Bad Wolf: Wild Men, #4

Chapter One

Gigi

Hurry up, Sydney hisses, dragging me by the hand through the night club, under the strobing lights. We’re late.

So what? We’re fashionably late. I tug on her hand, but she’s strong for such a tiny person. Relax. We’re supposed to be having fun.

You’re always about the fun, aren’t you? She pulls me deeper into the club, like a short, red-haired missile locked on target.

What’s that supposed to mean? Getting annoyed, I tug my hand harder, freeing it and stumbling back a step on my stilettos. It’s our night out. Of course I want to have fun. Don’t you?

Yes! But if I’m not on time… Seriously, I can’t be late.

On time for what? Late for what? God, you’re turning into a grump. I step farther back, heat seeping into my neck. Is it because you’ll finally have to choose between all the boys you’ve been hanging with all this time? Poor baby.

Whoa. Really? She stares at me, her cheeks reddening.

Hey, you’re the one who’s all stressed out.

Normally I don’t go off on her like that. I’m an easy-going person, light-hearted and fun. Syd likes that I’m fun. So why throw it into my face like an insult?

And now she’s staring into the dancing crowd, and I’m not even sure she hears me. Something’s definitely off.

Sort-of-dating three dudes at the same time can be stressful, I guess, especially if you’re all good buddies.

I honestly don’t understand the dynamics of her little group. Her three friends seem nice, sure, and they’re handsome as hell and friends with each other. I get that choosing one will destroy the group—but hey, you can’t marry all three, now, can you?

She has to make a choice. But surely not tonight?

Or maybe it is tonight? That would explain her odd behavior.

Look, I gotta go, she whispers, turns around, and before I can even blink, she vanishes into the crowd.

O.M.G. What in the world just happened?

Syd! Sydney! I start after her, pissed and annoyed and kind of scared. She’s never walked out on me like this before, not in a night club where I’ve never been before. Plus, she’s my ride back home.

Looks like I’ll be calling a cab, instead.

But heck, no. I’ll find her, sit her down and have her explain to me what has gotten into her tonight. All this is… no bueno.

She’s my bestie. My bestie can’t abandon me like that without an explanation. The world just doesn’t work that way. We’ve been best friends since I moved to St. Louis almost three years ago. Almost three full years of trust and late-night confessions in the dark, nights when she told me about her dreams and fears, about her three friends.

She knows practically everything about me, probably even things I don’t know. I thought I knew her like the back of my hand.

Where is she?

Hurrying through the drunken crowd, the music blaring in my ears, I tug ineffectively on the hem of my short dress as I search for her familiar head of red curls.

Where was she heading anyway? There’s nothing back here but more people and the neon-lit bar with its shelves of bottles and bustling bartenders.

Cursing my stilettos—remembering Sydney warning me not to wear them if I wanted to dance, but they’re so damn pretty I ignored her—I slow down, walking down the length of the bar, anxiously checking the swaying, shaking, jumping bodies on the dance floor.

My stomach is twisted up in a knot. It feels like fear. For her, and for me.

Oh come on, I tell myself. You’re a nineteen-year-old woman. You’ve spent as much time inside night clubs as you have outside them by now.

Probably.

Anyway, math doesn’t matter. I’m fine. If Syd decided to disappear, then I’ll just hop into a cab and go home to my bed.

Or maybe stay and dance a little first.

My little pep talk makes me feel a bit better. Taking a deep breath, I move toward the back of the club. Who needs Sydney to have fun? I can party on my own. Plenty of guys around I can talk to. Never been shy, that’s for sure.

Although, damn, I’d counted on her to get us drinks. Sydney’s twenty, and I’m turning twenty in a few months, so that’s not good, but one of her boys is twenty-one already, which comes in useful.

Syd’s been turning into such a party-pooper lately, anyway. Not that she vanished like this before, or we’d have had words already, but she hasn’t been her chipper self.

Trouble in foursome paradise? Who knows?

Not me, that’s for sure, since she hasn’t breathed another word about her three buddies in a while.

More annoyed than ever, I decide that’s it. I’m done. Let Sydney come find me. What’s up with acting all weird and stuff, huh? It’s our Saturday night out, and I’m in no mood to go back home and stare at the ceiling over my bed.

Turning, I lean against the bar and nod at the bartender. A rum and coke, please.

