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I throw myself in the shower, trying not to obsess over the fact I’ll leave water stains on the glass and soap suds around the drain as I dress and attempt to fix my hair before heading out of my room.
The Chapel is quiet. Too fucking quiet. So quiet it allows the voices in my head to get louder, and that is never a fucking good thing.
Grabbing an apple and bottle of water on the way out, I brace myself for the wind and rain that is still assaulting campus as I jog toward the Bronte Building.
There’s no one around, and campus is almost empty with most kids heading home—or somewhere exotic—for the Easter Break.
I don’t see anyone and as I let myself into the Bronte Building, it doesn’t get any better. The place is deserted.
Running up the stairs, I make a beeline for Abigail’s room, leaving a trail of water behind me.
Unlike yesterday, I don’t second-guess knocking. I’m over that after the state I found her in in the bathroom. If anything, this is merely a polite gesture to ensure she’s ready for a visitor. Not that finding her half-dressed would be a bad thing in any way.
Reining myself in, I call out, hoping that this time she might just invite me in herself.I told her I was going to come back so she should be expecting me.
“Red, I’m coming in whether you answer the door or not.”
Nothing.
“Fine. Let’s do this the hard way then, shall we?” I mutter to myself before pulling the keycard from my pocket and repeating my actions from yesterday.
However, when I swing the door open, thankfully, I find her sitting in the middle of the bed. But that’s about the only positive I find.
The curtains are still shut despite it being mid-afternoon, and the place is in darkness.
“Hey,” I say softly, studying her the best I can. “How are you doing?”
Silence.
“Red, you’re going to need to talk to me. Have you eaten anything today?”
I catch sight of the pizza box I left her with yesterday. Lifting the top, I find that the only slice that is missing is the one she ate in front of me.
“Red,” I warn.
“I’m not a child, Elliot,” she snaps.
“Never said you were,” I say, closing the lid and straightening the box up on the desk alone with a couple of books that have been knocked.
“I don’t need you looking after me.”
“No, so who’s going to do it then because right now, it doesn’t seem to be you.”
9
ABIGAIL
Elliot Eaton is the most arrogant, infuriating person I’ve ever met.
I glare at him as he slips into my room and closes the door behind him, leaning back against it.
Damn him, coming here again. Pretending he cares. Pretending he?—
Stop. Just stop Abi.
He cares. I know that. He just doesn’t care enough. Not in the way I wish he did.
I huff out a resigned sigh, and he arches his brow.
