“Are you okay?” Griffin asks when I’ve been silent for too long.
I inhale. Hold my breath. Nod. Blink and let out air slowly. He grabs my hand and squeezes lightly, reassuringly.
Less than ten minutes later, Griffin parks the rental, and we head up the walkway to Jack’s front door.
Olivia opens the door after I knock. She spreads out her hand Vanna White style, complete with a sickly sweet smile, welcoming us inside. “You both came! I’m so happy.” She pulls me in for a quick hug. Her perfume smells like honeysuckle. “Come in, come, join the fun. And by the way, you make a banging couple.” She turns around before she notices the look on my face.
There are a decent handful of people standing around, chatting. All of them followed the dress code. I feel like we’re a little overdressed, but oh well, might as well embrace it, have a little fun, and try not to lead Griffin on any more than I already have.
Once in the living room, Jack introduces us to everyone, though the only name I make sure not to forget is his roommate, Ryan’s. Forgetting the birthday boy’s name would be rude.
“Thanks for coming, guys,” Ryan says, lifting his beer bottle in the air.
We both say happy birthday, then he insists we follow him to the kitchen.
Inside the fridge, there are three different types of beer. One bottle of wine. A nearly empty carton of OJ and a two liter of Coke. On the counter are a bottle of Absolut and a bottle of Jameson.
“Pick your poison,” he says, shoving his long red curls off his forehead.
“Oh,” I say as Olivia sneaks up behind me and points to one of the bottles of liquor.
She’d said Jack was older, but I’d never asked specifically. Is he twenty-one? Or maybe his roommate is? Well, whatever. Underage kids get alcohol all the time.
“I’m good,” Griffin says when Ryan points to him. “Thanks.”
“What? You don’t want something to drink?” His words slur just a little.
“Actually, I’ll have some of that orange juice.”
Ryan frowns, screws up his face like Griffin isn’t speaking English. “For real, man?”
“Yeah. I don’t drink. Plus, someone’s gotta DD, right?” His tone remains calm and even. But I feel him tense beside me, and if our shoulders weren’t touching, I wouldn’t have noticed.
He’d told me he’s sober now, but I’m sure it’s not something he enjoys broadcasting to everyone.
“Oh, okay.” Ryan shrugs then turns to pull the OJ container from the fridge. “How about you, Quinn?”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, raising my shoulders briefly, even though he can’t see. “I don’t know. I’m okay for now.”
“You, too?”
“You’re not going to drink?” Olivia asks, her own drink in hand. She’s eyeing me. Fair enough. We’ve been to our share of parties, drank alcohol here and there. I’ve never said no before.
“Maybe. But not yet.” I smile, awkwardly trying to wipe my palms against my dress without looking nervous. I avoid Griffin’s gaze, looking around the boring kitchen with a table, four chairs, and a single poster on the wall. Does it bother him that there’s alcohol here? He never told me how bad his addiction was, but if you claim you’ve been sober for months and that before then you were a “terrible person,” it must have been awful. Maybe we should just leave.
Guilt and a nice dose of uncertainty churns, and I cross my arms, still trying too hard to appear unfazed. I want to ask Griffin if he’s uncomfortable, but what if just asking him makes him uncomfortable? I’ll feel ashamed, and it’ll ruin the night.
When Olivia claims it’s game time, Jack motions us toward the coffee table. It’s not any worse than Griffin’s, but it’s a putrid shade of green.
I sit, drink-less. Guess I should’ve asked for a water or orange juice, at least. Griffin’s eyes are narrow, lips curved down, but it’s not annoyance or disappointment. He sits next to me, taking a breath, his eyes never leaving my face.
Then he whispers, “You look…worried.”
Olivia sits across from me in a chair pulled over from the kitchen. She smiles and tosses her hair and claps her hands as I try to place all the pieces together in my head.
When I slide my gaze back to Griffin, I force a small smile. “I’m great,” I whisper.
