CHAPTER FOUR

LINDY

I don't feel too good.

My head is pounding, and my stomach is threatening to revolt at any moment. Looking around Rust, I can't find Martha.

Where did she go?

Things were going smoothly in our little corner group. An actual waitress distributed bottles of ice cold beer, then there was more chatter before everything became fuzzy. Holding my half-empty bottle higher, I squint at the sloshing liquid.

Surely, this didn't get me drunk. It's less than we drink during one of our book club girls' nights.

Someone bumps my elbow in passing, and I careen forward before bracing against the wall. Okay, breathe, maybe you need some fresh air to shake off the effects of the alcohol. Focusing on my new destination, I slowly make my way to the door Martha and I entered hours ago.

Every few minutes I stop and rest, fearing I may really vomit in front of all these strangers, then start moving again once the nauseous feeling recedes.

Sweat gathers uncomfortably on my body. The ruched fabric of my dress itches, and I keep swallowing that distinctive flavor that coats your tongue before throwing up.

Just keep moving. Breathe.

Oh god, I need to sit down again.

Lurching toward an empty place on the wall, I accidently fall into a couple making out in the shadows.

Sorry , I think. My tongue feels too thick, making speech a struggle.

"Are you okay?" A girl asks from my periphery.

"I… I'm f—" Before I can finish my sentence, I collapse over one of the many barrels set up throughout the space. Whether they're purely decorative or actual trashcans doesn't matter to me as I hack up everything I've had tonight—the beer and a quick TV dinner of turkey and potatoes. A chill washes over me as I cling to the scratchy metal.

This is my home now.

Trapped and sick and so fucking alone.

Where the hell is Martha?

I should call Caroline.

Or Timber…

A shadow crosses over my white-knuckled hands.

It's the last thing I see before I finally pass out.