“Well… I’m sure she’s fine. She disappears for hours when she reads her books.” She pauses. “I’ll text her and let Keanu know if she responds to my messages.”
“No need. I’m going to head over to her place and make sure she’s okay.”
“Okay.”
I hand the phone back to Keanu. “Thank you.”
I dig my wallet from my pocket, throw a couple of hundred-dollar bills onto the table, slide on my Burberry coat, and head out the door.
Once I reach her condo, I punch the code into the pad. The door clicks open, and I step inside slowly, shutting it behind me.
All the lights are off. I jab the switch, and pale light fills the kitchen.
My heart slams into my chest as I spot Lilac passed out on the floor. Panic surges through me. I rush forward, tap her shoulders, and call her name, but she doesn’t budge. She’s soiled herself.
What is going on here?
I tap the side of her cheek. “Princess?”
She doesn’t move. I carry her into the bedroom and lay her on the bed, removing her shirt, pants, and undergarments. I walk into the bathroom, grab a washcloth, soap, and a bowl, and return to her room.
I’ve never seen her like this. Did she take drugs? Did she get drunk and pass out in her own vomit?
I squeeze soap onto the rag and gently stroke it over her delicate, smooth skin, cleaning the smell of vomit and urine. I grab a big T-shirt from her drawer and slide it over her body. I slide fresh panties on her and climb into bed, holding her close.
I hope no one has hurt her, and I hope she’s okay. I check her pulse—it’s normal.
She rolls onto her side and silently cries, pulling me close. I hold her trembling body in my arms.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” she mumbles. “So sorry.”
Tears drip silently down her cheeks as she continues to apologize. I stroke her hair, pressing her warm body to mine.
“I’m here, Lilac. Nothing is going to happen to you.”
Lilac
My body groans as I peel my eyes open. Dead weight, head pounding.
The posters bleed into the charcoal walls. My head spins, ears screech.
My vision sharpens. My bedroom—how? How did I get here?
I glance down. A shirt clings to my body. I don’t remember putting it on.
My chest clenches; air claws its way out of my lungs. A shiver rips down my spine, ice bleeding through the silky fabric.
I fix my gaze on the laptop perched on my desk. Familiar. Wrong.
There’s a gap. A missing piece. I reach for it—and hit nothing. Blank.
I press my feet into the carpet and push upright. My knees buckle. I clutch the chair before I fall and grit my teeth, holding on for dear life. Step by step, I stagger toward the kitchen.
I pull out a chair, sit at the breakfast nook, and stroke my temple.
What the hell happened?
Irvin removes sizzling bacon from the stove and cuts the burner off. He sets the spatula in the sink and leans against the counter, arms folded.
