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How can he say it so easily?
Me: Fuck you.
I reinforce my answer with another swig from the bottle.
Archer: That’s not a very friendly farewell.
Me: I hate you!
Another swig.
No filter.
Here we go.
Me: You won’t ever meet anyone else who will see you the way I do. But you don’t need that person, right? Riiiiight, Mr. Chancellor. GET A BIMBO! Ssssso much easier.
Me: Maybe the one with pink hair. Someone who’ll obey your every word.
Me: Maybe I’ll get an invite to your wedding one day. Barbie and Ken.
Only when I’m done venting do I curse under my breath.
So classy, Kat.
And drunk. My head spins as scream, “Fuuuuck!” and throw the phone against the wall, then light a joint with trembling hands and sit, my eyes closed, waiting for a reply.
But it doesn’t come.
Because I break everything in my life, not just phones.
17
ARCHER
Whoever said,“Out of sight, out of mind,” obviously hasn’t met Kat. She’s a spike of serotonin with a dangerous crash afterward.
I deleted the videos from the villa cam and now regret it. So I pull up the picture of us from Cece’s party, and my treacherous heart gives out a sad howl at the thought of not seeing her again.
A text pops up on my screen.
Kat: You won’t ever meet anyone else who will see you the way I do. But you don’t need that person, right? Riiiiight, Mr. Chancellor. GET A BIMBO! Ssssso much easier.
Then another right away.
Kat: Maybe the one with pink hair. Someone who’ll obey your every word.
Kat: Maybe I’ll get an invite to your wedding one day. Barbie and Ken.
Whoa.
She’s angry. Drunk or high. That’s way more than she’d usually let out, and the texts prick me right down to my soul just like the words she spoke that fateful night.
I used to tell people what I wanted them to say about me. I used tomakethem. When they didn’t go along, I’d get angry.
That’s what happened the day after the Block Party and the rumors about Callie and Droga—I snapped. I lost my best friend, and it taught me that anger can be curbed and that it didn’t matter what others thought about me, only the ones I cared about. But my best friend didn’t care anymore. That was the problem. There wasn’t a single person, I realized, who cared about me. So I stopped caring about others too.
The four years between me being twenty and arrogant and being twenty-four and mentally fucked were the painful years of proving me wrong. The Change showed me how others folded seeing their loved ones dying. I had no one.
