I wish I hated you

22. What A Mess.

Chanel

"Do you remember the secret message I found in Mr. Cohen's office? You know, the one I tried to figure out at the lake house," I distractedly question as I look at myself in the bathroom mirror.

"Vaguely," my mother answers. "Well, I thought about it last night. And I came to the conclusion that maybe it doesn't have a meaning."

I can't tell her what happened with Louis and working around it is torture. Exposing the truth would mess up everything and I know she would disapprove. But it's an important piece in the puzzle because I know my enemy won't harm me in any way. Therefore, the message could no longer mean something like it once did - at least that's what I think.

"I don't think it was a set up. They could not predict that I would barge into the office and find the paper, which was in a safe," I continue.

I'm not sure if this is just me overthinking the situation, but it seems really strange.

"Set up or not, the message was not meant to be found, honey. It was hidden for a reason and it probably has nothing to do with our situation. Stop wasting your time, Chanel," she argues firmly.

I run my fingers through my silky hair as I look towards the door, avoiding eye contact with myself. "I'm not wasting my time," I mutter. Uncertainty swirls in my stomach. Maybe she's right.  "You should focus on school until I get back."

I hold back a scoff. "When are you even coming back?" Her answer is the same everyday and I'm starting to think she'll never leave that stupid hotel room she's living in. "I don't know." I close my eyes and take a deep breath, still disappointed.

"When will I be able to see you?" I ask with a bit of hope in my voice.

I hope she'll be there for my eighteenth birthday. It's still a couple of months away which should be enough time for us to figure out what the hell is going on and get her back home.

"When it's safe enough for me to come back," she whispers, her tone heavy with guilt. It's not her fault or choice, but it doesn't make the situation easier for me.

I sigh and nod, even though she can't see me. "Well, I have to get to class. I love you," I say in a small voice. "I love you too, Chanel. Have a nice day." I end the call as soon as I can. It never makes me feel better - talking to her, I mean.

I push the bathroom door open and bump into people as I make my way to my locker. After grabbing my books, I look around, in search of my best friend. My eyes lock with Andrew's and suddenly, I feel my heart stop in the worst way possible.

He's simply following a group of guys - his friends probably. I swallow the lump in my throat.

"Hey, Chanel!" Catherine's chirpy voice instantly snaps me out of my misery. I turn around to face her. She comes to a halt in front of me and wraps her skinny arms around me. "Thank god you're back, I was dying without you," she says with a playful tone.

I let out a soft laugh, still shaken up by the eye contact. "Well, I was dying," I joke in attempt to distract myself. Catherine scoffs. "You're so dramatic." A smile makes its way to my lips. "And you love me for it so it's not a bad thing," I retort.

My best friend pulls away and rolls her eyes sarcastically. The bell rings and we walk to our separate classes, talking about nothing important on the way. The rise and fall of my chest quickens as I sit down at a desk in the back of the class.