After she tucks me in, panic rises in my chest, but then she lies down in bed with me, hugging me tight.

I’m safe.

For now.

I wake to the sound of whispered voices. It’s dark in my room aside from the light from the bathroom. There are people in my room.

Levi?

“Mom,” I whimper.

“I’m right here,” Mom says, sitting on the bed behind me. “Gemma’s here to pick up the things she left. It’s just the three of us.”

I can feel Gemma’s stare on me, but I can’t look at her. Not when she reminds me of Callum. Plus, I don’t want to see her pity. She doesn’t know her brother broke up with me and I doubt Mom divulged what happened with Levi. All Gemma will see is a pitiful girl who finally made friends with the cool people and went to jail, and now her life is falling apart. I must seem pathetic.

“Call me later?” Gemma whispers, touching my foot. “Your mom said you’ve caught a bug. Just let me know you’re alive.”

I manage a nod, but no words come out of me. Gemma squeezes my foot and then releases it, not saying anything else. Mom disappears for a few minutes and then returns. The savory scent of chicken noodle soup fills my nostrils and my stomach growls.

“Time to eat,” Mom says gently. “Let Momma take care of you.”

As much as I want to scream, “It’s about time!”, I don’t. I sit up, ignore the anger brewing inside me at my mother for years of neglect, and allow her to take care of me.

I may be mad at her and hurt by her actions, but she’ll always be my mother.

And right now, I really, really need my mom.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Callum

What’s the point of a heart anyway?

To pump blood? Big fucking deal. My blood can turn to sludge for all I care as long as I don’t have to feel this soul-deep ache in my chest. It’s never-ending. Completely maddening. All those years of hardening myself against pain like this were a waste. I shattered the protective layer around me and let another wicked girl poison me.

Willa, why?

I want to grab her by her delicate shoulders and shake her until she gives me an explanation that makes sense. I’d thought she was perfect—different—and yet I was so completely wrong.

Alcohol seems like a good way to drown my sorrows, but that would require moving. I haven’t left the sofa all day. I’ve sat in silence, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what it is about me that says: I’m a chump, so fuck me over, please.

Beep-beep-beep-beep.