Where I am is a constant state of scared shitless while privately panicking and forcing myself to do shit like become a nepo baby for said movie about my life. All the while telling myself it’s as good as exposure therapy.
It wasn’t. Not by a long shot. And this is why Google doesn’t always help.
You can’t actually diagnose or treat yourself by taking a ten-question quiz you find on Reddit. Because if it did work, I wouldn’t be a formerly bold girl who currently feels like someone’s closing in on her.
The thought makes my feet hustle, all but running me toward the ladies’ room before I push through the door quickly, calling out my sister’s name.
“Goldie.”
But as I do, I’m immediately met with a scream that makes me jump and my soul almost leave my body.
“What the hell?” and “Oh my god. What is wrong with you?” are said at the same time between us as I lift my hands, scowling at her from the entrance of the bathroom, now a little out of breath from shock.
“Sorry,” we both say again at the same time, but I wave her off, trying to play it cool. “I have to pee. What are you doing?”
She tucks her hair behind her ears, clearly trying to do the same thing I am—act unaffected. But that’s the Monroe way—we fake it till we make it back to pretrauma us.
“I was ...” She falters, then shrugs. “Nothing.”
She averts her eyes as she heads toward the sinks, and I walk inside and go to the first stall.
But we’re too quiet, and that feels awkward, so I say, “Wait for me?”Because I’m too scared to be alone.“Mom’s trying to make a love connection with me and Chase again. I swear she’d force an arranged marriage just because he was stabbed in the leg.”
Goldie chuckles and turns to point at the stall I’m about to open. “That’s out of—”
Before she can finish, the door squeaks open, and I turn my head, my eyes locking onto a red wall staring back at me. Wait ... that’s not right. The tiles are white ... but why is it ...
Blood. It’s everywhere.
Every moment I’ve prayed to forget floods back, seizing all my senses. I’m paralyzed. Frozen. My entire body trembles as I process what I’m seeing.
A human heart, staked to the wall, two words smeared above.
She’s mine.
It’s happening again.
I distinctly hear someone screaming before I realize it’s me. That’s when my knees buckle, and I faint right into Goldie’s arms.
Chapter Two
Evie
One of LA’s finest, who looks a lot like an older, balder version of Channing Tatum in21 Jump Street, holds up a red-smeared evidence bag with the mangled heart inside it.
“Who wants this?”
I shoot my hand into the air, irritation all over my face. “Me. I do.”
Noah, Goldie, Chase, and I have been waiting around in the lobby of the theater since the cops arrived. And since we discovered that the heart was fake, just like the blood.
It was still way too close for comfort.
Doppelgänger Jenko hands me the bag with a smile on his face. “I’ve never given a girl her own heart before, only mine.”
Eww.I scowl, curling my fingers around the bag.
Chase huffs an unamused laugh, stepping in front of me and the cop, forcing me back another step unless I want to eat the shirt he’s wearing.
