21. Chapter 21
I wake up to a quiet morning.
My body stiffening as I listen to the intentional way the silence feels as I roll over and look to where Alex had last been.
He’s gone.
Something awful spikes in my chest and before it can fully form, I push it down.
Good. He’s gone.
That was the point, wasn’t it?
I wanted him gone.
I wanted the space and a clean break from whatever the hell last night was supposed to be. From the way he looked at me like he already owned the ground beneath my feet or the way my body had responded like it recognized something it had no business to.
So the absence should feel like relief, but it fucking doesn’t. There is a small, quiet thing that builds a knot in my stomach and a question against my teeth.
Why did he leave?
I shift onto my opposite side and look to the rest of the bus; it is all the same as it always is.
The small kitchenette to my left, the narrow aisle, the curtains still pulled over the windows.
My boots are by the door where I kicked them off in a haste, but his shoes are gone where they were last beside the table.
Not that I thought they would still be there. He doesn’t seem the type of man to leave things behind as evidence of his presence.
Sitting up slowly, I pull the thin blanket with me and let it pool around my waist. The sheet beneath me is rumpled, warm in places, and I shove that thought away before it can spiral.
Don’t.
I swing my legs off the bed and stand, my bare feet pressing into the worn rug I salvaged from a thrift store years ago. It smells faintly like coffee grounds and old wood, but it is uniquely mine. My space where I have control.
I pad toward the small sink and splash water on my face, gripping the edge as I look at my reflection in the cracked mirror. My hair is a mess, mascara smudged faintly beneath my eyes from last night, and my skin is peppered with marks. Not to mention the teeth mark at my shoulder—the animal.
Sighing, I decide on a quick shower then dress in a pair of jeans and a hoodie. Letting my hair hang wetly down my back as I turn the coffee maker on and prop myself to the counter. I’m halfway through my first sip when the knock comes.
It’s not a polite knock.
Well, it’s not much of a knock at all really.
It’s a pounding, frantic, fist-against-metal demand that makes my heart leap into my throat.
“Sadie!”
Imogen’s voice cuts through the morning and I hurry to the door, wrenching it open and barely getting out of the way as she barrels inside.
“Imogen—”
She spins on me, her eyes wild and red-rimmed, dark curls pulled into a messy knot that screams she didn’t sleep. She smells like coffee and adrenaline—if that were a scent to be coined.
“They found him.”
My brows knit. “Uh… found who?”
Her hands come up, gripping the front of my hoodie like she needs something solid to hold onto. “The guy,” she breathes. “The one I told you about who gave me the tickets from the clinic.”
“I didn’t realize he needed to be found,” I mutter, confused.
“Oh my god, do you listen to anything I say? I told you he ghosted me.” She scoffs.
Had she?
Christ, my thoughts have been a little preoccupied as of late.
“Okay, calm down. What do you mean they found him?” I try to soothe the frantic look in her eyes.
“He’s dead, Sadie.”
The world tilts and I step back automatically, my spine hitting the edge of the kitchenette.
“They think—” Imogen swallows hard. “They think he died around the night of Pitch. Or close to it, not that they know he was at Pitch. They just found his body dumped.”
Fuck.
“Sadie?” Imogen’s voice trembles. “Say something.”
I drag in a breath, then another. Force my heart back into rhythm that won’t give me away.
“That’s… horrible,” I state carefully, because that’s what you say when someone dies. “Jesus, Imogen. I’m so sorry. But… we kind of knew people were getting killed at Pitch.”
Her face twists as if she can’t believe what I have said and she lets go of my hoodie. “Okay, but it’s still alarming, Sadie.”
“I mean, sure… but—”
“But what? He’s dead!” She snaps and I sigh, dragging my hands down my face.
“I’m sorry, Imogen. It’s just… Pitch was a lot to process and I’m clearly still processing it.”
She chews on her lip for a moment, her eyes searching my expression. “I didn’t even think anything of him going quiet at first. But then the cops showed up at my shop this morning asking questions and—”
“The cops? About what?” I blurt.
“Yeah, they knew we were talking and they—”
“Jesus, Imogen—please tell me you didn’t tell them about Pitch. You know what they warned us about when we left.” I breathe as I turn to her fully, praying my friend wasn’t stupid enough to do it.
“Of course, I didn’t! I’m not an idiot.” She snaps and my shoulders sag in relief.
“I just—I can’t stop thinking about what happened in there and how bad it could’ve been for both of us. And now this?” She pushes out, fear lacing her tone.
“Did they say how he died?” I probe, careful.
Imogen shakes her head. “No. Just that it looked like he’d been dead a while. No obvious cause yet.” She swallows. “Sadie… what if this goes somewhere bad? For us too?”
If she only knew the half of it.
I’m not fond of lies, but I don’t want my friend stressing either. Not when she’s got enough on her plate already. And somehow I think telling her I’m fucking a psychopath from Pitch might not go over so well.
“I don’t think it will. They had us sign waivers and NDA’s. They covered themselves.”
She snorts weakly. “That’s what scares me.”
We stand there in silence, the bus suddenly too small for everything pressing in. After a moment, Imogen straightens and wipes her face. Trying to pull herself together the way she always does when things get ugly.
“I should probably open up the shop. Give myself something to do.”
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” I murmur.
She hesitates as she moves to the door, her hand pausing on the handle. “Hey are you okay? You look a little… worn.”
I snort, “yeah, I’m fine.”
“You always say that.”
“I always mean it,” I lie.
She huffs something I can’t hear and slides out the door, closing it behind her. The bus around me feels like it’s caving in.
I slide down the counter until I’m sitting on the floor, my back against the cabinet and knees drawn to my chest. Fuck, what if what I’m doing with Alexander ends in the same way? What if he killed the guy Imogen had been dating at the clinic to keep him quiet and I’m just another fly in his web?
And I’m stupid enough to have slept with him not once, but twice now.
I press my fist to my mouth, to keep myself from screaming in frustration. I can’t do this. I can’t risk my own life just because some seriously fucked up part of me craves Alexander.
I blow out a breath and reach for my phone, texting Imogen.
Sadie: Kind of got swept up with your news,
but I wanted to tell you that the pro bono
program is over at the clinic for me.
Thank you so much for recommending me
and I’m glad it helped when it could.
Don’t stress about it, okay?
I hit send and squeeze my eyes shut. It’s just another secret to add to the pile, but it’s the only way I know how to end this before it gets worse. Before I end up a forgotten body in a ditch.