Page 20 of Beg for It
I bounce my gaze over the crowd. Everyone is dressed to the nines for the party. Elaborate costumes that have spared zero expense. And yet, I don’t see a six-foot-two tin man.
Where the hell is he?
My gaze catches on the large oak tree that grows near my bedroom, and a shiver runs down my spine.
Part of me still thinks I imagined what I saw. A man with a half-skull mask sitting on the branch, watching me as I came apart. A man who looked just like Phantom. I had been tipsy and stressed, unable to fall asleep after my encounter with Eli at Old Spur. My thoughts were everywhere, and my body was wired with pent up frustration. Tossing and turning to no avail, I’d done the only stress-relieving thing I could think of.
Orgasming.
I thought maybe I’d hallucinated Phantom because I’d been watching his videos, specifically the one with the dark blue lighting that hits his bare chest just right as the camera pumps up and down in what social media guidelines think is a push-up but to the more savvy is most clearlynota push-up. It’s the one where he groans into the microphone with his gravely voice, “fuck, that’s right, baby. I know you can take it.”
Except this morning, when I’d looked out my window at the tree again, I’d noticed something shining on the branch. After shoving my face against the glass, I realized there was a literal switchblade stuck in the wood.
That didn’t just appear out of thin air.
What the hell does it all mean?
There’s no way it wasactuallyPhantom.
So…who was watching me?
I need a drink, stat. Maybe Josh is in the kitchen with the same idea. There is a back entrance from the patio he could’ve snuck through so our parents didn’t notice him slacking off from his “filial duties.”
Settled with that idea, I take the side door into the kitchen, lifting my thirty-pound skirt to fit through the doorframe. Servers buzz around the space, and the caterer paces up and down the length of the island watching every platter that getssent out. I spot the bottle of red wine Josh and I had stashed earlier still hidden behind the vase of marigolds.
I’m not exactly subtle about pouring myself a glass, but no one back here really cares. As long as none of the red spills on the pink gown, I’m fine.
I take a sip, letting the rich liquid coat my tongue. The muscles in my shoulders relax a fraction as I take a moment to drop my mask. It’s a lot of work keeping up the pretense of perfection. Eyes are on me every second, making it so I can’t even take a breath without sneaking away.
But even the brief respite can stop the suspicious feeling that swirls in my gut.
Where the hell is my brother?
I pick up my phone from where I’d also stashed it behind the vase, noticing that Josh’s phone is no longer there. Not a good sign. Neither of us has a place to hide our phones in the costumes mom designed, and she would murder us if she saw us on them instead of interacting with guests, so we always keep them back here. His phone being gone just compounds the awful hunch I have.
A notification sits on my lock screen.
Phantomuploaded a story
I swipe the notification open, causing the app to automatically load and bring up the story in question.
I expect it to be some kind of shirtless mirror image or a countdown to a gaming live stream. What I do not expect is for it to be a selfie of him at a party. Phantom never posts anything personal. He never posts anything outside of his room. Period. The people around him are too far away to make out, but you can tell it’s some kind of Halloween costume party.
I guess it is kind of a smart idea. Cosplaying as yourself. Who would know?
Something about the picture is throwing me off, but I can’t quite place it.
I finish off the glass of red as I click through my friends’ stories since I already have the app open. I tap through all the various Halloween parties they’re attending that are way more fun than the one I am at. Michelle even has a cute pic of her and Brett at Trent’s, the two of them dressed up as a singer and football player respectively. I tap through the next seven selfies she has posted because that girl has zero chill. The last one is a video of D’Andre bobbing for an apple in the beer-filled barrel before panning out to the old barn house.
Wait.
No.
There’s no way.
I go back to Michelle’s story and rewatch the video, holding my finger down and pausing once she zooms out. I screenshot the still and then go back to Phantom’s profile, going through his story until I hit the latest one. I screenshot that too and then click into my photos. I swipe between the two screenshots, my brain having trouble comprehending what I’m looking at.
Holy shit.
