Page 31 of The Tangle of Awful

Why does Spencer still have a picture of us?

Why was he just looking at it?

I mean, I suppose he could have been looking at whatever else was in that box, but something tells me he wasn’t. Maybe the thing he’s hiding has nothing to do with Mom and everything to do with me.

My heart aches at the thought of him being the same Spencer I fell for years ago. The boy who cared about me and made me laugh. Somehow, that’s worse than all this hatred he has toward me.

It means I did do something, though probably not intentional, to hurt him.

Now if only I could figure out what.

Spencer

Someone’s been in my room.

Not our housekeeper who’s well versed on how I keep my things. No, someone else. Someone who left her lingering honeyed scent that permeates the air.

Why was Aubrey in here?

I open my drawer for some boxers and note that the usual perfect lines seem to have been hastily straightened. She was looking in my drawer and tried to cover her tracks. Obviously, she doesn’t know me as well as she thinks she does. The fact she’s been in here is glaringly obvious. After throwing on a pair of black boxers and tidying the drawer to its usual look, I turn to inspect the rest of my room.

Nightstand drawer imperceptibly left unclosed.

Duvet slightly lifted on one corner of my bed.

Lamp askew, turned in a minor but maddening way.

Anger surges up inside of me. Knowing she was rummaging through my things has my hackles rising. I wonder if she found whatever it was she was looking for.

I make my way into my closet and pull on a pair of jeans. I’m reaching for a shirt hanging when I notice the lid of my box ajar.

There’s no way she could reach that box.

Unless she climbed.

My gaze skims over to my shoe shelves, and sure enough, several pairs have been pushed aside as though she had to make room for her foot.

Unbelievable.

I storm out of my room on one mission. Find Aubrey. And I do find the sneaky weasel in her room, putting away mountains of clothes from shopping bags.

Total fucking gold digger.

She’s manipulating Dad into giving her a place to stay and buying her all kinds of shit. Then, she has the audacity to go through my things. Who the hell does this girl think she is?

“What are you doing?” I hiss out, voice icy and sharp.

Aubrey gives a lazy shrug, back still turned to me. “Putting away clothes.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I growl. “I’m talking about your snooping in my room.”

“I have better uses of my time than to look through your serial killer bedroom,” she sasses, unperturbed by my tone.

“Everything was ransacked.”

She whirls on her feet, tossing a skirt onto the bed. Her brows furl as she studies me. I’m impressed at her ability to keep her eyes on mine instead of my naked chest.

“Ransacked? Seriously?”

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