I grab one of the coffee cups the guys brought over. They left four. I choose an oversized mug with a treble clef handle that curves into a musical staff wrapping the cup.
Meg’s mug has a matching bass clef.
I stare at the notes. The notes.
Something clicks.
“What do you think of Bass and Treble?” I ask.
Meg stares at me like I just asked if unicorns fart glitter.
“The dogs,” I clarify. “What if instead of the Drops, they’re the Notes?”
Her face lights up. “Oh, I love it. And Raindrop would be Treble for sure.”
I drop the pod into the machine and hit the button. My phone vibrates again, skittering toward the edge of the counter.
“Seriously. What the hell,” I mutter, grabbing it before it falls.
“I now have three hundred eighty nine emails.”
I open my inbox as Meg looks over my shoulder.
All notifications from hookup apps, porn sites, things I’ve never touched.
The messages keep coming.
Meg grabs her phone and searches my name. An image pops up.
I turn to the sink and retch.
Tears burn my eyes.
Someone has put my face on someone else’s body. It is obvious. The girl has double D’s where I have a B cup. The logic does not matter.
I’ve been violated all over again.
Chapter fifty-seven
Christianna
Meg guides me gently into the living room and presses my coffee mug into my hand. The new couches still smell faintly of leather and packing foam.
She must have let the dogs in. Bass presses against my side, solid and warm, while Treble wriggles until his bony little hips dig into mine. He nudges his head under my coffee cup, insistent.
I set the mug down and fold forward, burying my face in fur. I take the comfort where it’s offered.
Meg speaks quietly behind me. I don’t catch the words.
I focus on breathing. On staying here. On not spiraling.
I want to message my therapist. I also want nothing to do with my phone.
Chapter fifty-eight
Remy
My jaw drops open at the images on my screen and I don’t realize how tightly I was clutching my phone until the side of the case cuts into my hand.
