She shrugs, maddeningly relaxed. “I remembered they hid a spare key under one of the garden rocks. It’s a typical hiding place, if you ask me. They might as well have a sign out front saying, ‘Welcome in, our home is yours,’” she continues, oblivious to my annoyance. Then she notices my very irritated expression. “You look like you’re plotting murder.”
As much as I want to chew her out for making me climb up here and break in to steal her book back, I shove my phone back into my pocket. “Wait, did you lock the door?”
Quin tightens her grip on the book, and I don't miss the flicker of horror that passes over her face—the realisation that she didn't actually lock the door.
“Are you serious?” I hiss, watching her dig the key out of her pocket.
“I’ll go lock it now; calm your tits.”
Before she can even make a move, the door downstairs is heard, followed by voices drifting up the stairs.
We just gawk at each other.
She quickly closes the door.
That's it. We are definitely going to jail, where some crazy person will try to stab me with a plastic spoon.
“You can panic now.”
Thanks for the permission.
I grab her hand and sprint for the window, but the rain is hammering down, soaking the roof and turning it into a death trap. One slip and we will most likely break multiple bones.
Not ideal.
Giggling drifts up from outside the room, and there's more than one voice. They are too close now.
Quinn mutters something under her breath, then yanks us low and pushes us under the massive bed. We shove ourselves toward the centre, pressing together as the bedroom door opens.
“Are you sure nobody is home?”
Two pairs of feet come inside the room, very close together.
“Positive, my mum must have forgotten to lock the door.”
Or your ex-girlfriend was upset that you took her book, and then the said ex made her best friend break into your room, even though the key to the house had been under the rock all this time.
They giggle again.
“Okay slut, get on the bed and spread those legs for me.”
“Yes, mummy.”
No. No. No. No.
Quinn's face turns to look at me, eyes wide. She mimes gagging, fingers shoved dramatically into her mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
The mattress dips hard above us.
Moans spill into the room, soft at first, then louder, mixed with the slick sounds of mouths colliding. The bed rocks, the frame groaning in protest, and I squeeze my eyes shut, every muscle in my body locking tight.
This cannot be real.
This cannot be my life.
Yet here I am, underneath Quinn's ex-girlfriend's bed, being forced to listen to her have sex and call each other slut and mummy.
I’m going to have to burn my ears after this and kill Quinn for getting me into this situation.
