31. Hayley

31

HAYLEY

I count the days like I’m marking off the final stretch of a race, but it’s not a race to the finish. It’s a countdown to freedom. Less than a month to Christmas break, and I’m back in Texas. Back with everything I’m supposed to leave behind.

I’ve been staring at the city through my bedroom window for months now, and it still doesn’t feel like home. It’s better than London, I’ll say that. Still, it’s just another place where I’m supposed to fit in, but all I really do is watch time pass me by. Mom’s hardly here, which means it’s like I’m living by myself in a nice apartment with way too much space and silence. Sophie’s doing her whole college thing, and I’m stuck here wasting my life away.

Charlotte put me in this pretentious private school, where I skip as much as I can, and spend the rest of the time pretending to care about tests and teachers who probably wouldn’t give a damn if I failed every single class.

It’s strange, you know? I always thought that being away from Texas would be this huge escape, but now I just feel... disconnected. I can do whatever I want, which I guess should be a relief. But it isn’t. Not really. Because “whatever I want” is just me alone in an apartment in the middle of New York, staring out the window and plotting how to fix things that aren’t mine to fix.

Like Zoe.

That situation has turned into something I can’t ignore.

I don’t know if she actually thinks I can help her, or if she’s just reaching out to someone—anyone—to pull her out of this nightmare. But I promised her I’d try. After everything I’ve been through, I can’t just walk away from someone who’s as trapped as I was.

The cryptic anonymous texts stopped, though. After that last one, the strange warning from whoever’s watching me, they went silent. Maybe they figured out I’m not the one they should be worried about. Or maybe they don’t care anymore. Either way, the pressure’s been off... but that doesn’t mean I’m not still trying to piece together whatever I can from what’s left.

I need to do something.

Elliot and Zoe are still in Texas, but I can’t rely on a single thing there to fix what’s broken. So I have to act from here. From New York. And I can’t waste any more time. Zoe sent me a pic. She has another black eye, and her parents are starting to not buy the whole, “it was volleyball” bit.

Charlotte comes and goes, like a ghost that’s trying not to be seen. I’m starting to realize she’s always been like that. I can hear her footsteps when she gets home late, or when she leaves early, but most of the time, I don’t even know where she’s been. And when she does stop by, she just...observes. I don’t get it. I’m not a problem she’s worried about fixing, but she’ll never admit that. She only cares about Sophie. Dad was the one who loved me, who cared about me, but he’s dead and now there’s no one.

But Zoe.

She cares. Sure, it’s just because she needs me, but still. Sometimes you just need to be needed .

So Mom should be proud. I’ve learned to fill the void in my own way. One thing that does keep me busy is figuring out how to get Zoe away from Elliot. If I could just talk to her directly—no distractions, no bullshit—I could probably get her to see the logic in what I’m saying. But I can’t. All I have is our DMs. All I have is the tiny fragments of hope I still cling to. And I have to move fast. Because if I don’t, if I just sit here like I’ve been doing, nothing will change. And nothing can stay the same for too long.

I flop down on the sofa, pulling out my phone. I stare at the screen, not really thinking about what to say, just needing to say something. I type a few words—just an idea, a plan, whatever it is that might get her out. The longer I wait, the worse it gets for her. And I can’t let that happen. Not again.

The message reads:

I’ve got a plan. You don’t have to stay with him, Zoe. You’ll be okay, just listen.

But even as I send it, I can’t help but feel like I’m playing a game I’m not sure I can win. There’s a part of me that wonders if Zoe will even get it. Or if she’ll think I’m crazy. Or worse—what if she doesn't trust me? What if this is a waste of time?

But then I remind myself— it’s not a waste of time. Even if it doesn’t work out, at least I’ll know I tried. And that’s all I have left to hold onto, really.

I lean back and close my eyes, letting out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. The silence in this apartment is thick. Even though I’m surrounded by millions of people, I’ve never felt more alone. I can’t keep pretending that I’m okay with this life, with the way what I want keeps getting pushed aside, waiting for a better time, waiting for things to settle. They never do.

I should be happy. I should be grateful that I’m here, in this nice apartment in New York, going to some overpriced school that’s trying to turn me into something I’ll never be. I should be grateful that Sophie has her life, that Mom does whatever she does. I should be grateful, period. But I’m not.

I’m just tired.

And I can’t wait for Christmas break. For Texas. For everything to finally break open.

Maybe then I’ll find a way to make it all better.