Page 35 of Only If You're Lucky
“You know, the more we learn about Lucy, the more questions we have,” he says, ignoring her. “Does that surprise any of you?”
“No,” I say when it becomes clear that Sloane and Nicole aren’t going to answer. “That sounds about right.”
“How exactly did you all meet?”
“She’s very outgoing,” Sloane says. “She’s never had a problem approaching people she doesn’t know, striking up a conversation.”
“And charming,” Nicole adds. “She can make friends with a wall.”
“Did you see Lucy spending any time with Levi alone on the night he died?” Detective Frank asks, shifting gears so quick it takes me a second to catch up.
“No,” I say at last, remembering the way he had stood up and immediately stumbled, legs limp and loose like a wobbly fawn. The way Lucy had looked at me, smiling, before she got up, too. “It was a big party. He was there, but we only saw glimpses of him.”
“Glimpses,” he repeats.
“Yes. We didn’t really hang out with him.”
“Who did you hang out with?”
“Each other,” I say, as if that should have been obvious.
“That’s not what I heard from other people who were there.”
“You didn’t ask about other people.”
Detective Frank stares at me, put off by my tone.
“You asked about us,” I add.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I don’t know what other people saw,” I continue. “Butwedidn’t see them alone together.”
“So you never saw them hugging, touching, nothing like that?”
“No, never.”
“Interesting,” he says. “Then why did we find her blood on his clothes?”
CHAPTER 30
BEFORE
I wake up to find my bed empty, nothing but the still-warm imprint of Nicole by my side. I glance at the clock, it’s almost eleven, before flinging myself from bed and walking into the living room.
“Good morning,” Lucy says, a mug of coffee in her hands, chipper as ever. They’re all out here, all three of them, Sloane and Nicole looking as miserable as I feel. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, even though that’s not quite true. I fell asleep eventually, the dawn-lit windows making my room just light enough for me to finally relax, but the events of last night have left me exhausted, a weariness in my mind that even six hours of sleep couldn’t erase.
“Did you get sick?” Sloane asks, looking up at me. She’s still in her makeup from last night, a swipe of mascara streaked across her cheek and a single gold hoop still stuck in her ear. “It smelled like puke in here this morning.”
“Not sick,” I say, glancing at Nicole. She’s staring into her lap, skin tinged green and body swallowed by Trevor’s sweatshirt, fingers pulling at the sleeves. “Just… scared, I guess.”
“She was all paranoid about people breaking into the house,” Lucy says, laughing. The sound of it grates on me, especially considering how afraid I was, but I try not to show it. “I basically had to force her inside.”
“That explains why you disappeared,” Sloane says, smiling. “Kind of an intense atmosphere for your first time.”
“First time with what?” Nicole asks, Sloane and Lucy turning to look at her like they forgot she was there. She seems so small like that, bent into a ball in the corner of the couch, and it brings to mind the way she looked last night: curled up on the floor like a baby bird, wet and trembling, after tumbling out of a tree. I wonder if she even remembers me cleaning her up, tucking her in. Lying awake for over an hour to make sure she wouldn’t get sick again and choke to death in her sleep.
