“Sweetie, I know you said your father’s away, but I can’t quite remember when you said he’d be back. Was it this weekend?”
“Uh…no. Why?”
“If you could ask him to call me as soon as possible, I’d appreciate it. The number I have for him has been discontinued.”
“Is it more paperwork stuff?” I grip the phone so tight the plastic creaks in my hand. I know I wrote down the right social security number on that form. And I’ve forged my father’s handwriting enough times to know I got that right, too.
So what the hell do they want?
“It’s…a little more than that. Could I give you my direct line, sweetie?”
“Sure, sure,” I mumble, my eyes squeezing shut as Nora reads out her phone number.
I don’t write it down.
Because my dad isn’t phoning anyone.
I push my fingers through the collar around my throat, tightening it until I can’t breathe.
“Got it. I have to go.”
“Hang on, sweetie. I still need to speak to Professor Rooke,” Nora says, a laugh in her voice.
Because I’m such a silly, flighty little girl, aren’t I?
“Professor Rooke?” I’d laugh, if I had the energy.
No, sorry, he’s recovering from the bender we had last night. There were drugs involved, and briefly, a gun.
“Yeah, he’s, uh, not available right now. Can I take a message or something?”
“I’ve been trying to reach him on his cell for the past?—“
“He probably turned it off for the study group thing. He, uh...” I swallow, pull my fingers away from the collar, take a big breath. “He actually just went out for a sec to get supplies.” My brain scrambles frantically. “You know, like, highlighters and stuff. I’ll tell him to give you a call.”
“Oh. Okay. Thank you?—”
I slam the phone down, tears pricking at my eyes.
Fuck.
My legs shake as I hurry over to the sliding door leading into Bastian’s backyard.
Fuck!
The rain hits me like a sluice gate opening, but I stand there and tip my head back and I bear it.
My past was bound to catch up with me.
I knew it would happen.
But, fuck, I somehow convinced myself that everything would be okay.
Silly,sillyfucking girl.
A hand slides around my throat, and until I reach up to touch it, I’m not sure it’s even real.
The world feels odd.
