I wake up to the sensation of someone trying to drill an ice pick into the top of my skull and a horrible, throbbing pain that pulses through my entire body.
Of course, no one is trying to lobotomize me—not yet at least—and the alcohol that still slithers through my achy veins five hours later is to take the blame as to why I feel so horrible.
This is what you get for being so stupid, I remind myself as I lean over my bathroom sink.
I let myself get carried away. Again.
You should be happy history didn't repeat itself last night.
I am.
Splashing cold water onto my clammy skin, I scrutinize my reflection. There are enough bags under my eyes for me to start my own fashion line, and the grey sheen my skin takes on has me wondering whether or not I died and came back to life last night. I hardly remember anything. I don't even remember how Gabby and I got home. My car isn't here, thank goodness.
It must have been Corry. He said that he and Gianna were planning on stopping by after the game. Great.
He's going to kill me.
The redness rimming the base of my neck yanks fuzzy memories of a bedroom into my vision. I remember trying to find clothes and I remember a man attacking me.
A shiver punctures my skin and for a moment, I remember his grip on me.
"Good riddance," I mumble to myself. "Whatever's on that memory stick isn't worth it. Nope."
When I finally slithered downstairs and into the kitchen, I notice a note scribbled on an old napkin from my mother. It mentions something about picking up milk and bread today. She's going to be working late tonight.
My disgust is no longer from the bile churning in my stomach.
"So you're alive," Corry snorts when he enters the kitchen. He bumps my shoulder with his as he passes me. Before I have a chance to ask him to leave the room dark, the kitchen lights blaze to life and the white light punches me in the head.
Groaning, I hide my face in my hands. "Barely."
"Did you eat anything?"
My stomach churns harder. "Oh no way. I can't even think about eating right now."
"Yikes." He sounds too surprised for his own good.
"What time did we get home last night?" I wonder, crossing my arms on the cold counter and resting my head. I'm surprised he hasn't yelled at me yet. I just want to get it done and over with.
Corry stands opposite of me and the scent that wafts from his breakfast burrito is enough to make my head go spinning. "I don't know," he shrugs, voice devoid of the tension and disappointment it has when he speaks to Mom after one of her more serious drunken episodes. "I didn't hear you come in."
I tense in my seat. "Wait what?"
"I didn't hear you come in," he repeats.
"But didn't you— you came to Nate's house, right?" My heart flutters violently in my chest. "You said you were coming."
"I was so tired by the end of the game and Gianna started her internship today so we decided to call it a night."
"So you weren't there."
"No, Ember, I wasn't there. What's going on?"
"Nothing." I shake my head and disappear upstairs without another word to my brother, bursting into my room and pulling my phone from my bag. Gabby's phone goes to voicemail once, then twice, and by the fourth call, my body is shaking too hard for me to redial.
I hope she's okay.
"Hey, Gabs, it's me. I don't know if you even listen to your voicemail," I try to keep my voice carefree and casual even if I feel like I'm going to explode on the inside. "But I'm just calling to see how you're doing. Now I know how vampires feel in sunlight. That stuff really burns your eyes. Anyways, call me when you get a chance."
Two minutes later, my phone lights up with a text from my best friend.
Hello, Ember, this is Gabby's mom. Thanks to the party last night and you girls throwing caution out the window, Gabriella is grounded for the next week without her cell phone. Make good decisions next time or don't expect to go to any parties together. I'll be calling your mother sometime tomorrow.
I stare at the message on my phone. What the hell did we do last night? Again, the flashes of memory I recall are too choppy and disorganized to make sense of. I know Gabby wanted to let loose after her injury and all, but what the hell? She's never let herself get so carried away.
Another message pops on my phone, this one from a number I don't have saved in my phone. My breath catches in my throat.
I gave the memory stick back! They said they'd leave me alone!
Don't open it! a voice in the back of my mind screams. Don't open it! Call the police!
I have to see the message before I can call the police. Taking a deep breath, I tap my finger on the notification.
