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 don’t stick around for too long for obvious reasons.
I’ve no doubt Lev knows I snuck out by now. The sixty missed calls and five hundred threatening text messages are a slight clue.
Lev: Where the fuck are you?
Lev: You left the house?
Lev: YOU LEFT THE FUCKING HOUSE.
Lev: I swear to God, Bailey.
Lev: When I find you, and I WILL find you, drugs will be the least of your problems.
Lev: No need to piss into a cup. Just got my answer.
CHAPTER 9
Bailey
I’m finally not in pain anymore.
The high from the Vicodin makes me feel like I’m walking on cotton candy as I make my way back home by foot.
There’s a huge smile on my face. Lev said he is pissed and I believe him, but I have an idea how to make him forgive me for this inconsequential relapse.
I’m not even going to feel bad about Thalia because I just found out she’s a snake.
Lev is an exceptionally resourceful guy, so I’m not at all surprised when his Bugatti blinks its lights at my back not even six minutes after I leave the bonfire.
He accelerates, then makes an aggressive right turn and blocks my way with his car.
He stops horizontally in the middle of the street. Drivers honk and shake their fists from their windows, creating a long line of traffic. Lev slips out of the car, moving like a summoned demon.
“Jesus, you’re fucking freezing” is the first thing he says.
He takes off his varsity jacket and wraps it over my bare shoulders.
Am I? I didn’t even notice the temperature, which should be a bad sign. And where’s my hoodie? Where did I lose it? You’re not supposed to strip off without realizing, right?
But I still don’t like making a scene, so I say, “People are watching.”
“They’re about to get the show of their lives because I’m two seconds away from spanking your ass.” He grabs me like I’m a potato sack, hurls me over his shoulder, and dumps me in the passenger seat.
He snaps the seat belt against my waist. His jaw is clenched tight, and his eyes are a storm of thunder and hail.
I’d be scared if I weren’t higher than One World Trade Center (which happens to be the tallest building in New York, not the Empire State building). The drugs, however, give me strength.
He starts driving. Something occurs to me. “I’m wearing your varsity jacket.”
His nostrils flare. “That just occurred to you? Fuck, you’re high.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You said it’s a sign of ownership.”
Lev doesn’t say anything. That’s fair. Now’s probably not the best time to fish for compliments.
I bury my nose in his jacket, the singular scent of him hitting my nostrils. Ironically, Lev is the most addictive drug of all.
When we reach a red light, he turns to me and snatches my phone from between my fingers—I expected it—and I know he’ll look through my texts, but he’s not going to find anything because I deleted the convo with Thalia.
“If you take my phone, does that mean I get to take yours?” I grin.
He tosses me his phone, eyes still on the road. “Unlike you, I have nothing to hide.”
Shakily, I punch in his code—my birthday—and immediately go to his text messages. Thalia is the fifth conversation, which makes me pathetically happy. I get into their chat.
Thalia: I miss you’re a dick.
Lev: Dude, for the last time, grammar is important.
Not exactly the stuff Romeo and Juliet were made of. Everything before that is just dry arrangements about where they should meet and where they are.
My next stop is his camera roll. If he has dick pictures or naked pics from Thalia, I will probably open the passenger door mid-drive and plunge to my death.
My heart is a ball of anxiety in my throat as I scroll through his images, but it’s mostly boring football strategy stuff and…me.
There are so many pictures of me. Like, hundreds. Most of them, I don’t even recognize. I wasn’t aware when they were being taken.
There’s a bunch from my going-away party, for instance. I remember that day very well, but in my head, it played out differently.
I was unwrapping Daria’s gift for me, a Chanel purse, or as she called it, “A BBB. Bad Bitch Bag. Everyone needs one, Bails. Even girls like you, who are ashamed of being pretty and rich.”
It was after the Bailev fallout. I remember Lev was messing with his phone and I was hurt he wasn’t even looking at me when people presented me with going-away presents.
Only he was looking. He was documenting every moment of it. Every smile. Every laugh. Taking pictures of my reactions. All zoomed-in, cropped, and focused on my face.
Oh Marx. This is so creepy. And adorable. And creepy. Again.
There’s another set of pictures of me playing with the kiddos—Sissi and Den—and then a picture of me with my back to the camera, leaning against the kitchen counter, licking a spoonful of cake frosting when I thought no one was watching.