Page 88 of Feel Free to Scream

The skirt’s too party-ish for a restaurant.

My heart beating fast at the influx of sudden stress, I remind myself to breathe.

It takes me a second to understand why I’m freaking out a little.

I’m used to being worried. About money, about time, about pissing someone off. But I spent an entire blissful week with little to no worries since Monday’s freak-out. Five days without anxiety spikes. This feels worse after a few days without panicking.

Breathe. There’s always a solution. You’re used to finding a way.

I grab my phone again.

Me: Hey, feel free to tell me to fuck off, but Keller looks really nice, and all my clothes cost under fifty bucks. Do you have anything I could borrow?

I would have asked Lily if she were invited tonight. As things stand, I asked Dez. She gets me. We might not have had a heart-to-heart but everything she’s said and done tells me she grew up without all the glitz and glamour and endless flow of cash.

Dez: Dude, really? You look about a billion bucks, all the time.

I smile.

Me: My grandma chose my clothes.

It takes her a while to answer, and she types for minutes on end.

Dez: Someone else used to pick my clothes too. Come raid my closet. Take anything.

I run outside, fast.

Everything changes on weekends in the Vesper House itself, but the entire street is taken by the same fever. There are a lot more people for one, filtering in and out of the house. Staff, bringing entire cases of booze, so much you’d think we’re the ones throwing the party tonight. I know our turn is tomorrow.

Next door is madness. Staff everywhere, vans unloading portable tables, catering preparing food for an army, and more.

Unlike our tower, the wyverns have a grand staircase. Dez waits for me in the entryway on the ground floor.

“Two floors up!” she says. “Come on in.”

We rush past the first floor, which is receiving cases of vodka and Champagne, and the quieter second floor. Upstairs is a renovated attic, divided up into two sides. We turn right, to a large open bedroom—the kind where even the bath is right in the middle of the room, despite there being several doors. One must be for toilets as those aren’t exposed, thank god.

It’s gorgeous and modern. I notice the kind of stuff I saw downstairs Sunday. I would have previously assumed Dez was a gymnast. Now I know better. The bed itself is a heavy metal canopy with no curtains hanging, displaying the complex network of iron bars forming a gorgeous pattern. I spot cuffs hanging from the ones at the foot of the bed.

Well, then.

I’m certainly not judging. She wasn’t expecting my company, so she didn’t tidy her room for guests. And even if she had, I doubt she would have hidden much of that.

Plus frankly? I know all that is a lot of fun.

Her walk-in closet is much larger than mine, and at first glance, I see it’s set up for her and Markus, his side on the left. Each closed door is covered by a floor to ceiling mirror, and there’s a large bench in the middle. The mirror on the ceiling tells me it’s not just to be able to check out outfits.

“We should be around the same size. I organize them by color. Just grab whatever suits your fancy.”

“Anything?” I repeat, my hand sliding from fabric to fabric.

She seems to have just about every color and material—taffetas, velvet, leather, and more.

“Well, maybe not the underwear. I’ve done some messed-up stuff in those. Although, I should have a few new pieces somewhere…hang on.”

While she opens one of the doors, filled with drawers and shelves, my eyes catch on a pale pink fabric. I know, I know. There’s plenty of pale pink in my own wardrobe. But not like this.

I pull the dress out. My grandma would say half of it is missing. More than half: the entire back and some of the skirt.

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