Page 41 of Entangled

My feet carry me up Willow’s driveway. The house is dark except for a faint flickering light in the window beside the front door. The TV in the living room is on. She’s up late, binge-watching Bloodline or Dark Matter. She won’t stop talking about either.

I ring the doorbell because I know her mom is out, so I don’t need to worry about waking anyone.

The light in the hallway flicks on, and the door opens, revealing Willow in her pink robe.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

I know I look a mess with mascara streaks and strands of hair drying to my cheeks.

She steps aside so I can enter. No sooner has the door shut than she squeezes me to her. “Are you okay?”

More tears fall. “Breakups suck!”

Leaning back, she searches my eyes. “You broke up?”

“He had naked pictures of her on his phone.” I leave the words hanging in the air. Nothing else is said as she leads me into the living room, where I curl up on her couch and wrap myself in a blanket.

Willow disappears into the kitchen and returns with two glasses. She hands me one and sits down on the armchair.

“What’s this?” I ask, sniffing the drink. It’s definitely alcohol.

“I raided my mom’s liquor cabinet. It’s gin.”

I take a sip. It’s dry with a noticeable pine flavor. I’m not sure if I like it or not, but I’ll drink anything if it numbs this insistent ache in my chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Willow asks.

I take another big sip, letting the cool liquid slip down my throat. “I told him to fuck her.”

Willow winces, and for some odd reason, it makes me laugh. I don’t know how to feel. My head is such a messed-up place. I thought I had all the chess pieces where I wanted them, only for a busty cheerleader to sweep her arm over my board and scatter them all.

“Will you take him back if he apologizes?”

“He’s already apologized a hundred times tonight. It seems to be the only thing he has to say.” I imitate him, “‘I didn’t mean it, Chloe. It was a mistake. I’m sorry.’”

Willow laughs softly when I mutter, “Dipshit!”

I finish my drink, then place it down on the table. “I plan on becoming a hermit after this. No more boys. Ever. I don’t care how charming they are with their dimples and broad shoulders.”

“You say that now,” Willow teases.

I smile, touching my fingers to my cheeks. My face feels strangely weird, almost numb.

“Does Dylan know you’re here?”

My sluggish head shakes.

“Good,” she replies.

When I lift my head off the couch, the room blurs, the walls distorting. “What’s happening?”

“Hmm?” Willow looks away from the TV.

I try to sit up, but my body is too heavy. “I feel weird.”

“Oh that,” she says, getting to her feet. I’m vaguely aware of her crouching in front of me and slapping my cheek. “I gave you a little something, is all.”

My brows pull down low, and when I try to speak, my tongue won’t obey. Willow lifts my arm and drops it. It falls on the armrest like a dead weight.

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