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And now he’s given me no choice but to confront them. Confront this.
Reality.
Because if it’s not this one, where Izzy’s gone…dead…
It’s the one where it’s Jeremy, who I’ve lost instead—Jeremy, who’s been missing; Jeremy who’s dead. And I?—
I can’t.
I can’t.
I—
Izzyizzyizzy, I chant inwardly, desperately, as I slam a hand over my mouth, muffling a sob—a shout—I don’t even fucking know.
She’s dead. She’s dead.
And just like that, every steel door in my head is blown to shreds.
No warning.
No time to prepare.
Every line of defense between me and the monster with my face I’ve tried so hard to appease…
It’s all just…
Gone.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
I spend most of Sunday bowing down to the porcelain gods, simultaneously cussing out Ivy’s name and vowing never to drink again.
The night before is a blur.
Last thing I remember is watching the bar empty out, as the world spun into nothing, and my face and gut hurting from laughing so much.
What I was laughing at…
Well, that I don’t remember.
Next thing I knew, the ground was disappearing out from under me, and I found myself on a soft cloud.
Couch.
That’s where I woke up at least.
It was my first time ever being in the guys’ apartment, so at first I had no idea where I was, whose living room I’d crashed in. I’d wondered if maybe I somehow ended up at Will’s place, or hell, went home with a stranger. Wouldn’t be the first time I found myself at some random dude’s apartment after a heavy night of drinking, though usually it’s not alone on a couch, fully dressed, with my shoes on to boot.
I also don’t black out that often. Defeats the whole no sleepover rule I’ve got going on.
But this is Shiloh. A single, squinted glance out the window behind the couch reminded me as much—where I was, who I was hanging out with the night before, what I was drinking…
Annndddd that’s when I ran to the bathroom and the purging begun.
Fortunately, it was early enough that no one else seemed to be awake, and as soon as I felt some semblance of relief and control over my body, I booked it the fuck out of there.
Why it felt imperative I got the hell out, I have no idea. I’d spared one last glance at the rumpled throw blanket and pillow on the couch, and a wave of anxiety had flooded me.
