Page 137 of The Home Grown
I laugh. “Of course, that’s what I fucking want. You’ve been harassing me for months. All the crap you’ve written on the forumsand?—”
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I fumble to answer it, almost sending it three feet into the air but steadying my grip before spotting the name on the screen.
Danny.
“Yeah?”
“Where the hell are you, Betts? Ellie showed up and now Vicky’s here for photos and?—”
“Is she still there?” I say, cutting him off. I swallow hard, pushing down the bile that’s rising as I wait for him to reply.
“Vicky? Yeah, she’s?—”
“No,” I say.
He blows out a breath down the line. “Nah, mate. She’s gone.”
I stare ahead, not hearing anything else he’s telling me, trying to work out what the hell I do next.
What do I do? How the fuck do I fix this?
I end the call and slip my phone into my pocket, not giving Rochelle any of the attention she’s craving as I walk past her, towards the direction of the railway station. They’ll have cabs. I can jump in a taxi and go straight to Ellie’s … try to straighten this out.
But Rochelle has other ideas.
“Bettsy?” she calls after me. “You know I left Matt for you, right? You know I gave up everything I had with him for you and this is how you thank me? You’re pathetic. And you know what?” There’s a pause, like she’s waiting for me to answer before she adds, “you’re not even that good in bed.”
I snort. Because I’ve never cared less about what anyone thinks of me. I keep walking, long strides to out-step her in my desperation to get away.
But she’s sort of running along on the pavement after me, heels clipping the concrete as she moves.
“Bettsy? Will you stop?”
I feel a hand on my arm, then it’s gone, then there’s a pull on the sleeve of my jacket. But her hand slips away as she loses her grip. And as I turn, things sort of happen in slow motion.
She stumbles forward, toppling over herself as her face hits the ground—the heel of her shoe caught in a crack of the pavement.
I freeze.
She’s face down, splayed across the pavement, ragged breaths—then she lifts her head up, pulling herself onto her hands and knees.
Then she screams.
It’s a scream that goes right to my bones.
There’s blood everywhere.
Her face, her hair, her neck—everywhere.
I wait for the horror to hit me … for me to feel something… for me to panic and hurry to her aid, but I don’t.
All I can do is stand here.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
ELLIE
There’sa banging on my door.