'You're welcome for driving you home last night, 'the message reads. I hope that hangover doesn't kill you.
Another message pops underneath it.
I didn't know you have a birthmark the shape of a dolphin on your thigh. I'll have to look for that next time. ;) -Hayden
* * *
The rest of my day consisted of cursing Hayden Cross into infinity and beyond, cursing myself for the aftermath of my excessive partying, and trying my hardest not to puke all over the place. Gabby managed to send me a few messages from her iPad later that night and explained all that she remembered from the party. She told me how I told her that Abigail Williams was there and that I didn't get a chance to see Nate all night. And then she told me about the hot tub fiasco and the night clicked into place.
Hayden Cross was not going to hear the end of this.
"Where is Gabby?" I ask Gianna Hansen when I sit down at lunch the next day. The headache and nausea might be gone now, but I still feel gross from the inside out.
"She's apparently in a meeting with other class officers," she answers. "I don't believe it, though. I think she's talking with Miss Smith in the Guidance Office."
"Do you know why?" I ask, sitting down. She never mentioned anything about wanting to go to the Guidance Counselor. Then again, she didn't answer her messages much. Biting her lip, Gabriella's younger sister stares into her plate.
"What happened, Gianna?" I press, anxiety pouring into my veins.
"I heard about Gabby from Sammie Mason. About the party?" Felicity answers when she, Corry, and Paris join us.
Gianna and I exchange a look. "What did you hear?"
Her voice becomes hesitant. "First of all, I don't believe it for a second. I know Gabby and she wouldn't do anything like this but— people are saying that—uh—like I said, I don't believe it—"
"Out with it woman!" I hiss.
Felicity nods her head apologetically. "People are saying that—that Gabby and Hayden had sex in a hot tub in front of everyone. And that—there's like, a video of it."
I freeze, mid-bite of my turkey sandwich. It's like the pressure of the shock might make my eyes literally pop out of their sockets.
"Who said that?" I demand, slamming the sandwich down on my plate. It falls apart just as it hits the plastic. My heart kicks into overdrive and the anger sets in. I'm just about ready to flip a table.
"A few people," she answers and quickly adds, "It's not around the whole school or anything!"
Not yet.
Not if I have anything to do with it.
"That's total crap!" Paris fumes. "She would never!"
"She didn't!" I growl. "I was there. I would know!"
"Who is the one who said that they have a video?" Corry wonders.
My eyes rake across the cafeteria and I lean back in my chair to see a head of familiar windswept brown hair making its way down the hall. "I think I know who might give me some answers."
***
Only four more days left of detention.
I am definitely counting the minutes.
As per routine, Hayden and I stand waiting in Coach Foster's office for whatever torture he has in store for us today. There is a strained silence in his concrete-walled office that threatens to snuff out whatever oxygen is left in there. Hayden plays with a lighter in his pocket and I watch the small blue and orange flame sway and dance with each flick of his wrist. Coach Foster watches him too, but he doesn't say a word. I wonder if he's waiting for Hayden to burn this place to the ground.
"I have a special task for you two today," Coach Foster finally says. He leans behind his desk and drops a giant garbage bag on his desk. "You have the special duty of cleaning the equipment closet today."
"Yippee," Hayden cheers in a bored voice.
"That's the spirit," Coach laughs. "You'll need to do a bit of organizing too. I want important sports like football and basketball in the front and then useless stuff like soccer and tennis near the back."
I roll my eyes. He even has prejudice toward other sports too? Wow, this man deserves an award for being a douche in all categories of life. But then again, he might be proud of that one too.
"I assume you know where it is?"
We nod our heads. Coach Foster scribbles something in his clipboard and stands up. His chair bangs into the side of the table, causing one of the bags to tip over onto the floor.
"Damn," the coach grimaces at the cleaning supplies on the ground. "Ember, pick these up and get a move on. I'll be back when practice ends to see how you did. If not, two laps."
