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Ten minutes later, Phoebe enters the room again, this time dressed in a pair of jeans and a Rams hoodie. My favorite team. Maybe this bitch isn’t so bad, after all.
“You ready?” Phoebe asks, grabbing the keys off the entry table.
I take a moment to watch Phoebe’s mom with Katerina. She’ll be okay, right? I mean, it’s just a couple of hours. Why the hell is this bothering me so much?
It’s almost like I’m going to miss her.
“Let’s go,” I tell Phoebe, following her out the door until we’re standing in front of a beaten old red Toyota.
“What the hell is this?”
“My car. And please, Susan doesn’t like to be looked at that way.”
“Susan? You named this piece of shit, Susan?”
“Oh, sorry, Wesley Rich,” Phoebe mocks with a pout. “We can’t all drive Porches like you. Get the fuck in and let’s go find my best friend.”
“Fine, but if I die, it’s all your fault.”
She rubs her hands together, purposely lifting her brows, pleased. “Yes, because dying inside Susan would be fun. For fuck’s sake, grow a dick and get in the car.”
This bitch will be the death of me.
But I no longer care.
I’m one step away from finding Milana.
And that’s all that matters.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Milana
The lake is beautiful.
Dark, eerily peaceful with the moon’s reflection adding to its beauty. I envy it. The serenity, the way it’s so peaceful at night but during the day—it’s something else. It makes people happy and brings joy to many.
No matter what, it’s beautiful inside and out. Nothing at all like me.
There’s this constant heaviness weighing me down. I’ve been sitting on this rock for hours on end, staring, contemplating, and trying to extract any emotion to give me back my sanity. Whatever this is it has a hold on me, it’s in my bones and blood. It is everywhere I look and everywhere I am.
And the irony, my memory never falters. Taunting me each waking moment and reliving this nightmare that has constantly become my primary focus.
“For the love of God, pass me your jumbo Tampax? My nose is bleeding again.”
Phoebe lays on the floor of my room, head tilted back to stop her nosebleed. She used to get them often as a kid. Her method as she grew older was to shove a tampon inside the nostril.
I can barely move my limbs from this godforsaken virus I picked up on the plane. Managing to lay on my side, I knock down the pile of tissues that I had thrown onto my nightstand and pull the drawer open. My vision is blurry from the constant sneezing and using my hands to fumble through mess, I find nothing.
Periods, periods, when was my last
period? I normally had a spare box or two inside my drawer.
I can’t seem to focus. Phoebe’s cackling about something else, but my mind will not stop questioning. When the fuck did I last get my period?
October.
September.
