Page 39 of Pretty Poisoned

"Bridget was an idiot," she says. "I am not like her. It's different."

"No, I believe you. I don't think you're like Bridget; I never said that. I don't even know what she was like. I just—I heard that Declan did something to her."

"I can't believe you would say that," she says. "No one did anything to Bridget, that's…she had problems, that's all."

"Layla, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, you shouldn't have," she snaps. "And you know what? You should be more worried about Luca. He's a lot more dangerous than Declan—he's unstable. And youdosmell like cum."

She leaves the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

I sigh, shaking my head, unsure if I'd call that conversation a success or not, and then remove my tattered clothes and slip into the shower.

But I did learn something new: Declan won't spill his own blood—his power. It makes sense, given what he's told me. And Bridget was apparently crazy.

So is Luca.

And Layla is stuck here because she comes from an abusive home.

When I finish, Layla is already asleep, curled up with that teddy bear.

I crawl under the covers, close my eyes, and slip into a deep, dreamless sleep.

EIGHT

When I open my eyes the next morning, I find myself face-to-face with River.

"Hey, beautiful," she says.

I laugh.

"What's funny?" she asks.

"Not you," I tell her. "It's just that I'm so used to being alone, and the last two days, I've woken up next to someone who wasn't the person I went to sleep with."

"Is that a bad thing?" she asks.

"No. Not a bad thing. It's just different."

She reaches out and pushes my hair away from my face. "You have curly hair," she says.

"Mmm, yep. I didn't feel like drying it last night."

"It's pretty," she says. "It suits you. You know, if you stay with us, you'll never have to be alone again. Not if you don't want to."

"Do you think they want me to stay?" I ask.

"I want you to," she says. "Um, there's food—real food, not blood food—if you're hungry. Brady made breakfast."

"Oh my god, I'm starving," I tell her, pulling myself out of bed. I haven't eatenreal foodsince pizza on the bus yesterday afternoon.

"There's eggs and bacon and pancakes," she says, climbing out of the bed. "Coffee, too."

"Thank god. Do you have a hair tie?" I ask. "This hair is just…I know it's bad."

"It's gorgeous," she says. "But I'm sure Layla has some in the bathroom. Check the top middle drawer."

Sure enough, the drawer is filled with hair accessories. I grab a black scrunchie and pull my hair into a high ponytail.

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