“Another dizzy spell?” He’s still whispering.
My brows pull together and my mouth opens then closes. Oh. Oh. That first lie I had to tell him. Yeah, about that… “No. Sometimes crowds make me anxious.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Jack sits beside Olivia before Griffin can ask me any more questions. He’s placed a stack of board games on the table. Ryan, Jack’s roommate, joins the table. So do a few of his friends.
“What shall we play?” Jack touches the boxes like they’re unique, exquisite art, and I have to hold back a laugh.
“You really have three different versions of Monopoly?” a girl with a blonde pixie cut asks, waving her hand at the stack.
He shrugs, leaning back into his seat. “Three different editions.”
Olivia shudders as if either way, the idea is repulsive. “I hate Monopoly.”
“Why, because you always lose?” Jack asks.
“No. Because it never freaking ends! Who wants to play the same game for eight hours? Not me.”
Griffin laughs, a sound that’s probably not loud enough for them to hear. But it tickles my skin, makes my heart do that flip-flop thing, and I love it.
And still hate, hate, hate that I love it.
“There are other games, Liv,” I say to distract myself. “We don’t have to play Monopoly.” I kind of hate it, too, so that’s more than okay with me.
She leans one elbow on the table, rests her chin in her hand, and examines the games like this is more important than choosing a college. We all wait patiently as she inspects the stack, making small noises in the back of her throat.
Finally, she says, “Ryan should pick. It’s his birthday, after all.”
“Besides, it’s not life or death here.” I silently curse my choice of words, and goose bumps rise across the back of my neck.
“Fine. We’ll play Cards Against Humanity.” He straightens, defiant, like he won something, proved something.
I look down and cover my mouth with my free hand to hide my laughter. Griffin squeezes my hand and I glance over at him, as he winks at me, trying to conceal his own laughter. My laughter dies quickly. I should’ve never invited him. This is my own devised torture.
Ryan deals out the cards, explains the rules. It’s a simple game. Pick a ridiculous card. Be crude, mean, obscene, racist, sexist, funny. Sometimes being smart works, but it all depends on who your opponents are.
Thirty minutes in, I drink a beer, figuring if Griffin is bothered by any of the alcohol and itching to leave by now, he would’ve told me.
We play for hours. Olivia wins the first round of Cards Against Humanity, laughing and pumping her fists in the air victoriously. A guy named Wayne wins the second round, and he gets a cocky smirk on his face. When Griffin is in the lead by four cards, he smiles at me. None of my cards were ever chosen as the winner, making me the most pathetic loser.
“You all suck,” I say playfully, tossing my cards down. “My cards were funny.”
“Yeah, but not as funny as the others.” Olivia flips her wrist in the air. “The boys were funnier than you thought, right?”
I lean back and glare. “Or they weren’t as funny as me.”
She lifts both hands, laughing. “Fair enough! You know it’s so hard to decide sometimes.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I laugh, too. “I know. It’s okay. I’m no sore loser.”
We all agree we’ve had enough of cards, so Jack and Olivia pack up the deck while I—and a guy who’s name I think is Wayne—clear everyone’s empty bottles and glas
ses.
Once most people refill their drinks and go back to the living room, Olivia brings a cake out from the kitchen. Everyone joins in singing a sloppy version of Happy Birthday, then Ryan blows out the candles. It takes him three attempts to get them all, everyone laughs, then Olivia starts cutting the cake into slices for us.
After cake, someone brings up a board game I’ve never heard of, and a few minutes later, it’s spread out on the table and Ryan is explaining the rules. A couple girls bow out, choosing to instead go outside for a cigarette.
Griffin stands. “Hey, where’s your bathroom?”
“Upstairs. First door on the right,” Jack says, closing the lid on the game box.
Olivia rubs her bare arms. “It’s cold in here. Can I put on one of your sweatshirts?” she asks Jack.
He smiles. Nods. “Of course.”
