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.
Can’t.
Breathe.
“What do you mean?” Lev echoes my thoughts. There is silence, so much silence, too much silence. Marx, say something. Anyone. Anything.
“We got the letter in the mail yesterday,” Mom sighs, finally. “I hid it from Bailey. I know it’s horrible—it was addressed to her. But I couldn’t risk her finding out tha—”
“What’s in the letter, Mel?” Dad’s voice is urgent.
“She is not going back.” Mom’s voice cracks in the middle, like a twig. “Juilliard has a strict no drug abuse policy. They’re extremely diligent about it. What happened to Bailey is no secret, and it’s horrible optics. Plus, they want her to get better. She’s not a risk they’re willing to take, and frankly, I don’t blame them.”
There’s a beat of silence before she really hammers it home. “Bailey is not going back to Juilliard. They decided for her. And that’s final.”
I fall down on my knees, a feral cry escaping my lips. My mouth is dry and my ears are clogged, full of white noise.
The dream is dead.
Her dream is dead.
My dream is dead.
This makes no sense at all. They sent me an email asking me to retake the practical exam.
Why did they change their minds?
But then I remember what Mom told me on the plane to Jackson Hole.
Juilliard doesn’t usually send emails about things like that.
She is right—they sent snail mail. But someone did send me an email. It just wasn’t authentic. Who could push me into working harder for an old dream, into taking drugs?
Thalia.
I grab my phone and get into the email again. Sure enough, the email address looks suspicious. thejulliardschooladmin@yahoo.com.
How did I not pay attention? A freaking yahoo address. And Juilliard is spelled wrong.
Is this amateur hour? I should’ve seen this right away.
But of course, it slipped past me. I was drugged up, in pain, and too jaded to focus on the details.
I don’t deserve Juilliard. Or Lev, for that matter. I’d only slow him down.
He is destined to greatness, and me? I’m below average.
From the corner of my eye, I notice something sitting on my nightstand.
It’s the drugs Thalia brought over today. She must’ve put them here when Mom was comforting me, before she slithered her way out.
They’re here, in plain sight, waiting to be consumed. How could I have missed that?
The same way you missed so many things these past couple months.
No Juilliard. No future. And…let’s admit it, after the confiscated dove pendant, maybe no Lev, either. That bracelet was our lifeline.
The one thing that bound us together, even when we were torn apart, each of us living on another coast.
Those things on my nightstand? They could make me shut down and forget who I am.
Rather than walking, I crawl my way to my nightstand. My knees hit the floor. I push three pills past my lips and swallow without water. Then I take the rest of the pills—I don’t even know what they are—and shove them down my throat. I slacken against my bedframe, head hanging in shame, and stare out the window.
To the doves sitting on my tree.
To the sun twinkling in the sky.
To what very well could be the last day of my life.
CHAPTER 34
Lev
Miserable Fact #75: Though the etiquette guide for Victorian mourning varied, widows grieved for two and a half years, while widowers for three months.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but is there a chance Bails drowned in the shower?” I turn to Jaime and Mel.
I’ve been sitting in their living room for forty fucking minutes, waiting for Bailey to come down. I know she’s a chick and that there’s an unspoken universal agreement where women are allowed thrice the time to shower than men.
But forty minutes extra is a stretch. In this time, she could wash her hair, put on a fancy face mask, flick the bean twice, dry up, blow out her hair, and try on three sets of clothes.
Jaime stares into his whiskey, and I can tell he wants to hurl it against the wall. “Mel?”
Melody shakes her head. “I don’t want her to feel like we don’t trust her.”
“Why not?” he asks. “We don’t.”
“I’m going to check on her.” I stand up.
“Sure, in the same fantasy you’re both going to attend a Playboy mansion party and scuba dive with unicorns.” Jaime rises to his feet, shoving me back down to the couch by the shoulder.
I roll my eyes and grab my La Croix. “I’ve seen her naked before.”
He shoots me a look before trudging up the stairs.
Mel turns her attention to me and smiles. “You know, her friend Thalia was here earlier. They seemed to have had quite the fight. Do you think she might be upset?”
My jaw is on its way to drop on the floor when Jaime’s choked roar comes from upstairs.
“Mel, come up here right now! Call an ambulance! JESUS FUCK.”