Page 78 of Ugly Truths
Natalie is in the early stages of booking the venue for Wells—which feels crazy to be thinking about in September—but she tells me it’s completely normal.
Even though her gaze narrows, she details the places she’s toured, particularly an industrial event space closer to the suburbs, which is ideal since most staff don't live in the city. We brainstorm potential activities to focus the evening less on the free alcohol, though it's always the main attraction.
While discussing how she might go about a partnership with a car service or rideshare company, my phone buzzes. I pull it out to see Cillian's name flashing on the screen.
“Hi Cillian,” I say, answering.
“Where are you?” The sharpness of his tone makes me pull the phone away from my ear.
“I’m at Natalie’s,” I reply, glancing up at her. Her brow furrows. “Why?”
Cillian exhales loudly. “Jesus,” he mutters. It sounds like I’m on speakerphone and he’s typing. “How did you get there?”
“I asked Lloyd to drop me off when he was leaving for the office,” I respond slowly. Natalie steps down from the ladder, eyes trained on me.
“Silas is going to call you. Please answer him,” Cillian says, then hangs up without waiting for a response.
Before Natalie can get out a single question, my phone vibrates again. I don’t even bother to look at the screen before sliding it open.
“Si,” I say immediately and pick myself off the floor, “is everything—”
“You can'tdo that, Elena.”
My pulse spikes at the pure venom dripping from his words. Suddenly, I’m not in Natalie’s guest bedroom; I’m back in that cold holding cell, tied to a chair with coarse rope digging into my wrists.
The edges of my vision blur, and I blink the darkness away.
“What can't I do?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.
“You can't just leave like that,” Silas hisses.
My ears ring in the silence.
I glance toward Natalie, and with a sympathetic nod, she wordlessly excuses herself, rounding the bed and closing the bedroom door behind her. The quiet only seems to make the ringing louder, and the heat buried in the center of my chest starts to expand outward like a tea kettle ready to boil over.
My inhale is shaky. “I left you a note in the music room.”
Silas scoffs, and there’s a rustle, maybe him running a hand through his hair. “Another note? Really?” he mutters, almost to himself.
The heat is doused by an icy cold as the meaning of his words hits me.
I squeeze my eyes shut and sink onto the edge of the bed. The mattress gives under my weight, grounding me just enough to remind me which way is up and which way is down.
Silas’s next words come out fast, “I went to look for you and you weren’t anywhere. Not in the bedroom, or the kitchen, or the attic. Not even in that goddamn guest room.”
His heavy breathing is the only sound between us for several heartbeats. My free arm curls around my middle, but it brings no comfort.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to text you when you needed space.” Guilt washes over me as I continue, “I forgot to tell Lloyd that you didn’t know where I was going. That’s my fault.”
Another pause. “Did you think I’d be angry if you texted me?”
I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “I don’t know,” I admit.
Silas swears softly.
“Elena, no matter what’s happening, I don’t want you disappearing like that.” His voice strains, and I can almost picture his grimace. “I didn’t even make it to the music room before I called Cillian because I thought you wouldn’t answer my call.”
It’s hard not to imagine his panic growing as he failed to find me in every room he checked, wearing the same expression he had in the kitchen the night I left last time.