Dressed in my little black dress, my hair swept back, red lipstick and so much mascara on my lashes I can hardly lift them, I look older than I actually am, and I’m counting on it.

Still, the guy hesitates. He’s dressed in black pants and a T-shirt, his muscular arms inked. ID?

Left it at home, I say quickly, and flash him a smile. Come on, I’m old enough. Can’t you tell?

He struggles with it, but his gaze drops to my boobs quickly, before lifting back to my face. In the dim light, I think I see a flush spread over his cheeks. Yeah. Okay.

Smirking, I glance to the side and catch a guy watching me. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t put my finger on it. He’s dark-haired, lanky, leaning back on his stool in a lazy sprawl.

I avert my gaze, a shiver running down my spine.

The bartender asks for my ticket, then places my cocktail in front of me. I take a sip and swirl the ice cubes in the glass, the faint clinking sound soothing despite the heavy bass vibrating through the club.

It’s hypnotic. My body is shaking with it, trying to move to the rhythm. A kaleidoscope of colors swirls over the bar, creating mini explosions on the bottles lined up on the shelves.

Hey. The bartender appears again, sliding a shot glass in front of me. From the guy over there.

I turn to look and swallow hard. The same dark-haired man from before nods at me and lifts his own shot glass.

It’s whiskey, and it burns going down. A buzz starts in my head. I lick my lips, savoring the smoky flavor.

He’s not bad looking, I decide, giving the guy another quick look. Not sure I’d want to start anything with him, but he’s not all that hard on the eyes.

So when he gets up and comes over to me, I smile.

Wanna dance? he shouts over the music, and I shrug. I still have my cocktail, but what the hell, right? I’m here to have fun.

This is what fun looks like.

Taking a long gulp of my drink, I put it down and get up, letting him drag me to the dance floor.

We move among the hot, sweaty bodies, the music pounding through me, and I grin, letting my body sway to the beat. A couple of cute guys glance at me, and I wink.

Let’s party, baby.

But, belatedly, I realize the guy is still going, parting the crowd and emerging on the other side, at the dark far end of the club where booths and lone tables are taken up by kissing couples.

Um. What are you doing? He doesn’t reply, and I doubt I’d hear him over the music even if he did. In fact, I doubt he heard me, so I try again. Stop. I tug on his hold, trying to free my hand. I said, stop.

Still no reply. He’s moving fast, and I stumble after him. When he drags me toward an empty booth, I start to panic.

I dig in my heels and pull harder on his hand. Let me go, let go right now!

He yanks on my hand and slams me into the wall, suddenly looming over me. He’s really tall, and his eyes are hard, shiny and empty.

Don’t I know you? he asks, and maybe he does, who knows from where, but that’s not what’s on my mind right now.

I said, let go, I hiss, shoving at his chest with my free hand, the other one held between us in his bruising grip. Jesus, what’s wrong with you? Leave me alone!

He’s still looking at me, with that empty expression, though his dark brows have drawn together in a frown, as if he’s trying to puzzle this out. Where he knows me from—or why I’m resisting him?

Sicko.

And he hasn’t moved a muscle yet. He’s pressed too close to me, barely two inches separating our faces. His breath stinks of alcohol, and his body of chemicals and sweat. On a guy I like, I wouldn’t mind the smell of sweat. But on this one, it makes me want to throw up.

Fear keeps me still, so still. The rushing of blood in my ears and the beating of my heart are the only sounds I can hear, louder than the pounding music.

Is this how mice feel, I think, when a snake is about to strike? This cold panic that holds you like a spider’s web, like a fisherman’s net, so you can’t do anything but stare back?

Man, I’ve been looking everywhere for you, a male voice says very close to my ear, and I jerk, my breathing uneven. Let her go. Come on.

The guy blinks. Go away, Fen.

Nah, no can do. See, girl’s got her boyfriend searching the club for her. I thought to warn you. Can’t let you get beaten to a pulp now, can I?

What is he talking about? A boyfriend? The only boyfriend I ever had was Quinn, back in Destiny, when I was seventeen, and we only ever kissed.

Tearing my gaze with difficulty from the asshole who’s still holding me, I glance sideways at the new guy, and in the flashing lights, I catch a glimpse of a handsome face and spiky hair.

He won’t let me go, I whisper, and my stomach churns.

Who is he? Is he my rescuer, or more trouble?

