39. Claire
I think some people would call this a walk of shame, sneaking through the hall in the dark wearing a man’s clothes with my own stuffed in my arms. But I have no shame—not even a little—as I sneak out of Remy’s room, leaving him still sound asleep in the darkness. I don’t know what time it is, but the house is quiet, and I feel confident that everyone is still sleeping. My thoughts drift to Rhea as I glance at her door, wondering if she made herself sick last night.
That idea does send a little guilt through me. Was I fucking her brother all night while she had her head in the toilet? I probably should have left the wake when she did, if only to keep her company on the bathroom floor all night. We’ve drifted apart just a little these last few weeks, and as much as it hurts to consider, it’s both a blessing and a curse. I yearn for the sister I had before we left the states, but I am happy to see her thriving without my constant presence in her life. Of course, Rhea was never the one I was truly worried about. Of course she’ll be fine in the real world. It’s me who doesn’t know how to exist without her. And to make matters worse, now I don’t know how I’m supposed to exist without Remy, too.
I went into this trip with the knowledge that my best friend’s older brother was mysterious, sexy, flirtatious, and oddly comforting. From the first moment I saw him, I had a school-girl crush—the innocent yet obsessive kind that makes you blush in their presence. We played a little game of push and pull, and then we were bonded by something heavier than the mutual attraction we both seemed to feel from the start. That bond still exists, but the weight of it has eased, so we grew comfortable enough to begin playing with fire.
I know I’m going to get burned when we go home. Remy lives in Costa Rica, and I’m here on a passport that I don’t even know the validity of. In a few more weeks, Rhea and I will go back to our apartment, back to classes and ordering take-out, and in the winter, I will visit her hometown for the last time. The inevitability of it all is stark, looming in the distance, but it’s all a problem for another time.
Leaving Remy will hurt because it will mean abandoning what could have been, if things had gone differently. It will mean acknowledging that my position in life is tied to my best friend’s, and in the absence of that, I have nothing. Those thoughts could eat me alive if I let them, just like thoughts of his inevitable rejection could destroy me if I give them the space to.
But I’m going to put my problems aside, the way I always have, and make the most of the time I have left like this.
When I flip on the light switch to my bathroom, I’m distinctly grateful that I woke before Remy did, and even more grateful that I didn’t run into Rhea in the hall. My hair is wild, locks of it crimped and matted from falling asleep with it wet, and the makeup I forgot I was wearing yesterday which ran from my eyelashes during our shower has clumped together at random. What hasn’t stayed on my lashes is below my eyes in deep, dark smudges and, I’m sure, all over Remy’s pillow. But none of that is the damning part about my appearance.
The thing that sticks out the most is the light but prominent bruising on my throat—it’s faint, more yellow than blue, but against my otherwise fair skin, it stands out like a brand. In a way, it is. I may not belong to Remington Boudreaux, now or ever, but it’s fair to say that a part of my soul will always be his. I sacrificed it when I chose to exorcise my demons in Remy’s presence, and then we consummated that after like some kind of fucked up ritual. It was never meant to be depraved; it was never meant to cement us together.
His fingerprints on my neck are like a necklace, the thumb on one side, and four small oval shapes on the other, leaving the hollow of my neck unmarred. You can hardly see them from some angles, and I don’t doubt they’ll heal quickly, but I cant hide in my room until they do.
I shower, washing my hair so that this time I can let it dry properly and manage to do something with it, wiping the makeup out from under my eyes and refreshing myself, trying to chase away the hangover effect of the night before. I didn’t sleep much—not that I’d change that—and I’m starving, thirsty, and physically exhausted in the best possible way.
When I reach for my toothbrush, it’s not in the spot where I left it. A brand new one sits on the shelf in its place, still in its plastic packaging. I’m not typically messy, but I guess Elaine must have thought me to be, because my brush has been cleaned out, too, and is on the shelf below the toothbrush. The thought of touching anything that Elaine may have messed with is unappealing, but I’m sure she didn’t dip my toothbrush in arsenic since it’s sealed, so I bite back my irritation and try to decide what to do about her.
Telling Remy the truth about what I learned in the hospital the other day sounds like an obvious first step, but he has no loyalty to me other than the things we did between the sheets—and in the shower, and in his office, and on the boat…
It’s not until I finish brushing my teeth that I feel human again, oddly refreshed by getting myself cleaned up. It’s just the marks of the night before that are keeping me from looking reasonably put together, and while I’m not ashamed of them any more than I’m ashamed of liking what he did, wearing them proudly in front of the rest of the household feels like betraying a secret that was meant to stay between Remy and I.
With my hair dried and in place, I dig through my bag looking for some sort of clip to set it over my shoulders just right, but instead I find a headband with a satin bow tied atop it. I tug at the material, testing it, before ripping it off and tying it like a necklace around my throat. Paired with a black crop top and jean shorts, it’s reasonably more edgy than I’ve ever been, but it covers the marks well, hiding my secret in plain sight. Something about wearing the remnants of his necklace beneath this little scrap of ribbon tied flush against my throat feels wickedly sexy, and I can’t help thinking of his fingers brushing my skin as he pulls it loose later.
