That’s what I think as I wince and stand in front of the mirror, examining the large bruise around my neck. Arguing with Quinton was stupid, but I couldn’t stop myself. Cringing, I carefully pull a sweatshirt over my head, drag the hood up, and tighten it. That way, if Grace comes home, she won’t see anything out of the ordinary.

Except that I’m walking around, looking like a damn Eskimo.

If she sees what Quinton did, she’ll tell Sierra. Grace might be my roommate, but she’s been friends with my sister longer. Grace is also a nice person. She’d reach out to someone out of concern for me. To prevent that from happening, I’ll be hiding out until this bruise fades.

As I make myself comfortable in my bed, I look through my phone.

Lincoln has called and texted numerous times, and I’ve ignored every one of them. Afraid that he’ll come over if I don’t, I text him back.

Me: Sorry, I have a headache. Can I talk to you later?

Lincoln: Are you sure everything is okay?

Me: It’s fine. I’m just going to nap.

Lincoln: Talk when you wake up?

Me: Of course.

So much has happened today.

Lincoln and the random woman who he no doubt has history with. Quinton making a visit and physically assaulting me. The day had started as a fairy tale and ended as a nightmare.

Throughout the night, I sleep like shit.

The next morning, I wake up to find more texts from Lincoln.

I shut my eyes.

The day after we had sex, the day after we discussed our issues with trust, everything falls apart.

My phone rings, and it’s Georgia. She’s also texted a few times, asking if everything is okay. I’ve blown her off by replying with smiley face emojis.

“Hey, girl! Taco Tuesday is at our place tonight! Consider it a housewarming-slash-margarita party.”

I chuckle. “I’m sure Archer is loving a party at his house.”

“Well, it’s our house now, and if I say we shall party, then we shall party.” She laughs. “Plus, he’s so happy I finally moved in that he’d let me throw a hundred parties. The fun starts at seven. Come with an empty stomach.”

“I wish I could,” I say around a groan. “But I have a killer migraine, and I think the move exhausted me. Sorry, but I’m going to sit this one out.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind, you know where to come! Let’s catch up this weekend, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

Opening my nightstand drawer, I grab two ibuprofens and wash them down with water. As I surf through different Netflix options, my phone beeps with a text.

Lincoln: You coming over?