Page 26 of Terror Tuesday
I have no idea what comes out.
But I know I’d follow him into the wreckage.
Even if I was the one who lit the match.
eight
Drool runs across my arm,stirring my consciousness. The diary stands on my desk, closed, like it’s ashamed of what I wrote. Probably fell asleep writing in it last night.
It’s the only thing that’s stillmine. But I can’t even enjoy it anymore. I’m too tired. Too used up. Before I can reach some deep insight into my own behavior, I succumb to slumber.
Not to mention, it appears as if my stalker is reading every word.
What’s worse? I may find comfort in that.
My body startles at the sound of my phone alarm, heart hammering, relieved only momentarily that I’m not buried in a coffin beside my dead boyfriend’s glassy eyes. But the thought still lingers.
Am I happy he’s not alive anymore?
Guilt curls like a ribbon around my throat as I fumble for my phone to shut it off. As I twist toward the device, neck twitches make me moan. My heart drops at the sight of a text fromMelinda Remington, Hunter’s mother. Her message sits on the screen like a loaded gun.
Mel
Do you know why Hunter flew to Thailand without telling me? Are you with him?
When I peek at the photo she’s attached, my jaw unhinges. It’s a grainy shot of Hunter with a brunette in what looks like a Thai city. Noodles, lanterns, humid dusk.
But I recognize the picture. I’veseenit before. It’s from a Maldives trip. Boys weekend. My cousin Logan sent it to me after confessing that Hunter was cheating. The brunette? She was the reason we broke up thefirsttime.
Me
No, I didn’t go. We aren’t together anymore. Sorry, Mel.
Three dots. Then:
Mel
Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I’ll ask Bryce.
My bottom lip lodges underneath my teeth at that name. Bryce. If the police come looking… If this lie spins deeper… I’ll have to get Dad involved.
And oncehesteps in, no one walks away clean.
I clutch the phone until the screen blacks out. Mel’s message still lingers like it’s burned into the retinas of my soul. She’s looking for her son. And I know exactly where he is. Only a fool would call it a grave.
A knock startles me so hard I jostle my phone.
“Olivia?” It’s Sora. Of course it is.Omegasecretary, resident schedule dictator, and organizational goddess with the warmthof a toaster oven. Just the person I want to see on a Tuesday morning before a big event and after a lack of sleep.
“We’ve got three problems with Terror Tuesday prep, and Brianna’s crying in the kitchen again because someone stole her local grass-fed almond milk. And yes, I already know almonds don’t have tits, but I suppose this one identifies as a cow.”
God forbid theOmegahouse run dry on ethically sourced nut juice. Someone might actually die.
“Coming!” I chirp, the sound so unnaturally bright it scrapes against my own throat.
By the time I pull open the door, I’ve put the proper face back on. Sorority President. Crisis Manager.Untouchable Olivia Marie Cardell.
My robe is barely tied, and I know I look half-asleep, but Sora doesn’t even blink. She hands me a tablet like we’re trading battle plans.
