I nod and wait until I hear the stable doors shut before sliding down to sit in the clay dirt and letting out a singular groan.
My gods, I hate this family.
Chapter14
I'm Calling Your Mother
IRIS
“Gods damnit, where is it?”
I whisper the words to myself as I continue to tear apart the sofa, running my hands through the cracks.
This is the last place it could be. I’ve already destroyed my room and half the house. I even checked my usual spot at the library this morning. I’ve actually already checked the couch twice. But at this point, I’m desperate.
I reach in between the seats, and when I find nothing, I rip the cushions off completely. But all I scrounge up is some lint, a few more pieces of braiding hair, and a lip gloss Kitty has been looking for.
“Ugh!”
I chuck the lip gloss across the room and collapse on the cushionless couch.
I can’t find my copy of Manhurst anywhere, and after last night, I need it.
The ending always makes me feel better.
I grab my phone, prepared to ask Elliot to sniff around Crescent House, but my fingers hover over his name before navigating to Kitty’s instead.
Her nose is better anyway, or at least, that’s what I tell myself as I hit send.
I’m still slumped forward on the couch, phone in hand, muttering to myself, when the front door swings open.
“Hey,” Elsie mutters, as if I’ve seen her just yesterday.
I blink to be sure I’m not hallucinating, then nearly jump out of my seat when I realize she’s actually here.
“Um. Hi!” I say.
She pauses, frowning at me, eyes scanning the tattered state of our living room, and asks, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing. I can’t find my copy of Manhurst,” I say. “I think I’m going through withdrawals.”
“Hmm,” she hums knowingly before making a beeline for the fridge and snatching it open.
Though she quickly realizes it’s practically barren, and swiftly shuts it.
“You hungry?” I ask. “We could go grab?—”
“Can’t,” she interjects, diverting her course for her bedroom. “I’m just here to change really quick.”
“Change?”
I follow her, propping myself up in her doorway to watch as she digs through the pile of clothes on the floor.
It’s unusually messy in here, like her closet blew up. Stray shoes and blouses are strewn about so haphazardly that I can’t even see the floor. It’s unlike her to leave a mess for longer than five minutes, let alone three weeks. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve heard any music seeping out from her door recently.
As I watch her rushing around the room, making more mess for herself, I realize Elsie’s missing in more ways than one.
“Where have you been?” I ask.
