Chapter Eighteen

I dream about a future with Elliott King.

He smiles that crooked smile I adore. He teaches me everything he knows about boxing, and when he challenges me to spar, I hold my ground. Sometimes he even lets me win. We cook dinner together like normal people, and I laugh harder than I ever have in my life.

When I wake up in the morning, my hand goes straight to my phone.

No texts. No word from Elliott at all. The only sign I have that he was here is my princess doll resting on the rug instead of her usual spot.

ROSE: Last night was fun.

I refresh the screen, but he doesn't type back. He must still be sleeping. I tuck my phone into the pocket of my plaid pajama pants. Downstairs, my dad shuffles through the front door as I'm putting a bagel into the toaster.

"Long night?" I question.

"Yeah. How was the party?"

"Good. I was back by eleven like I promised."

He stifles a yawn and smiles.

"Get some sleep," I suggest.

He saunters upstairs, not arguing. My stomach rumbles, desperate for a taste of something that isn't alcohol. I butter my bagel and take a bite. The carbs are heavenly. As I'm about to finish it off, there's a loud knock on the door. I jump out of my chair. The other half of my bagel falls onto the floor, and I groan as crumbs sprinkle across the room.

Elliott?

He still hasn't responded to my text. I make my way to the door and recognize the sliver of reddish black hair. Gemma. She's never awake this early on a Saturday.

"Boo!" she says, shoving a Starbucks cup into my hand. "Happy Halloween!"

I take a sip. Earl Grey, my favorite.

"What's this for?"

"I wanted to get out of my house, and you've been an exceptional friend lately. Let's hang out."

"Alright," I agree, albeit rather hesitantly.

We spend the morning in my backyard enjoying the chilly weather. Gemma paints her nails pink while I catch up on some reading for class. She hums along to Lana Del Rey playing from her phone.

"So, what happened last night? After you and Elliott left?"

Finally, the question I've been waiting for. She's probably dying for details. I don't bother trying to hide the redness in my face as I think about what happened only hours ago.

"We kissed," I confess. ". . . . And he might have taken my shirt off."

Gemma squeals. She throws the bottle of nail polish to the ground, grabs my arm, and squeezes so tightly it cuts off my circulation.

"Rosalyn King does have a good ring to it."

She giggles, smiling from ear to ear at the expression of horror on my face. "What was it like?"

"Amazing."

She lowers her voice. "Are you in love?"

I freeze. Every time I blink, I picture the mesmerized smile on Elliott's face as he worshiped my bare skin. Last night was everything I've ever wanted, and yet I still don't feel satisfied.

"I don't know," I admit. "Maybe. I need to talk to him once he's up."

She picks up her phone to change the song, then pauses. "What the hell?"

She hands me her phone. Harris posted an Instagram picture only minutes ago. The caption lists his address and a time for a Halloween party. Of the few likes that it already has, Elliott is one of them.

So he does have his phone.

The smile vanishes from my face in an instant. It's remarkable how quickly Elliott can change my mood. Gemma's dark eyebrows crease when she notices the change in my expression. I show her the text I sent to Elliott this morning with no response.

"Maybe we should go tonight? See what he's up to? But only if you're comfortable."

These constant ups and downs are maddening. "I'll be fine," I mutter, standing up from the grass. "Let's go. Help me find a costume."

*

Despite the dark history between us, Harris's house is more welcoming than Elliott's. Pictures of the Price family are scattered across the walls. Dirty dishes line the sink. A few students hang out around the island, talking and drinking.

I fight the urge to wipe away the stream of fake blood beneath my nose; Gemma insisted I needed it to complete my Eleven from Stranger Things costume. My dad's paint-splattered T-shirt hangs loosely off my arms. A true 80's relic. I reach for a half-empty bottle of vodka on the counter, but Gemma stops me. She's dressed as Wednesday Addams, her hair pinned into two braids. Of course, she looks perfect.

"Let's find him first, okay?" Gemma says.

Curse her and her healthy coping strategies. I huff but agree. We creep toward the living room where the bulk of the party is. The crowd is thick, full of seniors and even some college students from a campus nearby. I don't want to go anywhere near it, but I know that the center of the crowd is exactly where I'll find Elliott. I push my way through sweaty shoulders and clouds of marijuana smoke.

There's laughter in the distance. Goofy laughter from a raspy voice that belongs to Elliott. Gemma and I push through the last layer of the crowd into the middle of the room. I spot a blue velvet couch, and seated on it, two people I recognize instantly.

Out of all the scenarios I contemplated, this one never made the list.

Maddy, wearing nothing but a lacy black bra and cat ears, swings her legs across Elliott's lap, straddling him. Elliott, dressed up as a shirtless Rocky Balboa, twirls a strand of her hair with his finger. Then, he dips his chin, pulling Maddy in for a kiss that stops my heart. She wraps her hand around his head to draw him closer.

I did the same thing not even twenty-four hours ago.

I freeze. My hands tremble.

Gemma makes the first move.

She's in front of Elliott before I can process what is happening. I gasp as my best friend rips Maddy off of Elliot's lap and slaps him straight across the face. The crowd silences. Elliott's skin reddens, his fists curling, until he realizes who hit him. I watch as his expression changes from confusion to horror. He turns to me, his mouth propped open.

