Chapter 29
The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, stabbing my eyes like it had a personal vendetta against me. I groaned, rolling over and burying my face in the pillow. Maybe if I ignored the world long enough, it would disappear.
Unfortunately, my alarm had other plans. The shrill sound shattered the last remnants of sleep, and I slapped the snooze button with a vengeance.
“Alright, alright, I’m up,” I muttered to no one, dragging myself out of bed.
I stumbled into the bathroom, the tiles cold against my bare feet as I flicked on the harsh overhead light. Big mistake. My reflection stared back at me like a ghost haunting its own house. My hair was an absolute disaster–frizzy, matted, and defying gravity in places it really shouldn’t. Dark circles clung under my eyes like I hadn’t slept in a century, and my face… God, my face. It was pale, blotchy, and had this weird puffiness that screamed “I gave up.” Honestly, I looked like I had been run over by a truck, then reversed on for good measure.
I leaned closer to the mirror, squinting at the chaos in front of me. Was that… drool on my check? Great. Just great. Muttering a curse under my breath, I turned on the faucet and cupped my hands under the icy stream. The first splash of cold water hit my skin like a slap, shocking but not exactly transformative. I tried again, more aggressively this time, as if scrubbing harder would erase the evidence of whatever cosmic joke had landed me here.
But sadly, it didn’t work. I was still a mess.
After a quick shower, I brushed my teeth with a half–hearted effort and lazily tied my hair into a loose ponytail. Honestly, it wasn’t like I was aiming for perfection here. My reflection in the mirror stared back at me, unimpressed, but I shrugged it off. Who cared? Definitely not me.
I rummaged through my wardrobe, ignoring the pile of clothes I had been meaning to fold for days. Jeans and a hoodie caught my eye, and I grabbed them without a second thought. Simple, comfortable, and absolutely zero effort–just the vibe I was going for. I tugged on the jeans, a little snug around the waist, and zipped up the hoodie, its fabric soft and familiar, like an old friend.
Once I was dressed, I grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs, the smell of breakfast wafting through the air.
The kitchen was warm and cozy, the kind of atmosphere that made you forget how chaotic mornings could be. My mom was at the stove, flipping pancakes, while Greg, her fiance–or whatever we were supposed to call him now–was planted at the table with his coffee in one hand and the morning paper spread out before him. He looked annoyingly at ease, like a picture–perfect dad from a cheesy commercial, though I wasn’t anywhere near ready to slap that label on him yet. It was still weird seeing him there, fitting into this space that used to feel so exclusively ours.
Ethan was already there too, of course, quietly eating his food like he wasn’t the most bizarre and unhinged human being I’d ever encountered.
“Good morning!” my mom chirped, sliding a plate of pancakes onto the table.
“Morning,” I mumbled, sliding into a chair.
The sound of forks clinking against plates filled the room as everyone settled into their breakfast. For a moment, it was almost… peaceful.
Then my mom broke the silence.
“So, Ethan,” she began, her tone casual. Too casual. “With your car tire down, how are you getting to school today?”
My fork froze midair, the pancake piece hovering awkwardly. I glanced at Ethan out of the corner of my eye, but he was still focused on his food, completely unfazed.
“I’ll take the bus,” he said calmly, cutting into his pancakes.
Chills ran down my spine, and I shot him a sharp glare. His gaze remained glued to his plate, like he hadn’t just thrown my entire morning into chaos.
“The bus?” my mom echoed, looking concerned. “Why don’t you just take my car? It’s no trouble at all.”
Ethan shook his head, his expression neutral. “No, thank you.”
Greg chimed in, his tone firm “Then take mine. You don’t need to go through the hassle of public transportation.”
But Ethan shook his head again, stubborn as ever. “I’m fine with the bus.”
I stabbed my pancake with more force than necessary, trying to keep my cool. It was crazy how much I actually tried to convince myself that I was just being paranoid, letting my imagination run wild about Ethan. But no–this guy is an actual, full–blown psycho. Like, certifiable. The kind you see in true crime documentaries.
He had slashed his own damn tire so he could ride the bus to school with me. Yeah, because nothing screams “stable” like sabotaging your own transportation for a little extra stalking time.
A sudden wave of chills ran down my spine.
If there was a handbook on red flags, Ethan had written it and included a whole appendix dedicated to his own behavior.
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Chapter 29
“Well,” my mom said after a pause, “if you’re taking the bus, then you’ll be going with Camila, right?”
My head snapped up so fast I almost gave myself whiplash. “No!” The word came out louder than I intended, and I didn’t bother hiding the sharp glare I shot Ethan’s way.
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