You could’ve died tonight.
At that thought, my mind slips back to the alley. To the men who attacked me, to their blood on the concrete and then, inevitably, tohim.
When Echo raised his gun at me, there was no confusion about what it meant. No pretending. No lies meant todistract me from the truth. He made it clear I was in danger and that he would pull the trigger if he wanted to.
Christian always hid his danger from me. He covered it up with soft words, pretty promises, and a smile that convinced you to ignore the warning signs until it was too late.
Echo didn’t hide anything from me. He was honest in the ugliest way, and I think a small part of me respects that. Even if he is a psychotic killer.
I’m not sure how much time passes as I sit there contemplating my mortality, but by the time a knock on the door pulls me out of my trance, the temperature of the water has plummeted and my fingers and toes have thoroughly pruned.
“Hey D,” Fallon calls out, her voice muffled through the door. “Can I come in? I really have to pee.”
I glance at the door, then at the blunt perched on the edge of the tub.Herblunt.
Shit.
“I’ll be right out.” I stammer, stubbing the blunt out in the ashtray and pulling myself out of the now freezing water.
My eyes dart to Echo’s jacket, still draped over the sink where I left it. If Fallon sees it, I know she’ll have questions.
I lunge for it, nearly slipping on the wet tile, and shove it under my pile of clothes before quickly wrapping a towel around myself and heading for the door.
“Sorry.” I say, shielding my face as I crack the door open. “I kind of lost track of time in there.”
“All good.” She says, shouldering past me, with herhoney blonde hair swinging behind her. “If it weren’t an emergency, I totally wouldn’t have cared.”
Fallon isn’t just my roommate. She’s my best friend and the person who dragged me out of my wreckage and refused to let me disappear when I lost my parents eleven years ago. She’s the closest thing I have to family now, and she will absolutely lose her shit if she finds out what I did tonight.
Fallon unbuttons her jeans, and I turn my back to her as I take a seat on the edge of the tub. I’m trying to act normal, but it’s hard to pretend like I’m not hyper-aware of the bruises I’m hiding from her, so I wipe the condensation off the faucet, just to give my hands something to do.
Fallon finishes her business and glides across the tile to wash her hands in the sink. After she’s done, she glances up and completely freezes when she catches my reflection in the mirror.
“D, what the fuck?” She asks, shutting off the faucet and whipping around to face me.
My eyes burn, but I fix my gaze back on the tub. “What?”
Fallon crosses the bathroom in two long strides, cups my chin, and angles my face toward the light. Her fingers are gentle, but her grip is firm, and I can tell she’s trying to hold in her anger.
“Jesus,” she breathes, studying my face. “What happened?”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically. “It looks worse than it feels.”
“Bullshit,” she replies flatly.
I try to pull back, but she doesn’t let me. Her eyes trackthe cuts along my cheekbone and the marks on my neck. The concern on her face hurts worse than the pain does.
“Who did this?” She asks, her voice suddenly sounding eerily calm. “Spill, Dahlia. Now.”
Fuck.
“I got mugged.” I lie.
Fallon’s brows knit together. “What?”
“It was stupid,” I add quickly. “I shouldn’t have fought back. I was outside alone in a shitty part of town and some guys tried to rob me.”
“You’re sure thats all?” She asks, her voice sounding softer now, almost wistful.
