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“Callum?” This time it’s Richard. The person he was pointing at. His brother. I look over my shoulder, wiping my mouth of any puke.
Richard reaches for me, concern flickering briefly in his eyes. And for some sick reason, that makes my heart flutter.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” Lincoln snarls, walking over to me. I hold up my hand, stopping him.
“Callum, you don’t look so well. Do you want me to get you a ride home?” Richard asks, eyes going from me to Lincoln.
I’ve been fucking my uncle.
My stomach lurches again and I cover my mouth, but it’s no use as I empty the rest of my dinner.
“She’s not going anywhere with you. I’ll take her,” Lincoln snarls.
“No, thank you, Mr. Boyd.” His eyes narrow and I quickly look away. My stomach can’t handle seeing him right now.
“I can have my driver take you home right now,” Richard speaks gently.
“That’s all right, I’ll have my date take me home,”I assure him.
I begin to walk away, when Lincoln grabs my hand. I shake him off me as if his touch is liquid fire. It might as well be. “Please do not touch me, Mr. Boyd. It’s highly inappropriate.”
“Yes, Lincoln, what are you doing out here with your student?” Richard narrows his eyes at him.
“None of your goddamn business. Miss Madison, we are not finished,” Lincoln demands.
I shake my head. “Yes, Mr. Boyd, I believe we are. Excuse me.”
My uncle.I can’t think, can’t feel. My life is quickly downward spiraling into epic proportions, and I can’t stop it.
* * *
When I arrive home,my room is empty. A single white envelope lays where my bed once was. I pick it up, ripping it open. An address is scribbled on a card with a message.
The address of your new home. All your things are already there.
Callum, I’m sorry.
-Richard
I let the card slip to the ground. And then, I scream. Letting the toxins rip from my soul as I crumble to the floor of my room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Journal entry: I understand why Miley Cyrus lost it after falling in love.
I stareat the yellow plaid bow that rests on the vanity. For some reason, I couldn’t demand my fingers to grab it and put it in my hair. They somehow feel dirty now. Sighing, I release the band from my hair, letting the curls spill down my back. I look at the broken image of myself in the mirror. The lack of bow makes me sad. Makes me look dull. Like a pretty porcelain doll with a crack on its face.
I grab the nude lipstick, swiping it over my lips, hoping it helps me blend into the crowd instead of standing out. My phone buzzes, the pile of unopened messages a constant reminder of what I did.WhoI did.
Lincoln: Are you okay?
Lincoln: Was it the food?
Lincoln: What the hell is going on? Why are you ignoring me?
Lincoln: You want to be punished? Is that it?
Lincoln: You’re going to have to answer me. I don’t particularly enjoy being worried.
