I don’t think poetry is the only thing I’m going to be skipping today. I’ve got History of Psych at eleven, but I doubt I’ll make it. Despite my bullshit on the weekends, I rarely ever miss class, so I make the decision I can just let it all go today.
But only today. Tomorrow, I’m putting it all behind me.
Maybe.
“I don’t know,” Cynthia says, her voice quiet. “But I’d prefer it if you stayed at the apartment today. Casper will be working, right? So you’ll be… safe.”
Usually, I’d give some smartass remark like,Okay, Daddy,but she’s right. If I’m not going to class, I don’t really want to be seen on campus at all, and I’ve not yet been brave enough to check what the media has been posting about Jackson’s death.
I can only hope me and the boys are kept out of it. If they’re as important as Cynthia says they are—and she’d know far more than I would—then they’re likely protected. Hopefully that protection, logistically, extends to me, too.
If not, Jackson’s friend will be messaging me, and I don’t want to talk to Will ever again. This looks too much likeall my fault.
As I think it, the sound of the truck’s engine last night in the parking lot plays in my head. I mentioned it to the cops, didn’t I? Who was it? Surely that will have to be on camera? And ifthatwas the killer, it can’t have been Sylvan or Faust, which means I wasn’t caught up between two murderers last night.
I take a deep breath, squeeze my fingers around the frosted glass of my latté, and nod once, as if I’ve made a decision.
“Okay,” I tell Cynthia, who is still watching me from her perch on the couch. “I’m going to stay in bed, wait until this blows over?—”
“Someonewas murderedat one of the biggest schools in the country, Neve. It’s not going toblow over.”
I narrow my eyes. “They’ll keep it quiet fortheirsake, and besides, you know what I mean. I’m going to take today to chill. You be careful out there and let me know if you talk to this pottery girl.”
“My first class. She always seemed like a bitch, but we can be worse.” She winks, and it makes me feel a little better. “I’ll come here right after, bring you lunch?—”
“You don’t need to?—”
“Stop trying to be polite.” Her voice is hard. “Let me help you, and we’ll go from there. Besides, you always need to eat more.”
I ignore the well-meaning jab and swallow the knot in my throat. “Thank you, Cyn.”
She gives me a sympathetic look, and I want to run around the coffee table and hug her, but I don’t want to start crying.It’s not something I do often, but once I start, it turns into an obnoxious wailing sound, and I don’t need to take any more of Cynthia’s emotional energy than I already have.
Without another word, I head to the kitchen, set my glass in the sink to rinse out later, then hole myself up in my bedroom, grateful Nolan’s money helped me decorate it to be a cozy, comfy, fantasy-laced daydream with a vampire’s edge.
A gauzy white canopy, red silk sheets, white pillowcases, a lamp shaped like a ribcage with a black shade. Long, sweeping vanilla curtains over my window, fuzzy rugs on the floor. Golden candlesticks with red and white candles, skull and staircase art in frames nailed to the wall (Nolan’s doing). A black-painted bookshelf with all of my fantasy novels lined up, gathering dust, and too many plush dragons to count. The attached, mostly-white bathroom has a black shower curtain, fuzzy black rug, and all of my towels are black. My closet doors are closed, and beaded black and white rosary tassels hang along them.
While last night I might have been living in my comfy basics, my wardrobe can look fucking lethal if I need it to.
But not now.
Not today.
Today, I leave the lights off, inhale the incense-scent of my perfume that constantly lingers inside my room, push out of my slippers, and dive into my bed, closing the canopy around me. I wiggle under my covers in my gray sweats and white tank, the robe-cloak still loose and warm over my body, and I snatch my phone off the charger and let the cord thump to the hardwood floor.
I take a breath before I unlock my phone, all of my notifications set toDND.Not because I’m extremely popular, but because I like to avoid too many responsibilities.
After the anticipation threatens to eat me alive, I unlock my phone.
I turned off the badges for notifications on my phone too, but a quick swipe down and I can see everything I missed.
I feel relief course through me when I don’t note any missed calls, but my scalp prickles as I realize that not only has my brother texted me three times, but a number I don’t have saved did, too.
Surely the police won’ttextme? They told me to watch for calls. But maybe they’re trying to connect with us college students better?
I ignore everything and open my email first. I rarely use it for anything now that I’m not coaching clients, so it’s a distraction, but I want it.
There are marketing emails from Free People, another from Coach Outlet, and then…