I’m dizzy.

I’m terrified.

The man’s empty eyes slide from me to this Fen guy. I said, go the fuck away.

Come on, man. You don’t want trouble, not tonight. Plenty of chicks around. Take your pick.

Damn you. Spoiling my fun. The hold on my wrist slackens. Pass her back to her boyfriend, or whatever the fuck. I’m going to get another drink.

Yeah. You know I’ll always have your back, Fen says, and grabs my other wrist. Come on, sweet cheeks. Let’s get you back where you belong.

Where do I belong? Everything’s fuzzy. My knees buckle.

Whoa. He grabs my elbow with his other hand. Easy there.

Can’t breathe, I mumble.

Memories crowd the back of my mind, trying to break free, memories I keep under lock and key. Hands shoving me into a corner, pawing at me, tearing at my clothes.

Nothing happened, I remind myself. Nothing that matters happened. I got away.

But here’s the catch: in my mind, in my dreams, I didn’t.

You had a shock, the guy, Fen, says. Let’s get you some fresh air. You didn’t take anything, right? He pulls me away from the wall, in an indeterminate direction. E? Any other drug? Didn’t let anyone spike your drink?

I shake my head, then stop when the nausea worsens.

Good, he grinds out, and hauls me along faster. Come on.

I should stop him. Yank my hand away. This is going exactly the same way as before, when he rescued me. He’s going to take me out—where, into an alley?

God.

Stop, just… stop. I manage to slow him down and pull my hand back. Ow. Let go. I’ll have such bruises there come tomorrow. Don’t boys really know their strength, or are they doing it on purpose? I’m not looking for a hook-up, okay?

And I mean it. My heart is hammering behind my ribs, and darkness is seeping into the edges of my vision. The sounds of ragged breathing fill my ears, the stench of old, sour sweat and the sweetness of weed…

Wait a minute. To my surprise, he lets go, turning to face me, lifting a brow. "You think I want you?"

I… I stammer, fear an icy current running through my veins.

He laughs, shakes his head. You look like you’re gonna puke. I was helping you to the door, that’s all.

Now why do I want to punch him in his handsome face? All of a sudden, I feel embarrassed and offended. Why is he so amused that I might think he wants me? Plenty of boys want me, thank you very much. What’s so frigging special about him?

Taking a better look at him, I’m struck with another case of déjà vu. What’s up with that tonight, huh? I mean, it’s hard to really make out his face in the flashing lights and half-darkness. Am I seeing things?

There’s the door. He gestures. Feel free to go and puke on your own.

What a douche. Lifting my chin, I start toward the outline of the door, the Exit sign on it glowing faintly. But my legs feel strangely heavy, and the pounding in my head is growing louder. The world tilts sharply, and I’m falling.

Fuck. His hand comes under my elbow, steadying me, pulling me up. Sure you didn’t take anything? No shame in confessing, you know.

To you? I snap, angry at having to accept his help after all, and at how good he smells, pressed so close to me—unlike the other douchebag from before.

Well, sure, if you like, he replies easily, you can confess to me.

Shut up. Just… shut up. All I want is to shove his arrogant ass away—only he’s already opening the door with his free hand, and we’re stepping out into the muggy air of the back alley.

The beat of the music falls away as the door swings closed behind us. His hand is still clamped on my elbow, and I’m grateful for that as we go down two steps I hadn’t noticed.

Finally on level ground, I take a deep breath stinking of trash and urine and probably vomit, when I notice two figures a few feet away.

I don’t know the girl she’s talking to, but I’d know the one with her back to me in a dark room full of people.

Sydney, her red curls cascading on her shoulders, her skirt barely covering her ass. I helped her into that skirt earlier tonight.

My head is spinning despite the fresh air and the quiet.

What is she doing here? I expected to see her with her friends, but instead she’s talking to an unfamiliar girl with pixie features and pigtails, a girl in a long overcoat, in spite of the heat coming off the asphalt. She has that coat open, showing something to Sydney.

The guy still holding my elbow—I’d forgotten about him for a second—hisses a curse under his breath, and yanks me backward.

What’s going on here? All those little bags hanging from the inside of the pixie girl’s coat… Oh God. Are those drugs?

I open my mouth to call for Syd, and his other hand presses over my mouth, stopping me.

