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“What the fuck?” I mutter to myself as Ranger whines beside me.
The first thought that comes to mind is this must be some kind of fucked-up kink he has. But there’s no way Bianca would ever let him use these on her. So if not her, then who? Bethany is a real possibility, given what I saw tonight. But maybe that’s just what I want to believe.
I put everything back the way it was and close the drawers and take Ranger to the guest room. It’s already been an hour since I left TCA, so I’m sure Adam will be home soon. But as I go through the motions of brushing my teeth and washing my face, I can’t stop thinking about Bianca. So many things aren’t adding up with her. Those bizarre selfies she sends to Adam. The burner phone she used to contact me. And now the weird shit in Adam’s bedroom. I can’t help but wonder what kind of fucked-up relationship they have, and why she’s holding on to it. Is it about the money? Or does she like the way he treats her? Is this their thing?
As I sit down on the bed, I find myself reaching for my phone. The notifications of her messages are still on the screen, taunting me. All one hundred and five of them. Without opening them, I can see only part of the last message she sent me.
Every time I tell myself it’s going to be the last…
I close my eyes and drag in a breath, and Ranger nudges my arm, sensing the discomfort in my body. I pet him, but it doesn’t reassure him or change anything for me, either. I know what she means without having to read the rest. Because every time I let myself indulge in this weakness for her, I tell myself it will be the last time, too. But I’m like a goddamn addict when it comes to her, and I’m lying to myself if I think I can stop. All I really know how to do is relapse, and I think when it comes to Bianca, I always will.
My thumb hovers over the messages, torn between two paths. I entertain the idea that I could block her. That I could actually just forget her and move the fuck on. But Ranger barks at me as if to say that was never an option. We both know it’s not.
Instead, I click on the messages and sit there stone-faced as I read through them.
Every time I tell myself it’s going to be the last time, I know it’s a lie. You want me to let you go, but I can’t. I’m selfish, and I miss you, and I don’t know how to do this without you. I’m sorry.
If I could just know that you’re okay, maybe I could sleep.
There’s a full moon tonight. Do you see it too?
I’m still wearing one of your tee shirts. I took it, and I’m not sorry. But it doesn’t smell like you anymore, and that makes me sad.
Why does fate have to be so cruel?
I wonder if you feel as lonely as I do in a room full of people.
It’s a special kind of torment, wanting someone to be happy but knowing it can’t be with you.
A Song for Peaches will forever be my favorite.
I keep reading until the three dots appear at the bottom of the screen, and another message comes through.
You opened them.
I don’t have time to think about a response. My phone rings, and I almost drop it when I see Bianca’s video calling me. I’m paralyzed by indecision, torn between answering and throwing it across the room. After the noise grates at me, the first option wins out.
Her face fills the screen, and she releases a shaky breath as her eyes move over me. She looks like she’s already on the verge of tears when she says my name.
“Madden?”
I don’t know what to say to her, so I settle for hello.
“You’re okay,” she whispers.
“I’m okay.”
There’s a long pause, and I use it to look at her. She’s in a bedroom I don’t recognize, propped against a headboard, and she’s wearing my tee shirt. I would smile if I knew I was still capable of it, but I can’t. Because the longer I study her, the more concerned I become.
“Why are you so thin, Bianca?” I ask her. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” She looks away in shame. “It’s just been a stressful time with school and the way we left things, and…” She leaves the rest unsaid.
“You need to take care of yourself,” I chastise her. “This is hard enough without seeing you like this.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Don’t be sorry. Just take care of yourself, please.”
“Okay,” she answers softly. “Are you doing alright?”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
