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Chapter 17
Inamed the cat My Only Friend, or Mof for short. I was pleased to find, after an intense scrub down, that Mof had fur as black as night, like molten obsidian stones. I know some people believe that black cats were a sign of bad luck, but come on. Have you ever seen one before?
They’re freaking adorable.
Shaking out his wet fur, Mof made himself comfortable on the edge of my bed. I never had a pet before, and I didn’t know the first thing to do with him. Should I search for his owner? Buy him a collar?
Feed him?
Yes, I should definitely feed him.
Reaching into my duffle bag, I grabbed my phone and charger. I hadn’t looked at the damn thing in days, not since I received the text message from Dad instructing me to go to the lobby. I really sucked at owning a phone.
“Don’t worry, handsome man,” I said to Mof, scratching behind his ears. “I’m going to look up what I can and can’t feed you until I’m able to get to the store and buy you kitty food. Does that sound good?”
Yes, I was talking to the cat. Yes, I knew it was pathetic. And yes, I most definitely did not care. As the name implied, Mof was my only friend.
I awkwardly leaned over the bed, as I didn’t want to grab my wheelchair, to plug in my phone. I was pretty proud of myself when I didn’t face-plant onto the ground.
“I think that we’re going to be good friends,” I told the cat seriously. “I don’t really have a lot of them. I thought I had some, but it seems I was mistaken. But you and me? We’re going to be inseparable. You heard me right. Just you and me...”
I trailed off as Mof hopped off the bed and ran into the bathroom. Apparently even the cat got tired of me.
Dejection settled over me like a heavy cloak.
Why did I have to feel this way? Where was the light at the end of the tunnel?
The ping of my phone interrupted my admittedly depressing thoughts.
I frowned at the intrusion. Who would be calling me?
That sound was immediately followed up by dozens upon dozens of more beeps. Text messages, apparently, and a lot of them at that.
My frown deepened as I listened to my phone go off. I knew for a fact that it wasn’t my parents; they gave less shits about me than I did. Nobody else even had my number that I was aware of, except for maybe their head of security. But why would the dick call or message me?
Nearly tumbling off the bed yet again, I picked up my phone from where it lay charging on the ground. The phone cord did not quite reach my bed, so I was forced to lean over the edge, balancing precariously on my side.
Unknown: Addie, please respond.
I didn’t recognize the number, but there were at least fifty from it. Mixed in were several other numbers, though I didn’t recognize any of those either. Frowning, I scrolled through the onslaught of text messages.
Unknown 1: Calax gave me your number. Please text back.
Unknown 2: this is rider. R u okay?
Unknown 3: Princess, please message back. We’re losing our shit over here.
The messages went on and on, each one more desperate than the last. I scrolled to the end of the chain, to the most recent messages and felt tears threaten to break free. The time stamp on the first I opened said it had been sent only five minutes ago.
Unknown 1: I don’t know if you’re getting these. I don’t think so. I’m so sorry. Calax lost his damn mind, and Declan’s turned into a scary mofo. I don’t know if you’re getting these and not able to respond, or if something else happened. I refuse to believe that something worse happened, so please respond. Please.
And the last text, dated only two minutes earlier.
Unknown: I love you, baby. I’m sorry.
A sob escaped me, and then I was crying, nearly hysterical. I’m ashamed to admit that I wailed like a toddler as I read through the texts. Again. And again.
They cared. They honestly cared. And Calax - I knew it was Calax without a shred of doubt - loved me. My emotions were everywhere. I had always wanted somebody to love me, to care for me.