Come on, Fen whispers in my ear, lifting his hand, and his scent hits me again, spicy and mouthwatering. We’re going back inside. He hauls me up the two steps and back into the club before I can formulate any objection. Now.

"Wait. What are you doing?"

Saving your ass. He’s still hauling me deeper into the club, his grip like a vise. You don’t wanna be a witness to a drug deal, trust me. Stay the fuck away from that girl.

I can’t.

Steer clear of any of— He stops so suddenly I almost fall and faces me. What? Why can’t you?

I swallow hard. She’s my bestie.

We’ve stopped near the long expanse of the bar. The guy’s looking at me, and I stare at his face. God, he’s so hot. His mouth is pursed in annoyance, his eyes narrowed, and he’s gorgeous.

That expression… it reminds me of someone I used to know, and that feeling of recognition hits me again.

She’s bad news, he says, and jabs a finger in the direction we came from. You’d stay away from her if you had any fucking sense.

Or maybe I’m mistaking annoyance for recognition? "Yeah? And what about your buddy? Talk about bad news."

His mouth tightens more. Stay away from that asshole, too.

Someone is calling my name, and turning, I see Sydney. She’s waving at me, all bright smiles. Jeez. "All I’m saying is, you keep really bad company, so you’re one to talk."

He shakes his head. You don’t know shit. Seb is my goddamn brother.

Chapter Two

Jarett

I know her. I know exactly who she is, and I’m about to say her name—when her junkie friend appears and starts dragging her away from me.

Starting after them, I get distracted by memories pelting me. Small things, like her taking my hand as we walk down the street, of talking about her family, about school, about everything. She talked, and I listened, and it felt like home for a while.

Until she moved away, vanished from my life, and I tried to erase every memory I had of her.

Yeah, I know her name. Augusta something. Wellston? Walton? I’m pretty sure it’s her. But she doesn’t call herself that.

Gigi. That’s what she calls herself. I remember now.

Gigi.

She’s gone in the dancing crowd, and I’m still following her. I force myself to stop before I make such a big mistake. Things have changed. I keep forgetting that. I’m not the boy who used to walk with her down the street.

I’ve fucking changed, falling into the spin of the world around me, carried away on the current, out of control.

What would Connor think of me if he saw me these days, I wonder. He’d have lectured me about right and wrong, about ethics, and then made me do a hundred push-ups and skip dinner as punishment. That was his parenting method. His philosophy of education.

But Connor’s dead. Everyone who’s ever given a damn about me is dead or dying.

So what the hell does it matter?

Maybe this is who I really am. Bad to the core. Everything I’ve done follows me. You can’t outrun your own shadow, right?

Two shapes detach themselves from the bar and approach me. My back stiffens as Mav and Angel come to stand on either side of me.

Chasing skirts tonight? Mav drawls, tapping an unlit cigarette on his Marlboro pack. Who’s the chick?

Fuck. Nobody.

Well, little Ms. Nobody has a nice rack, Angel says, and I don’t have to look at his face to know he’s leering like a sick old fuck. Where’s your brother?

I’ll look for him.

You do that, Mav says, and then we hit the next club. This one was a bust. Oh and… He slams a hand on my shoulder, gripping tight, …you wanna get your dick wet, dude, go ahead, but not on a work night, you hear me?

Loud and clear, I grind out between my teeth. Get your paw off me.

He tsks. Attitude. Need to work on that, Jarett.

My whole body is tense, strung like a wire. At least their focus is off her now. Should I get hold of my brother and go, or stay and chat?

Maybe you want my fist in your face? Mav’s grip tightens, until my teeth are gritting from the pain. Huh?

Oh man… Angel tugs on his beard and rolls his eyes. Let him go, Mav. We should get out of here and hit the next joint, see if we can get rid of the merch tonight.

Mav still doesn’t let go, and adrenaline spikes in my blood, turning my vision red. Go on, Jarett. Find your good-for-nothing brother and come find us at the exit. Just don’t get lost running after any more skirts, we clear?

Got it, I force out, my hands clenching at my sides. "Now hands. Off."

Mav chuckles and lets go, amused because he’s top dog, and I’m dirt under his shoes. I’m used to that. Been that way all my life. What they don’t know is that I’m not dirt, I’m a thorn that will cut through them, and I won’t be put down.

Not as long as I have a goal.

Such as getting my brother out of this fucking mess and through the night in one piece. Living one day at a time. Following through with my promise to myself that I won’t lose anyone.

