An hour later, Justine greets me at the front of her dorm. She has a thermos in her hand and a welcoming smile. Although almost every inch of her skin is covered with a long-sleeve shirt, a scarf, and a pair of body-hugging leggings, her grin alone gains her the attention of numerous sophomores around her. She has dozens of scars, but her beauty is so skin deep, I doubt the number of admiring glances she’s getting would dwindle if she were wearing a skimpy dress more appropriate for this time of the year.
I can’t say the same thing about me.
I feel horrid, so I can only imagine how horrendous I look.
After accepting the thermos from Justine, I nudge my head to her dorm. “Would you mind if I use the bathroom? I’ve been driving for hours.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. I should have offered. Come in.” She pulls open the double glass door before waving her hand toward the front door of her first-floor apartment. “The bathroom is the second door on the left once you pass the kitchen.”
When she attempts to follow me inside, fragments of my conversation with Officer Packwood filter through my head. “Could you please keep an eye on Max for me? He’s latched in with his doggy belt, but I doubt it will keep him contained if someone walks by with a greasy bag of takeout.” I inwardly curse myself for my stupidity when panic crosses Justine’s features. “He’s harmless. I just...”
Having no excuse for my stupidity, I smile through a grimace before entering her apartment. It’s nice and cozy, but it exposes the Walshs are still penny-pinching for Maddox’s sake.
A reason for my topsy turvy moods is unearthed when I lower my panties over the toilet bowl. A byproduct of Maddox’s climax isn’t the only thing slicking the cotton material. Blood is evident as well. I’ve been waiting for my period to arrive for the past three weeks. I knew I wasn’t pregnant—you need to be sexually active for there to be a chance of conception—so I brushed its disappearance off as a stressful couple of weeks.
Embarrassed I’ve been caught out for the third time today, I stuff a wad of toilet paper into my panties before moving toward the vanity sink. When my rummage through the medicine cabinet about the cracked sink fails to come up with the goods I’m seeking, I bob down to the cabinets below the sink.
“Come on, you’ve got to be here somewhere,” I murmur to myself when my hunt for womanly products comes up empty-handed.
When I stand back onto my feet, not only do cramps manifest but so do the products I was seeking. They’re stacked on the dresser in Justine’s room like she took advantage of her trip to the store to restock on more than ingredients for chicken noodle soup.
Excluding Sloane, I never had a female influence growing up. Since Sloane was from a well-to-do family, we never openly discussed dithering cycles, bloating, cramping, or any of those other horrible side effects of being a woman.
I don’t see that changing today either, so instead of asking Justine if I can borrow a tampon, I check to see if the coast is clear before sneaking into her room. Her bathroom is a two-way design, meaning you can enter and exit via two different sides.
My brisk strides slacken when I spot a canister next to a pack of tampons. I try to ignore the pharmaceutical-labeled cylinder. I tell myself time and time again to borrow a tampon then leave with some dignity left intact, but before the first suggestion can filter through my head, I snatch up the canister and drag my eyes across the label.
“Oxycodone,” I murmur to myself, my voice a cross of panic and excitement. The solution for the pain in my heart, stomach, and ankle is directly in front of me, but my name isn’t on the label, so would it be wrong of me to act as if they’re mine?
After a tense day, I say whatever the devil on my shoulder wants to hear. My ankle is throbbing, and the canister is full even with the prescription being filled over a month ago. I’m sure Justine wouldn’t mind if I borrowed a tablet or two. I’ll only borrow enough to tie me over until my appointment with Dr. Terry tomorrow, then I’ll follow his advice on pain management to the T. I swear.
My plan to only take enough tablets to get me through until tomorrow falls wayward when Justine calls my name. “Max is getting restless.” She sounds way too close for me to believe she’s still outside babysitting Max and way too scared. If the shadow under the door is any indication of her closeness, she’s seconds from walking in on me creeping around in her room.
Panicked, I stuff her prescription into the pocket in my dress before exiting via the door in front of me. In the haste of my bad decision, I enter the hallway via her bedroom instead of the bathroom.
“I couldn’t remember which door led to the hallway,” I blubber out nervously, feeling immensely guilty. Her canister of oxycodone is burning a hole in my pocket even worse than Dr. Terry’s card did, but since I’d have to admit I have a problem to return it to its rightful owner, I act as if I can’t feel its scalds.
Justine eyes me with suspicion before she hooks her thumb to the door she’s standing next to. “It’s that one.” She licks her parched lips before asking, “Did you go to the bathroom? I don’t recall hearing the toilet flush.”
“Yeah… I… ah… went.” I push past her before making a beeline for the door. “But I better get back on the road. It’s almost dark.”
“It’s not even four,” she murmurs while following me outside. When I snatch up the thermos I dumped on her entryway table, she seizes my wrist in a gentle hold. “Is everything okay, Demi? You look very upset.”
You have no idea how hard it is to talk when all you want to do is cry. I’m so ashamed of the person I’ve become, but that shame is also the reason I can’t tell her what’s really wrong. “I’m fine. I am just…tired.”
Justine doesn’t utter another syllable, I don’t give her a chance. I’m in the driver’s seat of Caidyn’s Jeep in under a second, then racing down the street two seconds after that.
The guilt associated with my brisk departure should have me waiting a couple of blocks before I pull her prescription out of my pocket, but unfortunately, I’m spiraling too quickly to realize how far down the rabbit warren I’ve fallen. I rip off the lid of her prescription and toss down a handful of the pills before I can make sense of anything.
They calm me in an instant, meaning I’m left blindsided when my arrival home has me stumbling onto an emergency Walsh brother meeting. They hold them here instead of their family home, so Justine and their mother are left in the dark about the sordid things the male half of their family have been doing the past twelve months.
“Sorry.”
My attempt to tiptoe to my room is thwarted when Caidyn says, “This meeting concerns you, Demi, so you may as well join us.”
My heart constricts when Maddox’s voice sounds out of Caidyn’s cell phone a nanosecond later, “Is she there?” Frustration is echoing in his tone, but he sounds worried as well.
“She’s here,” Landon answers on Caidyn’s behalf, his reply clipped and stern.
