Page 3 of Save Me

I feel a hellish heat flood my cheeks. “I…I’m sorry. I came to collect…”

Then the young woman turns around, and the rest of the sentence sticks in my throat. My mouth drops open and my whole body runs ice-cold. I stare at the girl. Her turquoise-blue eyes are at least as wide as mine. She jerks her head away and fixes her eyes on her expensive heels, stares at the floor, then looks helplessly up at Mr. Sutton—orGraham, as she just sighed.

I know her. Specifically, I know her red-blond, perfectly waved ponytail that bobs around in front of me in history.

WhichMr. Suttonteaches.

The girl who’s been here making out with her teacher is Lydia Beaufort.

I feel dizzy. And like I’m about to be sick.

I stare at the two of them and try desperately to delete the last few minutes from my memory—but it’s impossible. I know that, and Mr. Sutton and Lydia know it too, as I can tell from their shocked faces. I take a step back; Mr. Sutton comes toward me, his hand outstretched. I stumble again, just about keeping myself upright.

“Ruby…” he begins, but the roaring in my ears is louder than ever.

I turn on my heel and run. Behind me, I can hear Mr. Sutton saying my name, considerably louder this time.

But I just keep running. And running.

2

James

Someone’s pounding a jackhammer into my skull.

That’s the first thing I notice as I slowly wake up. The second is the warm naked body lying half on and half off mine.

I glance to one side, but all I can make out is a mane of honey-blond hair. I don’t remember leaving Wren’s party with anyone. To be honest, I don’t even remember leaving the party at all. I shut my eyes again and try to summon up images of last night, but all that comes to mind are a few disjointed scraps: Me, drunk on a table. Wren’s loud laughter as I fall off and land on the floor at his feet. Alistair’s warning gaze as I dance right up close with his big sister, pressing hard into her arse.

Oh, fuck.

Cautiously, I lift my hand and stroke the hair off the girl’s face.

Double fuck.

Alistair’s going to kill me.

I sit bolt upright. A stabbing pain shoots through my head, and for a moment everything goes black. Beside me, Elaine mumbles something incomprehensible and rolls onto her other side. At thesame time, I realize that the jackhammer is actually my phone, buzzing on the bedside table. I ignore it and hunt for my clothes off the floor. I find one shoe close to the bed and the other right next to the door, beneath my black trousers and belt. My shirt is on the brown leather chair. I pull it on, but when I go to do it up, I discover that a couple of the buttons are missing. I groan, seriously hoping that Alistair isn’t still around. I don’t need him seeing either the wrecked shirt or the red scratches that Elaine’s bright pink fingernails left on my chest.

My phone starts to buzz again. I glance at the screen and see my dad’s name. Great. It’s almost two on a school day, my head feels like it’s about to explode, and I’ve almost certainly had sex with Elaine Ellington. The last thing I need right now is my dad’s voice in my ear. I reject the call.

What I do need is a shower. And clean clothes. I slip out of Wren’s guest bedroom and shut the door behind me as quietly as possible. On my way downstairs, I encounter the wreckage of last night—a bra and various other items of clothing are hanging over the banisters, and the hallway is scattered with cups, glasses, and plates of uneaten food. The stench of booze and smoke hangs in the air. Nobody could miss the fact that a party was going on here until just a couple of hours ago.

I find Cyril and Keshav in the sitting room. Cyril’s dozing on Wren’s parents’ expensive white sofa and Kesh is sitting in an armchair by the fireplace. A girl is cuddled in his lap; her hands are buried in his long, black hair; and she’s kissing him passionately. When Kesh breaks away from her for a moment and spots me, he throws his head back and laughs. I flick him the finger in passing.

The huge French windows are wide-open into the Fitzgeralds’ garden. I step out and wince. The sunlight isn’t particularly bright,but it feels like a stab in the temples all the same. I glance around cautiously. Out here looks no better than in the house. Worse, if anything.

I find Wren and Alistair on pool loungers. Each of them has his hands linked behind his head, and their eyes are hidden behind shades. I hesitate for a second, then stroll over to them.

“Beaufort,” says Wren cheerfully, pushing his sunglasses up into his curly black hair. He’s grinning, but I can see how pale his skin looks despite the tan. He must be about as hungover as me. “Have a good night?”

“Can’t quite remember,” I answer, venturing a look in Alistair’s direction.

“Fuck you, Beaufort,” he says, not looking at me. His hair shines golden in the afternoon sun. “I told you to keep your hands off my sister.”

I’d been expecting that. Unimpressed, I raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t force her into bed. Don’t act like she can’t make her own decisions about who she wants to shag.”

Alistair pulls a face and mumbles incomprehensibly.

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