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“No one else was in here with you?” Prism asked.
She shook her head. “I had this weird sense of déjà vu, so I hid. They assumed I left, so they turned the power back on. I waited,” she whimpered.
“You did good,” I praised, pulling her in for a hug. “So good.”
“No, I didn’t!” she exclaimed, pushing away from me, nearly tumbling right out of my lap. “They fooled me, and when I went for the elevator, they grabbed me from behind and shoved me into that washing machine and locked it!” She pointed at it like it was evil.
Bro, it fucking was.
“I thought I was going to die,” she confessed, fresh tears welling in her brown eyes.
I moved to pull her in, but she winced, reaching up toward her head. “I think I ripped my stitches.”
Even though my insides felt like a grenade about to blow, I made a soft noise. “Let me see, sweetheart.”
She leaned in, and I gently probed the area where her stitches were. She hissed in discomfort, and I pulled my fingers back, noting the bright-red stain against my skin.
Temper boiling, I burst up off the floor, agitation and adrenaline fueling me with enough power that I lifted her too. Cradling her bridal style, I looked at Prism. “Call the police. Now.”
Whoever did this had better pray the cops got to them first. Because if I did? Jail would look like a vacation.
22
Jess
Did you see who did this? No.
Did you recognize any voices? No.
How many people were there? Not sure.
Do you think this is related to your accident on the stairs? Do you remember anything from that night?
My interview with the cops was brief and pointless. The more questions they asked, the more answers I didn’t have. I was cold, banged up, and feeling utterly helpless. The more frustrated I grew, the harder I searched my mind, which seemed to make it even harder to think.
Ben interceded, and he and Matt acted like bodyguards as we moved through the crowd of nosy students so he could put me in the car and drive to the hospital.
I was really beginning to hate that place.
They fixed two ripped stitches and cut off my wet, damaged cast to replace it with a new one. I also had a nice shiner on my cheek and a few fresh bruises on my body to contrast the old yellowing ones from days ago.
By the time we finished with the police and the hospital, I was exhausted and disillusioned. I thought longingly of bed, but the idea of going back to my room filled me with anxiety. When we pulled up to a townhouse I definitely didn’t know—or maybe I did?—I perked up in the passenger seat.
“This isn’t my dorm.” I pointed out the obvious.
Ben snorted. “Like I’d take you there.”
Before I could ask anything else, he was out and jogging between the Audi and the blue Corvette parked in front of it.
“Is that Rush’s car?” I wondered.
“Yep,” Matt said from the dim backseat.
My head was throbbing, so I didn’t turn to look, just pointed toward the overfull driveway nearby. “And those Jeeps belong to the other Elite?”
The passenger door opened, cool night air rushing inside the car. The blue hoodie I’d been wearing earlier was traded out for a white one. And when I say traded, I mean literally. Ben was now back in the blue one, and it looked half-washed and damp. He’d literally taken the fresh one off his body and put it on mine without a word of complaint and put on the wet, wrinkly, used one.
“Where are we?” I asked, the question for either of the guys that would answer first.