Someone whistles as Gemma steps away from Elliott.

"Rose," Elliott whispers.

I try to run, but the crowd is too thick. Everyone wants in on the action, and all I want is to get the hell out of it. I push someone out of the way, and as I do, Elliott's hand falls onto my shoulder. I shiver at the touch of his calloused skin.

My feet lock in place. The feeling of his skin on mine opens the floodgates of adrenaline, and it courses throughout my body. I curse my own human instincts, furious that I would allow the hands of a traitor to feel so damn good.

"What?" I spit as I face him.

Standing so close, I register the tiredness across his face. His skin is puffy and pale. He reeks of vodka and weed. There's no telling what other drugs he's abused tonight. His right eye is bruised, and I can't tell if it's makeup or the real thing.

"Please let me explain—"

I cut him off, "No."

He winces. Without offering him another chance to speak, I turn toward the front door. A group of freshmen hold up their phones and record us. I'm too exhausted to care.

"Rose!"

Elliott's voice is piercing, and my name is broken when it leaves his throat. He dives through the throng of costumes, but I'm already on my way out the door.

"I love you!"

I stop.

The crowd does, too.

Those three words rip a hole into my chest. My feet give out, and I grab onto Gemma to keep myself from collapsing.

Elliott King loves me.

I know it for a fact without even needing to see him. The pain in his voice proves it all to be true.

Tears drip down my cheek when I turn around and see him standing rigidly with his bare, bruised-up skin and bloodshot blue eyes. I want nothing more than to scream the same words back, to hold onto his admittance and treasure it. I want to melt into him and let his strength protect me from hurting. Hurt that he caused.

But I can't. I can't save him. I have to save myself instead.

"Don't," I whisper.

He lets out an agonizing sob that rips the hole in my chest further apart.

I escape the mob through the open door. Gemma follows. She keeps one hand on my back, holding tightly to the cloth of my T-shirt. Her other arm moves to wrap me in a hug. I relax against her, tears running down my cheeks.

"Please take me home," I moan.

She whispers, "Okay."

I crash into the passenger seat of Gemma's mom's car. Gemma slides the key into the ignition. She blasts warm air on my skin. It doesn't get rid of my goose bumps.

"I think I love him, too," I cry.

I wish it wasn't true. But I know that if I didn't love him, this wouldn't hurt so damn bad.

"He doesn't know what he's missing," she replies.

I know exactly what I'm missing. Elliott's gentle hands. His crooked smile. The way his laughter lights up his face. The crease on his forehead when he's frustrated. The feeling of his fingers wrapped around mine, holding me steadily in place, grounding me.

I don't think I've ever wanted or hated anything more.

"Let's go," I murmur.

Gemma puts the car into drive and speeds down the road. The music blaring from Harris's house fades with the distance. I briefly wonder if Elliott's back with Maddy, kissing her to forget about me. Maybe he's drinking, or snorting powder off the table. Or, worst of all, laughing with Harris about my stupidity.

Gemma parks in my driveway. I wipe away my tears and force my chin up. My dad's home. I don't want him to see me like this.

"Do you want me to sleep over?" she asks.

I shake my head. "No, it's okay."

"Okay," she concedes, squeezing my hand one last time within hers. I squeeze back. My breathing steadies for the first time tonight.

"Thank you," I whisper, even though it's not enough. I don't know what I would've done tonight if she hadn't been there.

"I love you, Rose. That's never going to change."

I pull myself out of the car so she can't see me start to cry again. My father perks up from the recliner at the sound of my footsteps.

"How was it?"

I open my mouth to try and come up with a convincing lie. But all my words disappear when I see him. He clears the living room in a split second and wraps his arms around me.

I let myself go. Tears rush down my chin and onto his sweatshirt.

"You're okay," he says in a hushed tone.

He doesn't ask what happened. He just stands with me until I can't hold myself up any longer. Then, he guides me upstairs to my bedroom. I pull the purple comforter up to my nose. Elliott's T-shirt rests against the pillow, and I chuck it onto the floor.

Dad disappears downstairs, then returns moments later with a steaming hot cup of chamomile tea. The warm liquid eases my raw throat.

"Thank you," I whisper.

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, tapping his fingers against my floral sheets. The princess doll rests on the floor next to his feet. I scowl at it, cursing myself for not putting it away earlier.

"I wish your mom was here," Dad stammers. "She was better with this stuff."

I smile weakly. He's wrong. Mom would be proud of him.

"You're doing great, Dad."

He grins, brown eyes brimming with unconditional love. I place the cup of tea onto my nightstand and squeeze his hand.

"I promise I'll tell you everything tomorrow, but I don't think I can talk right now."

He nods. I finish what's left of the tea before relaxing into my pillow. My father rises from the bed, running his fingers one last time through my curls.

"Get some rest, kiddo," he says. "And call me if you need anything."

"I love you," I respond.

I hear Elliott speaking the same words in my head, his voice shattering.

He loves me.

And, exactly as Harris predicted, he ruined it.