"Umm okay," I say awkwardly, bending down and picking up a loose sponge. The clicking of Hayden's lighter has stopped so all I can hear is Coach Foster's heavy breath as he waits. He finally leaves the office with a small opening of the door with a brute force that has me both relieved and nauseous.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end when I feel something lightly brush my arm. Hayden stands beside me, mouth pressed in a harsh scowl.
"Ehem," I clear my throat, "need something?"
"For you to get out of the way?"
My breath falters. "Why?"
He rolls his eyes. "So I can pick up the bag. Unless you want to do it?"
I roll my eyes.
"Right," I murmur, standing up and brushing the dust from my jeans. "Alright, here's what we're going to do. You're going to move the really heavy stuff where I tell you to, okay? And we'll get everything organized the way Foster wants us to organize it and leave. That's it."
Hayden raises an eyebrow. "And why would I listen to you?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose, "Because there's only a few more days before we're done and I don't want to piss the guy off. Do you want to have more detention?"
Hayden frowns. "We won't get more detention."
"Yeah we will. Foster will make something up to get us in trouble," I reply. "And there's a high chance me getting into trouble will mean anything. But you? I don't think the people at Westwood would appreciate you getting in trouble again and again at school."
"Whatever. Let's just get this shit done so I can leave."
* * *
There are times in your life where you just sit there wondering what you've done to deserve bad luck or ill fate.
Or in my case, I wonder that as I hurl a box of mouth guards at the giant metal door of the sports equipment storage room. The box bounces off the locked door and the little plastic pieces noisily scatter across the floor.
"Why won't you open!' I scream at the door.
"Because it's locked from the outside!" Hayden calls from across the room. I let out a frustrated cry, banging my fist against the cold metal.
"We wouldn't be in here if Coach Foster didn't like making us clean everything in the storage room for our detention! We wouldn't be locked in here if you kept the door open like I asked in the first place! We wouldn't be locked inside if you hadn't been a complete asshole and tried to lock me in here!" I grab my hair. "We wouldn't be locked in here if I didn't pull you in by your shirt collar and swing the door shut..."
"Yeah," he agrees, leaning against a rack of tennis rackets. "That was pretty dumb of you."
I glare daggers at him. "Right. This is all my fault."
"Well judging by the fact that we're stuck in here until practice ends because you wanted to be all 'I'll get everything'," Hayden narrows his eyes, "Yeah, I would say it's your fault."
I sigh, sinking to the floor and burying my face in my hands.
As much as I hate to admit it, he's right. But I'm not telling him that. There is an hour and a half left before practice ends. It doesn't help that the storage room is in an isolated part of the bleachers, located at a dead end. There's no one here who would be able to hear us and let us out. My voice is already hoarse from screaming so much.
I'm going to have a talk with Principal Miller about the school having so many dead ends when I get out. This is ridiculous.
The sound of cardboard scraping together makes me look up. Hayden rummages through one of the many boxes in the giant room, half of his body lost beneath the cardboard. I don't ask what he's doing and I honestly don't care.
A cold breeze wafts in from an unknown crack in the walls and I shiver, curling into myself and pulling my jacket tighter around my body. The weather has been cooling down more and more with each day and I can begin to see the trees losing their vibrant green color. It doesn't help that the small vent in the corner of the room is blowing in cool air, either.
Great, this is great.
Hayden noisily pulls out what looks like a long red and gold flag used by the Color Guard. He tears the flag straight off of the pole and wraps it around himself before settling against a bag of foam playground balls.
"Seriously?" I raise my eyebrows. "Damaging school property?"
Hayden glares at me.
I let out a long sigh, resting my head against the wall before inhaling deeply. There's something about this room that makes me feel so suffocated. I've never been a claustrophobic person but with everything packed so tightly together all the way up to the ceiling, the surprisingly large room feels like it's the size of a bathroom stall that is getting smaller and smaller.
"Will you quit breathing so loud?" Hayden snaps.
"Will you quit complaining," I groan, feeling light headed.
He watches me with a blank expression, eyes gleaming silver in the dim light. I heave in a breath, closing my eyes.
