21. Hayley

21

HAYLEY

T he vodka bottle empties faster than I expect. Max leans back on my bed, his feet dangling off the edge, and laughs at something Hannah says. I don’t know what, exactly. Her words are slurred, tumbling over each other like she’s forgotten how they’re supposed to go together. The bag of coke sits on my desk, its contents spread thin, the aftermath of their idea of fun.

My head swims, not from the alcohol—I didn’t drink that much—but from the tightness winding itself around my chest. Max keeps looking at me like I’m supposed to join in, like I’m one of them. But I’m not. I never have been. I sip from my water bottle and watch them, Hannah sprawled out on the floor now, her laugh hiccuping into silence.

“You’re quiet,” Max says, tilting his head at me. His smile is too big, too fake. He doesn’t notice that Hannah hasn’t moved in a while.

“Just tired,” I lie. My voice is steady, even though my pulse isn’t.

Hannah’s breathing starts to change. It’s subtle at first, a soft rasp that could almost pass as nothing. But it grows louder, more uneven. Her chest rises and falls in shallow bursts, and she coughs, a weak, wet sound that sticks in the air.

I glance at Max. He’s oblivious, scrolling on his phone, one leg bouncing like he’s trying to burn off energy. He doesn’t notice her at all.

But I do.

I see her lips turning pale, the sweat beading on her forehead, the way her fingers twitch like she’s trying to grab hold of something that isn’t there.

“Max,” I say, keeping my tone casual. “Hannah doesn’t look good.”

His head snaps up, his phone slipping out of his hand and onto the bed. He looks at her, his brow furrowing, and then back at me.

“She’s fine,” he says, but his voice cracks.

“She doesn’t look fine.”

He moves to her side, crouching down, shaking her shoulder. “Hey, Hannah. Wake up.”

She doesn’t respond. Her breathing is louder now, each gasp like a jagged edge cutting through the room.

“Shit,” he screeches, shaking her harder. “Hannah, come on. Wake the fuck up.”

Nothing.

Panic flickers across his face, quick and sharp, like he’s just realized he’s holding something that could explode in his hands.

“She’s not waking up,” he says, looking at me like I have the answer.

Something stirs inside me, but I don’t move. I just sit there, watching. Calculating. The pieces slotting into place faster than I can think.

“You gave her too much of that shit,” I say, my voice low, even. “Didn’t you?”

He flinches. “It wasn’t— I didn’t?—”

“It’s yours,” I press, letting the words land heavily. “You gave it to her. You brought it here.”

He stares at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“We should call someone,” he finally says, his voice shaky. “An ambulance or something.”

“And tell them what?” I snap, standing up. “That you gave her too much coke? You think they’re just gonna pat you on the back and let you walk out of here?”

His face goes pale. “I didn’t know?—”

“It doesn’t matter,” I cut him off. “They’ll pin this on you. You brought it here, Max. You gave it to her. You think they’re not gonna figure that out?”

He looks at Hannah, then back at me, his panic mounting.

“She’s dying!” he shouts, his voice cracking.

“Exactly,” I say coldly. “And if you call for help, they’ll know it’s your fault. They’ll figure out what’s in her system, they’ll trace it back to you, and you’ll be fucked. Basically forever.”

His hands shake, his breathing ragged. “I can’t just— We can’t just?—”

“Do you know what it’s like in prison, Max? You’re a small guy, with a pretty face. Not really a good combo, if you ask me.”

He just stares at me, like he wants to say something but he’s misplaced the words.

“No one has to know you were here,” I say, stepping closer to him, my voice soft, almost soothing. “If you leave now, no one will ever know. I’ll handle it. I’ll say I found her like this. That I didn’t see you. You’ll be safe.”

His eyes widen, desperation at first, then something else. Relief. “You’d do that?”

I nod, keeping my expression calm, steady. “Of course. I’m your friend, Max.”

He hesitates, glancing at Hannah again. Her breathing is barely there now, a faint whisper, and her lips have turned blue .

“I—” he starts, but he doesn’t finish.

“Go,” I say firmly. “Before it’s too late.”

He doesn’t need more convincing. He stumbles to his feet, grabbing his phone, his jacket. He looks at Hannah and then at me one last time, his eyes filled with something that might be gratitude or fear or both.

“Thank you,” he mumbles before rushing out the door.

The silence that follows is deafening.

I turn back to Hannah. She’s still now, her chest barely rising and falling at all. I crouch beside her, watching her face, her body.

And then I sit back on my heels, and consider my luck.

No one will ever know. Not about this.

Not about that message I sent to Elliot’s stupid girlfriend.

I’m sorry Hannah has to die.

But it’s better this way.