Not again.

Seb grumbles and fights me when I haul him away from a new chick he’s found and is slobbering all over, but I’m having none of that fucking shit.

Stop thinking with your damn dick for a minute and move. I yank him through the club, anger churning in my gut. We need to go.

What’s the damn hurry? I was just about to—

—get your rocks off? I don’t give a shit, dude. We’re blowing this joint right the hell now. Mav’s orders.

Well, fuck. He stops fighting me at last and follows me to the front exit—not that I loosen my grip on his forearm. Job fell through?

Yeah.

Who fucked it up this time? Was it Mav and Angel, or—?

Shut your trap, Seb, anyone can hear you. Jesus Christ.

You’re not my nanny, man.

Really? My fist itches to fly into his smug mouth that spews all that stupid-ass stuff every day, with no real repercussions.

Know why?

Cuz I’m the whipping boy. If the gang are pissed with him, they turn to me. I’m the responsible brother, even if I’m younger. I’m the sensible, unemotional, handy muscle, a watch-out for the gang’s dealings and for keeping my brother in line.

I’m my brother’s—and my mother’s—keeper.

And I’m lucky to have that, to have them. I just have to remember it in times like this when my patience runs thin and I’m in danger of decking Seb and leaving.

Leaving has always been my default state. It’s an urge I struggle with every morning. I could just walk out, walk away and not look back.

So damn tempting.

There you are. Angel throws Seb a hard look. Let’s go.

We step out of the club and hurry toward Angel’s car, an old silver Jaguar. Maverick lights up and sucks hungrily on his cigarette as Angel unlocks the car with a beep, and we climb inside, not speaking a word.

It’s midnight, according to the glowing numbers on my phone, and weariness is a weight around my neck. Weariness and tension, never releasing its claws, always coiling my muscles tighter until my head pounds and my vision blurs.

This fucking shit I’m forced to do, day in and day out, every goddamn night of the week. Of my life.

It’ll never end, will it? I’ve always known, and yet I kept hoping, until I realized there is no fucking way out.

No way out alive.

Chapter Three

Gigi

When I started school here, in this town almost three years ago, it was horrible, as things often were those days. Leaving all my friends back in Destiny still stung. Plus, back there I knew the bullies. There was Ross and his buddies, and I knew how to avoid them.

Not that he picked so much on me as on my sister, but still. I know about bullies. I know them well. Calling you names, tripping you in hallways, stalking you on social media and posting insults, tearing your locker open and filling it with used condoms, ripping your backpack to shreds, cornering you and lifting your skirt, just short of raping you right in front of everyone.

But here they weren’t any better.

Sydney, my bestie, suffered from them as much as I did, or so she says. But she had three boys protecting her, and she said I should do the same.

Easier said than done.

The first time I talked to Jarett, I’d just been following him from a distance all the way from the school bus stop. I’d started doing that at the beginning of the school year. The strategy was simple: choose a tall, muscular, mean-looking boy walking in the direction of my house and stick close to him. Pretend you know him, that you’re walking home together.

Keep the bullies at bay.

If the boy is alone, bonus points. It means he won’t show off to his buddies by picking on you, won’t gang up on you.

This boy seemed perfect. Though not new to the school, he was a loner, and living in my neighborhood. We took the same bus, got off at the same stop.

He wasn’t bad looking, either.

Okay, so he was frigging hot. Which made it all the weirder that he never had any following as he hoofed it home from the bus.

Well, except for me. I was his most loyal follower.

I took notice of everything about him—how he limped sometimes, how his eyes tracked everything, how his lip curled when someone stood in his way.

Just… hot.

And now he flicked the cigarette he’d been smoking—well, the joint, I can smell weed as well as the next person—and turned to look at me.

I froze and did my best not to show it, barely slowing down. I smiled instead.

His expression did something weird. It stilled, though his eyes seemed to darken. He stumbled a little, almost coming to a stop.

Taking advantage, moving before I thought about it too hard, I crossed the street and joined him.

Hi, I said, I’m Gigi. What’s your name?

He kept walking and didn’t say anything for a long while, not until we were almost at my house, his hooded eyes flicking sideways at me all the way.

And right before I skipped away to a promise of warm lunch and an afternoon listening to music and doodling, he said, in his deep, rough voice, Jarett.

