Page 59 of Under the Lies

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A sharp pain pierces my chest as my knees give out and I slide to the floor.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

Who? Who’s coming for me?

Why did they take these pictures that are scattered around me?

Pictures of me.

Pictures of Noah.

Pictures of me and Noah.

Some are from our first nights out together while others are from two nights ago, of us in Artwell Alley.

Of us inside the art gallery.

Numbly, I trace the edges of the photo that captures Noah’s fingers inside me. This one is grainier than the others, like it was taken from a distorted lens.

Or…

Oh God.

There was a window in the gallery. A small one, high up.

I keep flipping through the photos, unable to stop, wondering why, feeling like I’m going to throw up.

Why me?

Because of my sister? Because of Noah?

Both?

Questions assault me and I have no way of knowing the answer, only a small truth.

Right now it doesn’t matter who took them. What matters is whoever did got into my apartment while I was gone.

My apartment feels tainted now.

Scrambling to my feet, I have to get out of here. I can’t stay. I need to leave.

Now.

Grabbing my coat and my cat, I run out the door to hail a cab to Noah’s club. It’s closer than his casino.

I don’t even know where he lives.

I suck in a pained breath, my ribs tight.

The club. I can go to Heathen’s Hell.

I don’t even know if he’s going to be there, but I don’t know where else to go. I have nowhere else to go.

My breathing doesn’t return to normal until my apartment is long out of sight, and even then, my chest remains tight.

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