I project my voice, and the loudness of it startles her.
“Why are you so desperate? I don’t want you anywherenearme.”
She flinches.
I spin on my heel and leave her there. To my satisfaction, I caught more than a few people’s attention. Some even have theirphones out. I hide my smirk behind a stoic expression and push through the crowd.
Tyler catches my eye, but I shake my head and keep moving.
Best not to witness Scarlett’s crocodile tears and her attempts to get out ofthisone.
I get home in record time. My carefully curated buzz has worn off, along with the remnants of the painkiller I popped this afternoon. Scarlett is most likely still at the party, battling embarrassment. She seems like the type to try to put on a brave face. She’ll ignore the stares because of pride.
Which puts time on my side.
Once inside, I type in the code on the security panel on the wall in the entryway. It’ll reactivate in a minute, and the screen flashes red twice before going back to its normal blue to confirm.
I grab a glass of water and carry it upstairs then pause in the hallway.
My gaze goes to Scarlett’s closed door.
I shouldn’t…
But I could.
Andfuckthat I shouldn’t. She did it to me first.
Jesus, I sound like a child with that attitude. But if I go back to my mission of blackmailing her into doing my schoolwork, I’d probably have better luck finding something in her room.
Well, it’s decided.
I slip into her room and flick on the light. I’m sure I’ll get a little warning with her fumbling on the keypad downstairs, at any rate—if she decides to come home.
But also, her finding me snooping would only even the score, right?
Her room is not what I expected. It’s not neat–not like how I keep mine–but it’s not messy, either. There are clothes draped over a chair in the corner, and the comforter on the bed is lumpy and half-heartedly covering the bed.
I take it all in and focus on the closet. Everything in it is organized–boxes along the top and some tucked away, clothes on hangers. Normal shit. I give the boxes some attention, but there isn’t much of note. Old notebooks and textbooks, presumably from her fancy Ivy League, photos of her posing with strangers.
I flip through a stack of pictures. The girl in these is drastically different to the one who’s been living in this house.Thisone is more like the version of Scarlett I witnessed at the wedding. Even though her glare cut during the ceremony, she was quick to smile and laugh with her family. She danced.
Call me crazy, but I cannot picture the Scarlett I know now todance. And she probably hasn’t had any reason to smile lately.
Anyway.
I drop them back in and pick up a calculus textbook, just out of curiosity. I couldn’t give a shit about differential equations, but does she write in her textbooks?
Perhaps not.
I leaf through it, and suddenly, a folded paper slips free.
It falls and glides away. I grab it and unfold it then freeze. I have to reread it three times to understand the paper prescription, then I give up and search the long medication name on my phone.
Emergency contraceptive.
Oh, shit.
I let out a low whistle.