I think I’d fallen for him already, from a distance, but that one word, his name, sealed it. I didn’t know it then, but this was the boy who would one day break my heart.

The club is so full we push through people as Sydney pulls me after her in an unknown direction.

Syd, stop. What’s going on tonight? Why does everyone think they can drag me around like a rag doll, like I don’t have a say in any of it? Jesus, stop. What’s the matter with you?

We stop near the bar, and she turns to face me, her face a mask of guilt. Sorry, I…

But my mind is not on her right now. I turn in a circle, trying to see above the heads of the people, but even in my stilettos I’m not that tall. Dammit.

What is it?

That guy I was with. Can you see him?

That’d be a long shot. Goes to show how out of my wits I am right now. Sydney is much shorter than me, high heels or not.

I start back the way we came. I need to find him.

Why?

Because… And I halt.

Because he looks like Jarett. The first boy who ever got my attention. My full attention. And never returned it.

But that’s not what the other guy called him. He called him Fen.

Was I mistaken?

Gigi?

Never mind. I rub my hands up and down my bare arms, shivering despite the heat inside the club.

It has to be Jarett. Maybe Fen is a nickname. Jarett’s brother’s name was Seb. Sebastian. The coincidence is too much.

And it shouldn’t matter to me. Just because he pulled his brother off me and took me out to the alley to get fresh air, that doesn’t mean anything.

You think I want you? So amused.

I bet in his eyes I’m still the silly girl who ran so desperately behind him years ago and blabbered on about every stupid thing going through her mind.

Still I’d have loved to talk to him, ask him how he’s been. The urge to go looking for him, to take his hand, is a physical need, an ache in my chest.

To know if it is really him.

Instead, I turn back to Sydney. Talk. What’s going on?

She lifts her hands, eyes wide. Look, I shouldn’t have disappeared like that. I got stressed, you know? Later I went looking for you but couldn’t find you. Where were you?

Her lie leaves a sharp bitterness behind. I can taste it on my tongue, like a crushed pill. You sure that was why you abandoned me there?

"I didn’t abandon—"

Yes, you did. I hate that we have to shout to be heard over the music. Syd, I saw you in that back alley.

She pales. Even in the bluish flashing lights, I can tell. No.

Those were drugs, Syd. Were you buying? Are you using?

No, you don’t understand. It’s not like that.

"Then what is it like?"

She shakes her head. I can’t tell you right now.

Why not? But maybe she doesn’t want to shout it all out, even though nobody’s paying us any attention. Listen, we can go home and talk. You can stay over. I’ll make us hot chocolate—

I can’t tell you, Gigi. She won’t look at me. It’s not my secret to tell.

What does that even mean? You were getting drugs for who, one of your boys?

She doesn’t say anything.

Come on, Syd…

It doesn’t matter. I’ll take you home. Her voice cracks, and I don’t know what to do with that.

I can’t stop thinking about the guy that may or may not be Jarett, and about seeing Syd in the alley with the drug dealer, and when did this evening turn into something out of Black Mirror? It’s like an alternate reality.

Yeah, let’s go, I hear myself reply, my voice distant in my ears. I’m done with partying tonight anyway.

Predictably, two hours later I’m lying in bed, covers up to my chest, unable to sleep, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to my ceiling. I have my headphones on, plugged to my cell phone. Born to be Wild by Steppenwolf is playing.

I can’t stop rewinding the events of tonight in my mind, over and over, in dizzying loops. Faces, voices, words spoken. Sensations.

Sebastian’s bruising hold on my wrist.

Jarett’s deep voice in my ear, his spicy smell.

Syd buying drugs in the darkness.

Jesus. I’m in shock, okay? Syd and me, we’ve never kept secrets from each other before. Right? Ever. At least I never have. Well, except for that one thing only Merc knows, but that doesn’t count. That’s old news.

And this… this is big. This is awful. I’m scared for her.

Maybe it’s these boys she’s circling around. Maybe they aren’t good for her. This isn’t good for her. Are they pushing her to try drugs? If the drugs are for one of them, why is she the one in the back alley, buying?

How long has this been going on?

My attempts to get her to talk to me during the ride home were met with silence. And she didn’t even ask me anything else about Rett. Like, why I was talking to this random guy. Who he is. Why I was upset she dragged me away.

Nada.

This isn’t good, not at