A chill ripples down my spine at her words. At the ominous tone within them.
Another text appears, my phone vibrating when it arrives, making me jolt.
It hurts, seeing my family together and not including me. I don’t know what else to do to fix your problem with me. I said I was sorry. What more do you want?
Glancing up, I catch my reflection in the mirror, and slowly, I drop my arms at my sides, fascinated with what I see.
A normal-sized woman. Average really. Not gangly and sickly and awkward, like I used to be. Not pale and gaunt and barely able to stand. With clear lungs and a clear head and rosy cheeks. Silky blonde hair where it was once brittle. Clear blue eyes where they were once clouded and rimmed with red.
I lift my chin and take a step closer to the counter, bracing my hands on the edge of the marble. Once upon a time, I had been a timid little girl who was scared of her own shadow. Who pretended she was fine, when she was anything but.
A girl who listened to every word her mother said, and believed her. Who then turned on her family and friends because she didn’t know any better.
Who almost lost the man she loved, yet somehow, here I am, living with him. He takes care of me. Spencer loves me.
And I love him.
I was about to tell him that too, when she showed up and ruined everything.
Typical.
The phone buzzes again, and I check my messages to see it’s just the same one she sent before. I’m tempted to answer her. I even open my phone and go into the text thread, my fingers poised and ready to tap out a scathing response.
Instead, I carefully set the phone back on the counter and back away from it. The phone sounds again, the vibration sending it rumbling on the counter, and without thought, I run to it, scoop it up in my hands and go to the window. It cracks open in an instant, too easily really, and I’m tossing the phone out. Off the thirty-sixth floor. The whoosh of the phone being caught by the air before it plummets to the ground makes me take a step back before I rise on tiptoe and try to peak through the barely-opened window, but I can’t see anything.
It’s as if it’s been swallowed up by the sky. Gone.
Gone.
Then I remember I got a new phone, with a new number, and I wonder how she got a hold of me. Who gave her that number? Who?
I slam the window closed and flee the bathroom, in search of Spencer, who I find standing at the kitchen counter, a tumbler full of rich brown liquid clutched in his fingers as he’s about to bring it to his lips. He pauses when he sees me, and I’m sure I’m a sight. Clad in just the panties that are completely see-through and my eyes wild. I feel wild.
Feral.
“Who gave my phone number to my mother?”
He carefully sets the glass on the counter. “I don’t know.”
“I got a new phone before I went to Big Sur. I didn’t give that number to anyone but Roland.”
“You gave your number to people when you returned here, didn’t you?”
I nod, glancing about the kitchen, wishing I had a drink too. “What is that?” I flick my chin at the glass in front of him.
“Scotch.”
I make a face. “Gross.”
“It’s an acquired taste.”
“I need a beer. Or vodka. Maybe tequila.” I go to the refrigerator and open the freezer door, the blast of cold air making goosebumps dot my skin. “You don’t have any vodka? What kind of mobster are you?”
“Not the Russian kind, that’s for damn sure.” He shuts the door for me, angling his body between the fridge and me, his warmth seeping into my nakedness. “What are you doing?”
“I’m pissed.”
“I can see that.” His hot gaze rakes over me, making me shiver. “Did you turn off the water?”