Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
“Don’t speak to Jess like that,” Octavia barks out, her volume picking up to match Caleb’s. “She hasn’t done anything to you.”
Caleb’s eyes shoot to Octavia so fast his footing becomes unsteady. “You’re taking her side?”
“I’m not taking sides, Caleb. I’m stopping you from making a fool of yourself.” She scans her eyes over the trashed living room. “Look at our house. Our stuff. You just let them trash it.” She marches to the coffee table and thrusts her hand at the stack of coasters, oblivious to a white track line only inches from them. “We have coasters for a reason.”
“Coasters Mr. Suave didn’t bother using when he put his fucking feet on our coffee table.” He glares at me during the ‘our’ part of his comment like it belongs to me as much as it does them.
Although I’m grateful for the multiple times he’s maintained eye contact tonight, I’m too stunned to speak. How does he know Daniel put his feet on the coffee table at the end of our date? He wasn’t here for that, was he?
Is that how he knew who Daniel was when he left? Was he spying on us?
Before I can formulate an answer to my questions or fathom why I care, Caleb spears his focus back on Octavia. “And I said I’d clean up the mess once the party was over.”
Octavia folds her arms in front of her chest before cocking out her hip. “It looks over to me.”
“Yeah…” Caleb agrees, his tone still miffed with anger. “No thanks to her.” He thrusts his hand at me before stumbling off with a scoff.
“Let him go,” I suggest to Octavia when she attempts to defend me again. “He’s been drinking and got turned down. He needs a moment to reset his ego.”
The air whizzing from her mouth fans the wispy bangs she did a test run for spring. “From what I saw when I raced up here, it wasn’t Caleb being turned down.”
Her reply shouldn’t pique my interest, but it does. Very much so. “What do you mean?”
Like a book with no ending, she leaves me hanging. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
When Octavia grabs a trash bag from under the kitchen sink, I snatch it out of her hand. “Don’t you dare clean up after him. He made the mess, so he sure as hell can clean it.”
And no, I’m not solely referring to the empty beer cans and red cups in the living room. We—if I can even use that word when referring to anything with Caleb’s name associated with it—are very much a part of that saying.
I watch Octavia’s chest rise and fall a handful more times before switching off the television and covering her with the blanket that’s usually tossed over the couch. We’ve been watching a new Netflix limited-edition series the past few weeks, but like she does at almost every movie marathon night, Octavia crashed halfway through the last episode.
I could have stopped the program to ensure she didn’t miss anything, but I hate being left dangling—hence, me moseying toward Octavia’s bathroom instead of my apartment. The white powder residual on the coffee table can be common at parties these days, but I need to make sure it isn’t a regular thing. If it is, I’ll need to say something to Octavia. I don’t want to rat Caleb out, but if he’s using, his step back is worse than she realizes, and she has a right to know.
Caleb’s room is one door down from the bathroom, but with his door wide open, my nerves float away. He must have crashed soon after his storm out. His snores are faint but audible.
After checking the obvious spots recreational users stash their supplies, I move for the toilet bowl. I left it for last since it would expose more than an occasional snort of coke. It would indicate an addiction.
I breathe for the first time in minutes when I fail to find a single smidge of evidence that Caleb is using regularly. There’s nothing in or around the toilet that shouldn’t be there.
Perhaps the powder wasn’t from him? Maybe it was one of his guests?
With my chest not as heavy, I exit the bathroom, switching off the light on my way out.
“What the hell?” I murmur to myself when the light switches back on only a second later.
Octavia’s wage isn’t much better than mine, so I doubt she wants the meter spinning like a hula-hoop while she’s watching her eyelids for hours on end. Second only to rent, the electric bill is my biggest expense each month, so I lean in to flick the switch for the second time.
My confusion catapults when the bathroom only darkens for half a second.
Like an idiot without a brain, I flick off the switch again.
This time, since my heart is in my shoes, I can’t mistake the double clap that returns the bathroom to its lit state.