We agreed to one night, but when he asked me to stay, I knew that one night was not enough. I think Remy craves me as I crave him, and no part of me believes that last night was the last time we’ll end up together, which is why now more than ever, I need to keep up with my birth control. No good would come from being tethered together by that.
I’m reaching for the pack, my finger about to punch through the foil blister pack when it catches the light overhead, making me do a doubletake. A little seam runs through the back of the package; I have to drag the tip of my thumb over it to be sure it’s not simply a trick of the light. But I feel it as sure as I see it—the joining of two different foils meeting in the center.
My mouth goes dry as I flip it in my hands, taking in the pills from the front—all identical, tiny round pills no bigger than my pinky nail. There’s no sign that any of them have been tampered with, and yet from the back I can clearly see where the old backing was peeled away.
I almost drop the package, I’m shaking so much.
Thisis how I’ve been poisoned. I’ve been unintentionally dosing myself with some random thing I’ve never heard of because someone slipped into my room and replaced my birth control with something meant to kill me. Of course, Elaine wouldn’t poison the food and drinks that Remy and Rhea would drink. She wouldn’t take that chance on their lives. But me? I’ve been in a fog the last week since everything happened—too mentally fatigued to notice something as simple as the package I touch every day.
When I went to the hospital with the infection, Elaine had been the only one with me. She could have easily held off on calling the doctor, but she didn’t. Why would she try to kill me and then not follow through with it when the opportunity presented itself? Maybe she thought coming home to another dead body after the funeral would be too much for the Boudreaux’s, or maybe she just didn’t want to be present to witness what she did to me. I don’t know, and I don’t really care.
I have half a mind to go flush the entire package down the toilet, but before I’ve even gotten to my knees, I decide that’s not the move I want to make. I don’t know what I did to her, but it seems as though Elaine and I have gotten wrapped up in some sadistic game of chess. I can get her in check if I can prove my theory without sounding like a mad woman. Because, honestly, why would Remy believe the girl he’s just met over the woman who’s been part of his life for most of it?
Shoving the package into my back pocket, I open my door, prepared to sneak outside and call the doctor. There has to be a way to test the pills and see if they are, in fact, what was making me ill. And if they are, maybe we can tie fingerprints to the packaging, although as soon as that thought is born, I dismiss it. If Elaine wants to play this game, I’ll play. But there will only be one winner, and I won’t go quietly into the dark.
The sight of a man coming out of Rhea’s room isn’t shocking. I’ve had plenty of time to get used to that, having such a sexually liberated best friend. Honestly, the more time I spend with her brother, the more I understand. When done right, sex is phenomenal. All the years of men sneaking out of first our dorm and then our apartment didn’t prepare me to understand the euphoria, but I get it now. But the man leaving Rhea’s room catches my eye, and unlike any other man I’ve ever seen leaving her room, he looks guilty.
Panic flares for one quick moment inside of me, and I take a few steps toward her door, prepared to throw it open and check on her. But Dimitri winces, holding up a hand. “She’s finally asleep.”
Finally asleep?
I blink, remembering Remy’s direction for him to take her upstairs last night and be sure that no one got near her. Did Dimitri stay with her all night? Did he sit by her bed and watch her all night?
I know the answer from the guilty look on his face alone. He looks like a cat sitting next to a suddenly empty fish tank, hanging his head as if he thinks I’m about to scold him. But I’m not Rhea’s keeper, as much as I often convince myself I am. She’s a grown adult, who can do whatever with whomever she pleases, as she established last week with the woman she brought home from the club.
Dimitri and I haven’t had much interaction. He’s got no reason to trust me, and I’ve got no reason to trust him, especially given that his predecessor had dumped me into the lap of rapists and murderers. And yet, I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt, because clearly Rhea trusts him.
She trusted Jovich, too.
And Elaine.
I shake my head, clearing it of those thoughts. The truth is, I have nowhere to go. Even if I did get a hold of the doctor, I doubt she’d come running all the way out here just to check on my wild theory. Dimitri has leeway to come and go, and he takes care of problems. I bet he is good at getting answers, too. “Is she okay?” I ask, letting him know by my tone that I’m not about to berate him for falling into Rhea’s web.
“Yeah. There was a lot on her mind. I let her talk most of the night.”
I almost ask about the rest of the night, but I press my lips together instead. Dimitri takes it as a sign of disapproval and turns to go, so I blurt his name out quickly before he can get near the steps at the center of the corridor.
When Dimitri turns back to look at me, it’s with a guarded expression I can’t name. But he doesn’t run or turn away as I close the distance between us, drawing close enough that I can whisper without my voice carrying. “When I went to the hospital the other day, I found out I’m being poisoned.”
His face turns rapidly to disbelief, his lips parting to object, but I don’t let him say anything as I slip the birth control from my back pocket and push the package into his hand. “I think this is how I’ve been getting sick. Can you have it tested for me?”
For a moment, he only stares as a myriad of emotions play on his handsome face—doubt, confusion, reluctance, but also concern. He doesn’t believe that anybody in this household is capable of trying to kill me, which means he’s either a good liar or truly a good person. I get my answer when he stuffs the package in his pocket and graces me with a curt nod. “Of course.”