She spins and heads for the stairs, where Jack’s room must be.
I go to the kitchen and throw away my plate and wipe my hands on a towel. By the time I turn around, Jack’s a few feet away from me, standing in a way that suggests he’s been staring at me for longer than two seconds.
“Tonight’s been fun so far,” I say. “Thanks for inviting us over.”
He inches forward, his sneakers lightly squeaking over the tiled floor. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.” His voice is low. His brows are crooked, matching the half frown he wears.
I press my back against the counter and cock my head, ignoring the goose bumps lining my arms. “About what?”
Jack inches even closer. Doesn’t the guy understand personal space? “I don’t want you to say anything to Olivia or Griffin. Not yet. I want—” He swallows hard, shaking his head.
The counter digs into my back when I try to lean away. Is he drunk? He hasn’t been acting like it, but there’s an unfamiliar gleam in his eyes. Is he hitting on me? No. No way. He wouldn’t do that to Olivia.
“Hey,” I say when he’s dared to come a bit closer, the tips of his shoes nearing my own. “I don’t keep secrets from my friends.”
“It’s not like that.” He works a hand through his dark locks and moves back, though not nearly enough. His brows furrow. “It’s about something I found out.”
“Oh…” I excuse the creepy vibes once he says this. Wow, what kind of conclusions was I jumping to?
He pauses, glancing around to ensure the coast is clear, then his hand grasps my wrist, and he dips his head to whisper softly, “You have a brother.”
“What?” I yank my arm away, knocking my elbow into the counter’s edge. Holding back a wince, I slide to the right, pulling away from his grip on me. “Are you serious? How did you even find that out?”
He leans in close to my ear and whispers, “I told you I would find something. I wanted to tell you in person. It’s—”
Heavy footfalls sound down the steps, and I turn to see Griffin at the bottom of the stairs. He stares like he’s confused. Did he hear us? Did he see us touching? Oh God, what he must be thinking…
Confused and anxious, I pick up my purse from where I’d hung it and sling the strap over my shoulder with more force than necessary. I don’t know how I can stick around and pretend I wasn’t just given that bombshell. Halfway into the party was the wrong time to tell me.
“Griffin, are you ready to go? I don’t feel very great. I think I ate too much cake.”
He nods, but his brows pull together. “We can leave if you’re ready.”
We both head toward the front door until lighter, quicker footsteps bounce down the stairs and Olivia calls out, “Why are you leaving without saying goodbye?” She’s now wearing a dark blue sweatshirt that’s twice as big as her, and she’s pouting as she nears us.
I keep my smile intact—at least, I hope. “Sorry. We were just going to wait by the door.” Damn, I can’t stop lying.
She pulls me in for a hug, but I’m relieved when she lets go. I need some fresh air. We wave goodbye, and I’m outside. Finally, I can breathe again.
Griffin rests a hand on my shoulder as we walk to his car. He slows his pace, causing me to slow, too. “Are you actually sick, or did something happen that I missed?”
I give him a sideways glance. A light breeze blows hair across my face, and I brush it back, swallowing, no longer holding his gaze. “I’m fine. Nothing happened.”
“That’s not what it looked like to me. Did Jack say something…or do something that made you uncomfortable?”
In front of his car, Griffin spins me slowly to face him, lips lifted, hands now resting on my shoulders. I raise my eyes and assess the look in his eyes, the genuine concern I see there. I see his annoyance, too, but I don’t want to talk about the fact that I have a brother. Not until I can process the news. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
That might be the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
The ride home is silent. Griffin’s eyes remain dim, and his jaw stays clenched. I want to erase that look on his face. How can I?
He doesn’t look at me when we get out of the car.
“There’s nothing going on with Jack,” I blurt. “I would never—just to be clear. At the party, we were only talking.”
Finally, Griffin’s gaze slides my way. “Yeah. Okay.” His voice is low and unconvinced. “Have a good night.”
