Page 7 of Bleeding Hearts
It’s my fault she’s like this. It’s my fault she’s ruining her life, sleeping around, and drinking to the point of danger.
She should blame me.
Pressing my face to my legs, I muffle my sobs, refusing to let her or anyone else hear them. I don’t deserve to grieve. She’s right to take it out on me, but I won’t let it push me away. I’ll always come for her, even if she hates me.
I owe it to her and Tommy.
I owe it to my foolish heart that’s still falling in love with this troubled woman.
I must eventually fall asleep because when I wake up, she’s gone.
The only sign she was here is the water bottle and hair tie next to it.
Nothing else.
She’s gone again.
CHAPTER THREE
After showering and changing, I crashed and slept for hours, only to wake up to my phone vibrating. I roll over and ignore it. My mouth still tastes like shit, and I’m hungover as hell, but the ringing starts again. Fumbling through the covers, I grab my cell and put it to my ear without looking, unable to open my eyes due to the pounding in my head.
“What?” I snarl.
It’s my own fault for drinking so much, but it’s how my life is now. I drink to forget. Everyone else has moved on, leaving me at those stupid parties surrounded by strangers I don’t give a fuck about. It’s the only time I feel anything other than grief.
Why did she come for me?
Why does she always come for me?
She looks after me every time, even though I tell her not to. I’m cruel and unkind to her, but she never takes the hint. She doesn’t even show if it hurts her. Is she just stupid or too fucking kind?
I can’t remember much of last night, but that’s not unusual, and it’s probably better that way. I have enough regrets without remembering the mess I made.
“Is this Miss Laila Stewart?” a confused voice responds, bringing me from my thoughts.
I sit up, ignoring my aching head. “Lally,” I correct automatically. The only people who call me Laila are my family, and I don’t speak to them. Lally stuck in high school. “Who is this?”
“This is Ms. Derry, assistant to Dean Weaver. We request your presence in the administrative building today at three. We hope to see you there.” The phone goes dead, and I wince as I glance at the screen to see it’s already one. Shit. I slept through all my morning classes, but this meeting worries me.
It’s never good to be called in. What have I done?
And what can I do to fix it?
I’m about as awake and respectable as I’m going to get. My hair is clean and brushed, and my makeup is more low-key than normal. I have on jeans and boots rather than my usual skirt and shitkickers. I don’t own any normal shirts, however, so I wear the least offensive, which is my “I love to make boys cry” one.
I put on my oversized racing jacket to complete the look, and then I head into the administrative building with tentative steps just as a burly guy with a scowling face storms from it. I move past him, leaving him to his own troubles.
The foyer floor squeaks under my boots as I follow the signs up the big staircase to the third floor. I’m out of breath and sweating by the time I get there, but I head to the reception desk and notice the name.
Ms. Derry.
“Hi, I’m Lally, Laila Stewart. I was called in,” I say.
“Take a seat. He will be with you in a moment,” she replies without looking up from her computer, where she types with her two index fingers.
I nod and take a seat, crossing my legs nervously as I glance around the small waiting room. There are black-and-white photos of the campus on most of the dark wood walls and two double doors to my left. There isn’t much else because it’s meant to intimidate, not offer comfort.
Finally, the doors open, and Mr. Weaver, the dean of Pine Valley, stands there. “Laila, please come in.”
