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I hate the kitchen the most. It’s too fucking empty.
I try to fill it with music, but it doesn’t work, so I stop going in there. Food turns up, all my favorite dishes, and there are no names, but only one set of people could get it to my door without anyone seeing. Flowers sometimes accompany the meals as well as little love notes I can’t bear to read. I swim, I try to write, I clean, and I pace. I don’t think I would even be looking after myself if it wasn’t for Raff Jr. I have to cook and play with him and that brings me a little joy in the darkness. When I can’t stand being in the house anymore, I call the new guards I’ve been assigned. They’ve clearly been given strict rules and don’t enter the house unless necessary. They also don’t speak or even look at me as they escort me to the car.
“Where to, Miss Harrow?” I startle at his voice. It’s wrong, strict, and cold. It’s not purring and familiar.
Clearing my throat and my obsessive thoughts, I force a smile. “To the studio please.” The album is ready to drop any time, but maybe working will help keep my mind off them.
He doesn’t respond, and I sink back in my seat, pulling my shades over my eyes. The cameras beat at the car, and I have flashbacks of similar nights, of the guys laughing as they touched me where the cameras couldn’t see, and I have the insane urge to run away from all the reminders, prying eyes, and pain.
My phone vibrates, and to distract myself, I scroll through the notifications.
One catches my attention.
Unknown: See you soon.
I delete it and instead focus on the texts.
Beck: ARE YOU ALIVE?
Beck: DO I NEED TO COME AND SAVE YOU?
Beck: KOLTON JUST WALKED IN ON ME GOOGLING HOW TO KILL SOMEONE.
Beck: WAKE UP, BITCH.
Beck: Why all caps? Shit, sorry.
Grinning, I type out a response.
Reign: Who are we killing and what was his response? I’m alive.
Beck: About time. We are killing your exes, obviously. He was on board. We are on our way to Home Depot to get clear containers and shovels.
Reign: I have questions . . .
Beck: We watched a program, Santa Clarita Diet, and figured we could do it that way, but we are open to suggestions.
A moment later, a picture comes through of Beck and the band holding up chainsaws, and I can’t hold back my snort.
Reign: I like your thinking, but shouldn’t you guys be packing for tour?
Beck: Boring, fine. Text me later, hot stuff. The offer for murder remains open.
Reign: Got it, cutie.
Shaking my head, I navigate through my other messages, ignoring the group chat of the guys, which hasn’t stopped since this morning. They are determined, I’ll give them that. I stop at one from Tucker.
Tuck: Saw the news. Hope you’re okay. I’m always here if you need anything, even just a familiar ear to talk to.
Reign: Thanks.
The group chat, called Reign’s Boys,has a new notification, and at first I want to delete it without looking, but I can’t resist punishing myself. I don’t read the ones before it, unable to handle that yet, but I peer at the newish text.
Raff: Dal is sleeping. He’s okay. Reign, I know you probably won’t respond, but please be okay, just let us know that at least. I’m begging you. I’m so sorry, baby. I hope one day you understand why, but if not, please know we love you. Don’t run from this world again, not because of us. We will wait for you forever if that’s what it takes. We won’t ever give up on you.
I swallow my pain. He hit the nail right on the head after all. Didn’t I think of running again?
I shouldn’t respond. God, I’m a glutton for punishment.
