Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
“I’m not an addi—”
“Yeah, you are. An addict. A liar. A good, tight cunt to be sure—but not good enough to ruin my life over.”
And this is it. The crazy train has officially left the platform.
Wave your handkerchiefs and toss your flowers. The gloves are off and I’m about to murder him with my bare hands.
“At least I went after my dream. Fought for what I care for. You’re a coward, Lev. A coward and chickenshit. You are going to die miserable and unfulfilled just because you’re too scared to stand up to your daddy. You’re just jealous because I did what you never could: went for what I wanted.”
His jaw flexes under his taut, golden skin. “You should focus on your sobriety, not hooking up.”
“Hadn’t realized all we did this weekend was a casual hookup.” I let out a humorless, joyless laugh.
“Yeah, well, it was.”
He’s lying, isn’t he?
I am usually so good at reading people—Lev, especially—but I don’t trust my own judgment anymore.
Not when it comes to us, and not when it still feels like I’m floating on a cloud of acid.
“Why don’t you go back to skiing with everyone else? I know my way home,” I suggest. Just in time, since we’re right in front of the Escalade.
I expect Lev to reject the idea, channel his inner caveman, and tell me he would never leave me alone right now. But he surprises me by hitching a careless shoulder, glancing at his watch.
“Yeah, good idea. See you around. Or you know, not.”
With an icy smile and impeccable demeanor, he turns around and walks away.
It takes me five whole minutes to unglue myself from the pavement and slip into the car.
I’m way past shocked and well into dazed territory.
I spend the car ride stewing in my own rage. The overpowering, acerbic tang of betrayal coats my tongue.
Lev isn’t going to break up with Thalia. Maybe he never meant to.
He’s a player, and I got played.
He didn’t just do a number on me. An entire calc book is more like it.
When I get into the Craftsman mansion, the only people present are the nannies and children. Neither can judge or stop me.
And that’s when it hits me.
I’m alone.
Truly and fantastically alone.
Left to my own devices.
I take the stairs two at the time, flying like a bullet toward my room.
My hands are shaking when I flip my Dior suitcase and pat the black fabric along the horizontal zipper. I sewed a secret pocket on the right-hand side.
I feel for the stitch, itching to rip it apart, only to find it is already loose. It’s unlike me to half-ass a job, but maybe my sewing is a little rusty.
I push my index and middle fingers inside, feeling for the pills. Instead, something else hits my fingertips. Some sort of…paper? I pull it out slowly, finding a yellow note. I unfold it, my eyes wide as they scan its content.
GO TO REHAB, BAILEY.
L
Lev found my drugs.
He found them and got rid of them.
I want to scream. Correction—I do scream.
I kick and rip things apart. I open the toilet seat to see if maybe I can salvage some of the pills—he must’ve thrown them there; when’d he do that?—and I realize that two things are true at once:
He is right. Rehab isn’t just calling to me—it is screaming my name in capital letters.
And 2. I would die before becoming him. Before giving up my dream to appease my family. Juilliard is not the Air Force Academy. It is not interchangeable.
I go downstairs to the kitchen. Find a stray bottle of whiskey and polish it off. It is awful and not at all like painkillers. I end up barfing most of it.
The minutes chase one another, transforming into hours. The alcohol soaks into my system. Dying doesn’t seem like a horrible idea right now.
Then—plot twist!—as I lie head-down on the couch, head spinning, I feel a cool hand over my sweaty back. “Oh, Bailey.”
It’s Lenora. She stayed behind. She is breastfeeding the twins. Duh.
She thinks I’m asleep—or maybe she knows I definitely don’t want to talk about it—because all she says is, “It’s okay to have demons. We all do. But it is not okay to let them win.”
The day darkens, and the house fills with yellow, warm light.
Everyone starts filing in after a day of skiing. I somehow managed to drag myself to the shower and brush my teeth twice before they got here, so I don’t think anyone can tell I’ve been drinking.
Maybe just Lev, who has my soul on speed-dial and can read me like an open book.
Luckily—and I use the term loosely—he isn’t paying attention to me. Breezes right past me like I’m air on his way to his room.
We eat dinner. Have small talk. Pretend like everything is hunky-dory.
Dean, Lev, and Knight heatedly discuss movies that are so bad they’re good, bodily functions, and the NFL.