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Guilt twists my stomach.
No, Tristan. No.
Lavi has officially established a routine, most of which is carried out upstairs. I can go full twenty-four-hour days without seeing her, or Nina, for that matter. I like this. It’s like Nina is slowly evaporating from my life. It’s incredibly freeing.
A few days ago, Lavi requested to take over Nina’s medications. I declined, and instead asked Mariana to help administer them. Sometimes I feel like Lavi judges me for medicating Nina. Passing the responsibility to Mariana helps eliminate that feeling.
I step into the hall, cursing my aching body. I need to stretch more, exercise more.
The bedroom next to the office, where I sleep, appears undisturbed. No Meredith.
I close the door, make my way down the hall, and immediately notice how quiet the house is. Not that it’s ever noisy, but tonight it’s deathly silent. The air feels thick and unmoving.
It’s a cloudy, cool night, not a single star in the sky. The security lights wash the tree line in a dull orange glow. Beyond it, pitch blackness.
Something flutters in my stomach, a sixth sense, a weird feeling of doom.
My pace quickens.
The door to the guest room where Meredith stores her things is closed—and it’s never closed.
That flutter turns into a sinking ball of grease.
My pulse has already increased when I push open the door.
I stop cold, my body freezing in inaction.
Meredith is lying on the bed in a long white nightgown. Her head is propped on a pillow, her curly blond hair fanned out like spiderwebs. Her eyes are open, staring lifelessly at the doorway, almost exactly where I’m standing. Dried vomit runs from her mouth and down her neck. The front of her gown is covered in brown chunks.
“Meredith!” I lurch to the bedside.
I’m careful not to touch her, so instead I frantically wave my hands over her listless body as if her soul will speak to me.
“Meredith,” I choke out. “Oh my God.”
Gently, I press my fingers against her carotid. There is no pulse.
It is then that I notice the little brown pill bottle clutched in her hand. Three words on the label jump out at me immediately—
Xanax
Nina Carrington
“Oh—fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Tears sting my eyes, rage boils in my veins.
I drop to my knees, slamming my closed fists against my temples over and over again.
“Goddamn you,” I scream. “Damn you, Nina!”
20
Tristan
Iam only partially aware of someone tugging at my arm and calling my name over and over.
I am rolled onto my stomach, unfolding from the fetal position I’d curled into on the floor.
