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“No. Isn’t that weird?”
The phone goes silent for a moment as he mulls over the situation. “Not really. I’m guessing the cop did something wrong and didn’t want a witness. He was probably the one who shot the gun, and he doesn’t want it on the record.” I hate to admit it, but that’s a pretty good explanation. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. You’re home, you’re safe, and the cops are taking care of Dave and Karl.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“Just take a shower, eat something, relax, and go to sleep. Tomorrow, everything will be back to normal,” my brother assures me.
“All right,” I agree. A shower does sound amazing right now.
“Before you go, how did it go inside the hotel?”
I don’t have the energy or mental capacity to tell him about that mess. “I left the bug and walked out after the hour was over.”
I’ll tell him the full story another time. Right now, I just need this day to be over.
* * *
Twelve hours later,the sun is coming up. Bright golden rays filter through my light blue curtains. I’m in bed, wearing my comfortable pajamas while watching reruns ofStorage Wars. Mindless reality TV somehow always makes me feel better or, at the very least, will put me to sleep. Not today.
Even though I’m physically in my comfort zone, my mind is anything but. Yesterday could have turned out very differently if that cop hadn’t shown up. Or if Dave hadn’t run that red light. Where would they have taken me? More importantly, what would they have done with me?
I just can’t help thinking I dodged a huge, devastating bullet. And the craziest part is that I still don’t understand how I did it.
Jase made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. He acted like it was normal for a cop not to take a statement and personally drive me home. I know I have never really been involved with the police, but I just can’t imagine that this is usual.
The few moments I can stop thinking about being trapped in the car, my mind wanders back to the hotel.
A part of me is still stuck back in that hotel. There’s something about this whole thing I just can’t let go of—a buzzing inside me that I can’t turn off. Almost like I’m supposed to figure it out.
Why have I never heard of that place? Why doesn’t the building have a sign? I guess it’s the whole idea of the elite club, but why keep it a secret? If they don’t want the riffraff to come in there, put bouncers at the front or lock the fucking door. There’s just something so off about it. I grab my laptop from the side of the bed and prop it on my lap, slipping it open carefully so the huge crack on my screen doesn’t grow any larger. I type in my very secure password—Password123—and watch the screen slowly come to life. Most times, I’m not sure what causes my computer to run so slow. Is it the discounted internet, or the fact that my laptop is twelve years old? And by discounted internet, I mean I use the free Wi-Fi from the coffee shop under our apartment.
Once my web browser has determined I am worthy of using it. I pull up Google and type in hotels near me before clicking the search button. When my first attempt brings up about two hundred hotels, I try again with a more specific search. Fancy hotel near me comes up with about fifty results, none of which resemble the place I went to yesterday. After I scroll down the search results for ten minutes, my dumbass realizes I actually have the address. Maybe the reality TV makes me dumber?
I search for the remote on the bed, patting around until I feel it between my sheets, and turn the TV off.
“Teagan!” My door flies open, and my heart practically stops. I suck in a rapid breath, getting ready to let out an ear-piercing scream when it gets stuck in my throat. “Teagan, you will not believe what happened to me today.”
“Chelsea,” I let my roommate’s name out with the breath that was designated for my scream. “For fuck’s sake, don’t do that again.”
“Not Chelsea, it’s Ainsley. How many times do I need to tell you?”
“How many times do I need to tell you not to burst into my room? Especially not at six in the morning. Most people are asleep.”
“I saw the light under the door.”
“I’m sorry I keep forgetting you changed your name. I’ve called you Chelsea my whole life, so forgive me for calling you a different name. It’s gonna take me a hot minute.”
“It’s not my fault my parents chose a stupid name. All the Chelseas I know are bitches. Total stuck-up bitches.”
I hold my tongue on what I really want to say but can’t suppress the eye roll. Chelsea—sorry, Ainsley has been my friend since middle school, and most days, I wonder why. She doesn’t respect my boundaries, she lies constantly, and she is overall a terrible roommate.
“All right… Ainsley, what happened to you today?”
I listen to her story, like I always do, knowing most likely none of it ever happened. See, this is what I meant when I said she constantly lies. Making up stories or ridiculous facts about herself is kind of Ainsley’s thing. When we were in middle school, she told everyone that her great-great-grandfather invented the pencil. Then in high school, she had everyone believing she was going to Harvard, which was somehow a little bit more believable because Ainsley is actually really fucking smart. Still, it was just a lie.
I don’t know why she keeps doing it, but sometimes I do wonder. Does she even know herself, or is she so caught up in the picture she has painted of herself that she’s lost sight of who she really is?
“Are you even listening?”
