Page 128 of Under the Influence

“Yeah, it’s been over for a while, Madden.”

Typically, my jealousy doesn’t rear its nasty head that often, but it’s like venturing into the unknown with Avery. Not to mention, it’s out of my comfort zone. What would she even want with a guy like me?

We pull back into her house and she leads me up the stairs to her room. A part of this house I’ve never seen. Her space.

There is more to Avery Sinclair than what you see when you search for her on Instagram. I notice an acoustic guitar in the corner and absolutely nothing is pink like I would’ve thought. I was envisioning Barbie’s bedroom but this is different, it feels more personal. Her luggage is still packed and stacked in the middle of the floor.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, plopping down on her green comforter.

“Nothing,” I smile. “Just didn’t picture this being your room.”

“Well, it’s the only place Lindsay hasn’t tainted with her version of perfect.”

“You can play?” I question, motioning to the guitar in the corner.

“A little,” her smile softens. “My mom taught me.”

My chest hurts, her mom taught her, and she’s gone.

“Why don’t you show that on Instagram? All this stuff is way more interesting than makeup.”

She rolls her eyes, “Everything that is posted is scheduled and meticulously planned.”

“But what if it wasn’t.”

She stands up, “Come here.”

We walk into the hallway and across the hall. She opens the door to a pink and gold staged bedroom. An expensive-looking chandelier, a vanity, ring lights everywhere.

“What is this?”

“My room. Well, my other room, where I’m allowed to go live on socials. If I film a TikTok, it’s in here. A YouTube video? In here.”

“Why? Why lie like this?” I ask.

“It’s what people want to see. It’s what they expect.”

It’s like putting a filter on her entire life, not just a picture. I notice the sliding glass door is boarded up, and right at the time I start to ask about it, she cuts me off, “They haven’t sent anyone to fix that yet.”

That broken door is a pretty good visual of what this room represents. Is that why she smashed it?

She closes the door back and we walk back over to where she feels more like herself. “Carson knew about that room? Did he know about Lindsay?”

“That’s the only room Carson ever saw, and yes, he hates Lindsay.”

“Carson’s never been in here?”

“No. No one knows about this room, really. Nobody is ever here to care. I just can’t sit in that other room and not want to break everything in there.”

Call me a selfish asshole, but it kind of makes me happy that Carson’s never been in the bed I’m sitting on. And why would she choose to show this room to me?

I must zone completely out because I startle when I hear her voice, “Madden?”

“Yeah.”

“What is it?”

Her fingers graze along the tattoos on my forearm.