"Fox... Fox? Fox!"
"Why are you whispering—"
"Shh! The trees are talking. Listen."
"..."
"..."
"What are they saying?"
"I don't know yet. It's not English."
ᖴO᙭
It's early. Too fucking early. You'd think five months of training with Miss Fucking Insane would desensitize me. No.
I blink away remnants of sleep, lifting my face from the pillow. Why am I awake?
Then I hear the kitchen phone ringing. Fuck.
I scramble up before it can wake the whole apartment. Chris needs sleep—we've been going to classes almost daily this week, then fucking every other night, and while I'm used to lack of sleep, she's exhausted.
And now Camila's trying to throw together a bonfire for the lot of us at the conservation area outside the city. Fucking golly gee.
I jog from my room to the kitchen, the screech of the phone piercing my skull.
I swipe the receiver, pressing it to my ear as I lean on the kitchen counter.
"Yeah?" I mutter, keeping my voice low.
"Fox. Thank fuck."
The hairs on my neck stand up.
"I'm taking this summer class—fuck if I remember what it's called, don't ask."
Gwen.
What the fuck?
"I need your brain." She launches into something about school—something intense, something fast, a million words in her head and no time to say them all. I'm still waking up, blinking at the fridge like it'll give me some kind of clue.
"Gwen," I mumble, my heart kicking into gear. "Are you—What's wrong? Did you—"
"Fuck off. I need to know how bad IED can get. For my class project."
"Wait—class?" I interrupt, my eyes widening. The last I heard about this was from Faro. He got her to admit she was trying to get into Goldwen's engineering program. That was... fuck. A year ago. "You got into Goldwen?"
"Obviously. I just finished my first year. You pissed I'm smarter than you?"
Fuck, I haven't talked to her in months. And now she's calling me? About a class?
She's barreling on again. I don't catch it. My head's still stuck on the fact that she's even on the other end of the line.
I grip the phone tighter, feeling the cold plastic against my ear. "Gwen, slow down. Are you okay?"
"Look, I don't have time for a check-in, Fox. Just tell me about this diagnosis thing."
"Diagnosis for what?" I ask, trying to piece it together, my brain playing catch-up.
"For the fucking project! How do people get diagnosed and admitted to a psych facility with IED?"
IED... I shift on my feet, turning around to face the hall, half expecting Chris, Cam or Jed to materialize. "Are you talking about Intermittent Explosive Disorder?"
YOU ARE READING
Beside
Romance''Tell me how it feels,'' he whispers. "Good," I gasp, my entire body trembling. Deeper. Harder. Perfect -- like we've been doing this for years. His hand finds my jaw, fingers firm as he tilts my head up, making me look at him. And that's it. Wav...