Before I know what to say, he’s moved feet away from me. Sighing, I watch him leave until he reaches his patio.
I’m about to head inside when I notice a red envelope with my name on it sitting in front of the door. I frown before picking it up. Turning it over, I look for a sender, panicking more with each passing second. But there’s nothing more than my name written in black Sharpie.
My blood warms, and my insides turn over as I open the envelope. As I expected, it’s a similar note to the first, only this one is handwritten.
NOW IT’S MY TURN TO TORTURE YOU.
Chapter Twenty-Two
My heart beats so loudly, I’m certain it’s five seconds from exploding. My fingers shake, and I nearly drop the note, but unlike last time, I grip it firmly, not worried about crushing it into pieces by mere force.
Inside, there’s no news article this time.
No.
It’s worse.
I’m staring at a dimly lit photo of myself. Sleeping. In my bed.
I don’t look up from the paper. All of my insides have gone cold, frozen over in solid ice, and I’m incapable of doing anything aside from staring at the eerie snapshot with a death grip on my letter.
All the blood has surely drained from my face. I’m shaking now, all over, yet still frozen within. The cake I ate earlier tonight turns and tumbles in my stomach unpleasantly. And fuck, this is more horrifying than the note before.
Someone had been inside my bedroom while I slept. Was it last night? The night before? Someone took this picture of me. The same someone who sent me that first awful note. I’m being screwed with, and I don’t know why—I don’t know how.
“How did someone get inside my bedroom?” A shiver climbs up my back.
How did someone…
How did someone get into Griffin’s apartment with no signs of forced entry to break his guitar? The same way some person got into our apartment to take this photo. No broken locks. No unlocked screens. Nothing missing.
Without much of a second thought, I take the envelope to Griffin’s and pound on his door harder than necessary. After what feels like an eternity, he opens the door with a quick whoosh.
His pulled-together brows lift when he sees me, but they fall back into hard lines when he takes in my appearance. I’m sure I have a scattered, freaked-out-girl look about me.
“Quinn?” His voice is soft, though he doesn’t ask me what’s wrong.
“I got another note,” I say, my voice flat, devoid of any emotion. Not because I feel nothing, bu
t because I’m not sure which emotion I’m feeling. Probably all of them at once. My words come out as though I’m a robot. Maybe it’s like how when you mix all the colors together, you get black…and that’s what’s happening with my insides.
I’m turning black. Empty. Scared. Broken.
“Someone was inside my apartment,” I say. “They took my picture.”
He looks at the image when I hand it to him. His angular features shift and pinch. His kissable lips turn hard and flat. Then he raises his gaze to mine.
We stand there, looking at each other without saying a word.
“I…” I start, but my voice breaks, feelings finally coming back to me in a tsunami. “Fuck, I—”
I step forward, and Griffin wraps his arms around me, wordlessly pulling me tightly against him. He grips me with his large, warm hands, seeming to understand that I need this hug right now. I throw my arms around him, too, the note still clutched in one hand.
His embrace does calm my soul a little. The makings of tears sizzle in my eyes, but I won’t cry.
“It doesn’t make any sense.” My voice is muffled against his soft shirt. “None of it. Why is someone doing this to me?”
He pulls back slightly, enough to look me in the eye. He’s trying to maintain a cool, calm, and collected expression, but it’s barely working. Fear is written into the lines on his face. Confusion and anger emanate off him in waves.
I shake my head. “How would anyone know about my family? The car wreck? How did someone get into both of our apartments without breaking the locks or windows? And why go from cutting your brake lines to sending me terrifying notes? Why?”
All I have is why. Why, why, why?
And I have no answers.
He steps back and leads us inside his apartment and toward the couch. We sit, and he wipes under my eyes with two fingers, brushing away tears I hadn’t realized had fallen. When my gaze meets Griffin’s, his is filled with torment, with sorrow. Pain and anguish.
To Whatever End Page 17