23. Ryan
Damien had wanted help bringing out more beer to the cooler. But when I return, Lanie’s nowhere to be found. I look through the house once more before going to the table of girls I’d left her with earlier.
“Do you know where Lanie is?” I ask, scanning the crowd.
“Last I saw, she got up to use the bathroom a few minutes ago.”
Sydney stands. “Want me to help look for her?”
“No. I was just inside, maybe we crossed paths without knowing.”
Walking to the main bathroom, I’m frustrated to find it empty. When Vince walks in, I ask, “Hey, is there another bathroom? The girls said Lanie went inside to use it, but she’s just not anywhere I can find her.”
“Look, I’m sure she’s around. I’ll go check the master bathroom, you make one more sweep through the house and yard. We’ll meet back outside in a few minutes.”
When Vince returns empty-handed, I do what I should’ve done to begin with.
I pull out my phone and text.
Me: Where are you?
I see the message go from sent, to delivered, to read.
I watch eagerly as the three little dots bounce around, then my heart sinks when they disappear.
Me: Look. I’m worried. Can you at least tell me if you’re okay?
Again, the message is sent, delivered, and read.
When only two words are returned, my stomach drops to the floor.
Lanie: I’m fine.
Two words, no man ever wants to hear—especially from a woman.
Not wanting to ruin the party for my friends, I pay my respect to the bride and groom, then tell Vince I’m heading out.
He can tell something’s off, but I assure him I’ ve got it handled.
Knowing there are a million places on campus she could be, I go home, hoping like hell, she’ll meet me there.
As I drive into my complex, my chest squeezes tighter when I see there’s another car parked in the spot that held Lanie’s car when she left.
Climbing the stairs, I’m at a loss for what to do.
Do I stay here in case she returns? Do I go out to look for her? Or do I drive back to Seaside?
If I try sending another text, will she respond?
Me: Where are you?
Again, Sent. Delivered. Read.
Me: Seriously, Melanie. Where are you? I’m going out of my mind worrying about you. Should I call your parents? The police? Please. I won’t bother you. But I need to know you’re safe.
My heart nearly beats out of my chest as I await a response—any response would be better than the agony of not knowing.
Lanie: I’m fine. I’m safe. No need to call anyone. Just getting air.
Just getting air?
Just getting air.
I can’t fucking breathe and she’s just getting air!
What the fuck does that even mean ?
When midnight rolls around and I still haven’t heard from her, I leave my apartment door unlocked, hoping by some miracle she comes back.
When I can’t pace any longer, I trudge into my room, undress by my bed, slip into the sheets, and turn off the light.
Fuck, even the bedsheets smell like her.
I toss and turn for what feels like hours before I finally fall into a restless sleep.
When I wake up the next morning, I feel like I have a hangover—without any of the fun. I only had one beer last night, but I wish I’d drowned my sorrows, so I just wouldn’t feel. Because what I feel right now—is like complete shit.
When she hasn’t returned by ten o’clock the next morning, I return to Seaside. I should’ve gone back last night I’m almost certain that’s where she is now. But at the time I’d been holding out hope that she’d return.
As I drive a hundred miles back to the beach, one thought runs through my mind.
I’ve given you your space, Melanie Lancaster—ready or not here I come.