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Why won’t anyone answer?
My heart aches, and panic travels from my chest to my fingers and down my legs to my toes, giving me enough energy to run a marathon. Without thinking about it, I step towards the bed and tear the covers off.
Underneath, the dark bedsheet looks…clean. I pull open the bedside table drawer with enough force to accidentally wrench it out completely, then dig through its sparse contents. Where’s the box of condoms? Where’s the evidence?
I try the second drawer. There’s nothing except that dumb copy of Pride and Prejudice. I pick it up, my fingers digging into the cover and spine, knuckles turning white. This stupid fucking thing. What the fuck is Lucas hiding that’s so precious?
I don’t care. I’m going to find out.
I flip open the cover and find the safe. There must be a way to open it. I make a fist with my hand and smash it into the safe, which doesn’t do anything except hurt my hand, and I gasp. Fuck. I thought the safe might be made of a silver-coloured plastic, but no, its metal. I try smashing the book against the corner of the bedside table. Nothing.
Well, fuck. I guess I’m going to have to do this the hard way. I’ll just have to figure out the password. Three numbers.
123. Wrong.
456. Wrong.
789. Wrong.
101. Wrong.
420. Wrong.
555. Wrong.
666. Wrong.
696. Wrong.
000. Wrong.
911. Wrong
I try combinations of his birthday, which is the 10th of September. 109. 910. Wrong.
What else…his parents’ birthdays? I don’t know them. His friends’ birthdays? I don’t know those either. Besides, Lucas has too many friends to try, and he’d hardly be the type to be that sentimental about a friend.
A girlfriend’s birthday? He doesn’t have a girlfriend, so maybe a girl he’s talking to or hooking up with?
Or maybe it’s not a birthday at all. Maybe it’s something to do with this year. Or his player number from high school soccer. Or his favourite athletes’ numbers.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
“Goddamnit,” I say, teeth gritted. I curl my fingers against the front of the safe, the skin under my fingernails going pale. Just…fucking…OPEN.
The bedroom door slams open, and I drop the safe in surprise. It bounces against the bed and lands on the floor near my feet, the front and back cover splayed open.
I turn around to find Lucas. He’s leaning against the closed bedroom door, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. He looks not quite bored, but not nervous either. His expression is blank, but there’s something in his eyes that gives me the distinct feeling that he’s hiding something from me. That he’s laughing at me.
The sight of him reminds me of our dynamic, of what he thinks of me. Weak. Pathetic. Nothing.
Anger and adrenaline rushes through my veins, and I curl my hands into fists to control my energy. I want nothing more than to fight.
I march over and stop a few centimetres before him. “Where the hell have you been?” I snap.
He looks down at me and doesn’t say anything for a moment.
Then, “Went out to buy some groceries. We ran out of milk. You’re welcome.”