Don't think about it and just close your eyes. You'll be fine, I tell myself.
"What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing." Another deep breath.
"You don't have asthma do you? Because you sound like you're having an asthma attack."
"Careful Hayden. You sound like you're actually concerned about someone besides yourself." I smirk at him.
"Excuse me, Emmy. But if you die from an asthma attack, it's my ass that's going to jail."
"Well I don't have asthma so you're okay for now." I reply, sudden exhaustion making it hard to keep my eyes open. No matter how many times I change position, I can't sit straight. I'm too uncomfortable, too cold. "But I'm just...I don't feel well..."
The next thing I know, something heavy drapes across the front of me and warm hands push the heavy fabric over my shoulders, making me jolt. I open my eyes to find Hayden standing over me, adjusting the flag around me. He looks down at me and frowns, taking a giant step back.
"Don't get sick and die," he simply says and moves back to his corner of the room.
"Thank you, Hayden." The playfulness in my voice makes his frown deepen.
I didn't think that was even possible.
Every second seems to stretch into forever. I don't know how much time has passed. Coach Foster took our phones before he left for practice and the clock propped on the wall is stuck at twelve o'clock. All I know is that we have a lot of time to spare and that the rumbling air conditioning has dropped the temperature even more than before.
A few more degrees and I'll start to see my breath.
I rest my head against the wall once more and peer over at Hayden Cross. He is hunched over and curled into himself and I can see the bumps forming on his exposed skin. Neither of us is dressed properly. At least I'm wearing a jacket and this flag is pretty warm. Hayden on the other hand has nothing.
That's what he gets, I tell myself as I avert my gaze but somehow, I find myself looking at him again. When he breathes, I can see the air leave his mouth in a frosty cloud.
He's done so much to you. He's still doing so much.
I shake my head. "I can't believe I'm saying this but this flag is big enough for two if you want to join."
Hayden's head snaps up. "What?"
"I said get in the flag if you don't want to be cold," I grumble.
"No."
"Are you sure? Because the temperature seems to be dropping—"
Hayden stands up. "I said no."
He rummages through the same set of boxes again and pulls out another flag. This one is green and turquoise. Ripping the fabric from the pole, he wraps it around himself and settles against the wall opposite of mine, a content smirk on his face.
I roll my eyes. He can't even take a nice gesture without being a total ass. I should have known.
Long moments pass in silence. The tight feeling in my chest and dizziness only seems to be getting worse. I have a bad feeling it has to do with the lack of enough oxygen in such a tight space.
Hayden breaks the silence. "I don't have anything to do with the thing about Hansen having sex with me. Really."
I glare at him. "Why should I believe you?"
He tilts his chin. "Because when someone gets with me, they do it willingly, and they're the ones to tell the world. I don't need to say anything."
He laughs at my expression.
"I'm just letting you know so you're not pointing a finger at me," he clarifies. "I don't need to get into any more trouble."
I cross my arms underneath the flag. "And what do you call what you're doing to me?"
"Revenge," he states simply.
"And what about your vigilante adventures?" I ask in a bold tone.
I want him to know that I didn't forget what he did in the parking lot in saving me. He's stuck in here with me—when will I ever get a chance to ask him about this without the possibility of him running away?
"I literally have no idea what you're talking about," he responds in a flat voice.
"Yes you do." The memories of Nate's party bubble to the surface of my conscious mind and suddenly, I'm overwhelmed by the need to tell him about the man in the bathroom. I don't know why it's come over me. A huge part of me wants to forget any of that ever happened. But I can't.
He was in the parking lot of Del-Mart when I was attacked. He saved me. He must know something about the memory stick or maybe he can lead me in the right direction.
"I had something I shouldn't have," I confess. "And they came after me for it."
He doesn't say a word.
"It was an accident. I didn't mean to take it."
Hayden continues to stay silent. I turn my head to look at him for any inkling of an idea of what's going through his head, but all I see is a stone mask.
"And then I flushed it down the toilet. I think they're mad about that."
* * *