Page 102 of Hate So Deep

“It’s…like someone came through and pulled everything out.”

Dirk steps past me and studies the scene before shaking his head. “So, your mom cleaned his room and what…destroyed yours?”

It doesn’t make any sense, but I know it wasn’t me and that leaves Mom but why?

Is she kicking me out?

“I guess,” I say, and he doesn’t comment but turns in a circle once again while I go back to picking up my shit.

While he assesses whatever, I start a pile but pause on a shirt and grab it from the floor.

The powder blue ensemble is pretty in an understated way, but it reminds me ofthatnight because when Dirk and I had our interlude in the bathroom, I ripped the seam, and it was one of my favorite shirts.

“Dirk?” I whisper and he turns to me with raised brows.

When I hold out the shirt, he asks, “What?”

“I think I was wearing this, that night.”

“Okay.” He grabs the shirt from my hands and inspects it.

After a moment he says, “What about the shirt I burned. Did you change when you came home?”

“Maybe,” I say. Clearly, I was out of it, but would I exchange this shirt for another?

“Anything else out of the ordinary?” he asks.

“It’s hard to say. It’s all over the floor.”

His dark eyes meet mine before he nods and says, “Let’s go downstairs.”

We make our way to the first level, and I take him to my mom’s room. She hasn’t bothered to clean up after her mess and from the door, I watch while he picks up the dresser and leans it against the wall before assessing the damage.

“What happened here?” he asks.

“Mom freaked out,” I mutter.

“Does anything look different?”

“I don’t think so, but I don’t know.”

Turning to me, he raises a brow. “You don’t know?”

“My mom is very private. We aren’t allowed in here.” I shrug helplessly and his eyes narrow before he approaches the closet.

“Did your mom look through her shit after everything went down?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe someone broke in. Maybe they weren’t expecting anyone to be here and attacked.”

Although it sounds implausible even to my ears, I follow when he searches through Mom’s closet.

“What about jewelry? Valuables? Is anything missing?” he asks.

“I don’t really have anything worth taking. It’s mostly costume jewelry. Mom’s stuff is in her safe.”

“And you can’t open it?”

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