the need to help her; however, I know she won’t accept it from me.

Ella

I’m woken by incessant knocking at my front door. Rolling over, I grab a pillow and stick it over my head in an attempt to ignore whoever it is.

Only two people would show up here, and both know that I work tonight and would be sleeping beforehand.

They’ll go away, eventually.

I hope.

I finally drift off to sleep again, just as the knocking gets louder.

“Ms Hughes, please open the door,” booms a gruff voice through my apartment.

Mothertrucker. Who the hell is that?

Grumbling to myself, I drag my tired ass out of bed and move to the front door, not bothering to check the peephole. When Arden and his crew moved in, they installed a security gate around the property—no one gets in easily without access, that’s for sure.

Flinging the door open, I glare at the two men standing on the other side. I’m aware that my five foot nothing is no match against these two, but I give them my best death stare. I recognise Ralph from the bar and around the property. I don’t trust him because I know he’s loyal to Arden, and after the suggestion he made the other night, he isn’t high on my list of friends to make. The other guy, I’ve never seen before, and he’s wearing a white coat. The hospital name tag on it reads: Dr Andrews. He looks too young to be a doctor.

“Do you know what time it is?” I practically yell at the men. This startles them briefly before Ralph chuckles. Ralph laughing is almost comical. He’s big and scary. I narrow my gaze in his direction. Seriously, who do they think they are, waking me from my nap?

“Sorry, Ms Hughes, I was told to arrange for someone to come and check you over,” Ralph says, looking a little worried. “I assumed you knew.”

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