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I pull up the most recent article my search engine returns to me and work my way back to when the girl was first reported missing. After I finish reading a few of the articles, I lean my head back and stare at the wall above my flat screen. I’ve felt lost for so long. Playing my part, I’d watched Lilly get hurt from my actions over and over, but nothing compared to the shock and betrayal that played across her face when I came clean today.
It’ll be a miracle if she talks to me at all.
I’m so deep in thought that the knock on my door startles me. There is only one other person in the house this weekend, and my stomach is immediately in knots.
Sitting up straight, I call out, "Come in."
Lilly peeks into my room,and her eyes zero in on me. She seems reluctant to come in, and I can’t read her at all. Her face is completely blank. I’ve always prided myself on being able to read her, no matter what. This is not good.
She hesitantly smiles, and some of the knots in my stomach loosen.
"Hi."
Try to lookcasualand not like the guy who basically just took her life and threw everything she knew out the window. "Hey."
Seeing her in her PJs, my mind instantly wanders. Even in sweats, she looks breathtaking. I’ve missed her so much. Out of self-preservation, I didn’t allow myself to linger in the same room with her—unless necessary. I didn’t trust myself to keep up my charade. This was also the reason she and everyone else started to think I disliked her—hated her. And I never corrected them. I always made sure to be cool and curt, although I wanted the exact opposite. And because of all that, Mom and Dad let me do whatever I wanted. I’ve had theultimatefreedom since I was sixteen. Only so the fucking secret could be maintained. Mom has never been happy with my constant absence, but she accepts it. She knows I’m hurting just as much—if not more.
I mentally shake my head; this is not the time to focus on that. My feelings are not important; I’ll deal with that another day. Lilly is here, and she needs a friend more than anything else.
When she still doesn’t come in, I attempt to make her more at ease. "How are you?"
"Um, not sure." She thinks before continuing. "Relieved, betrayed, angry, scared, happy?"
The last one is more of a question.
"Happy?"
"For not being crazy," she clarifies quickly.
"I guess that’s a valid feeling." I try to sound reassuring. What other reason would she have to be happy? Not because her best friend who dumped her and treated her like shit has finally come clean so his own conscious is lighter.
Selfish prick.
Finally, Lilly steps into my room and sits down in the armchair, tugging her legs underneath. Facing me, she says, "Before getting to the reason I came, I want to ask you something."
Her tone worries me. She sounds like a recording, lacking emotion. "Uh, okay."
She takes a deep breath and levels me with a serious expression. "Are you going back to ignoring me tomorrow? Or Monday? Or—"
I fully straighten from the bed and interrupt her before she can even finish. "No! I’m done with the secrets." I put all the conviction I have behind my words. Unless she asks me to, I don’t give a flying fuck anymore. This secret has been suffocating me for too long. I’m done.
She gives a brief nod and expels a sigh. Her simple reaction to my reassurance releases the remaining tension in my core. She doesn’t hate me—or at least she’s still talking to me. I think?
When did I become such a fucking pussy?
"So, um...I would like your help in finding out what happened to me."
I can’t stop the grin that automatically spreads across my face. I turn my laptop for her to see the different case articles displayed on my screen.
Since everything is already spreadout in Lilly’s room, we go there, and she shows me her notes and research.
Holy crap, how much time has she put into this?
Something is off about her, though. She talks like herself, but not. I can’t put my finger on it. She is different. But who wouldn’t be in her situation, right?
We go over her migraines more, and I’ve just started reading her notes when her stomach informs us it is way past dinner time.
We both turn toward the alarm clock on her nightstand. With raised eyebrows, she states, "Well, that would explain why I am starving." It’s past nine, and neither of us has eaten since before noon.
