Page 141 of Pretty Poisoned

I remember it now. That's what I thought I heard him say before he left me on the bathroom floor, and everything went dark. I thought he told me that he loved me.

But there's no way that was real. It must have been my subconscious telling me what it thought I needed to hear, what it thought might keep my heart beating in my chest.

"Come with me," Declan whispers, kissing the top of my head. "I'll show you something."

Now, I really am scared. I don't want to go anywhere alone with him, but I'm also afraid to tell him no.

I shake my head. "Luca won't like it. He'll be worried about me."

"He'll be fine, and so will you," he says. He stands and extends his hand to me. "Come on."

I hesitate for only a few seconds before taking his hand and slowly maneuvering my way out of bed. I freeze as Luca stirs, rolling onto his back. I watch his hand search the empty space beside him for my body before settling. The small subconscious gesture squeezes at my heart, making me desperate to crawl back into bed.

Sighing, I look away, seeing Declan watching me watch him. In the dark, I can't quite discern his expression, but he says nothing and moves toward the door with my hand in his.

"How are you feeling?" he says once we're in the hallway. "You doing okay?"

"I'm fine," I tell him.

He opens the hotel room door, and I follow him inside.

"Sit," he says, gesturing toward the bed.

I do as he asks, leaning against the headboard with my feet folded under my body. Declan puts on his glasses, grabs a laptop from his bag, and sits at a desk chair, turning it so I can't quite see the screen. I wait silently for a couple of minutes before he stands, setting the computer in my lap before sitting beside me on the bed.

"What do you…want me to do with it?" I ask.

He moves close enough that our shoulders touch. "Click on that file right there."

"Townsend, Teagan Evelyn," I read. "God, not the middle name."

"I like it," he says.

I sigh. "Please, mentally prepare me for whatever this is. I don't want to be blindsided by a sex tape or a bunch of nudes."

"It's not anything like that. It's the file from your psychiatrist's office."

"Why would I want to see that?" I ask.

"You said I have you at a handicap, right? You want to know what I know about you? I know all of your favorite books, I know your favorite color is green, and that you're secretly a Swiftie."

"That's not really a secret—no one ever asked."

"I know that until recently, you hadn't cried in almost four years, and until third grade, the girl who photocopied your journal and took that video of you was your best friend. And after that, your best friend was a Pomeranian named Tulip, and when you were eleven, you watched your dad back over her in the driveway."

My lower lip quivers; tears pool in my eyes again. "How could you know that?"

He shrugs.

"I was playing with her in the front yard. He was in a hurry and wasn't paying attention. They all blamed me, though—told me I was too irresponsible to get another pet after what I'd put everyone through."

"You don't have to read it all," Declan says. "But if you want to know everything I know, there it is. I highlighted a few things I thought you might want to see."

I exhale slowly, turn back to the laptop, and double-click on the file.

"So, what's yours?" I ask.

"My what?"

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