Page 73 of Half Truths (Secret Society 1)
Once in the building, I waved at Gary and rushed to the elevator, riding up and running to my apartment. Only after I slammed the door shut and locked it did I feel safe. Only then, did I manage to breathe. I shook as I undressed and headed to the shower, needing to wash away everything. Everything. Everything. My fist pounded the shower walls as I let the spray hit me. I would have to blow dry my hair and re-apply my make up, but I didn’t care if standing beneath this shower meant erasing everything I’d just learned about my father.
As I dried myself, I heard pounding on the door, but I ignored it. It was probably Logan and I wasn’t sure if he was here to apologize or hit me with more knowledge. Either way, it was unwelcome. I had an ex-boyfriend to deal with at a toga party I didn’t exactly want to go to, but Celia and Max would be there, and I definitely wanted to see them. The elation lasted all of two seconds before I realized I couldn’t talk to them about this even if I wanted to because part of signing that oath tonight also meant silencing myself.
* * *
I was already dressed when my phone buzzed. I lifted it to see a text from an unknown number and froze for a second before sliding it to read the full text.
Unknown number: I was knocking earlier.
Me: Who is this?
Unknown number: Satan.
Me: Seriously, who is this? I’m tired of the games.
Unknown number: it’s Logan. What games?
Me: How’d you get my number?
Unknown number: Does it matter?
I paused. Did it? No. Not really anyway. I knew he wasn’t the one behind the texts I was getting. That wasn’t his style. His style was blunt force trauma, and I could verify that from the way he dropped the news about my father and The Lab Initiative. I saved his phone number.
Logan Fitzgerald: You heading to the party yet?
Me: Soon. Travis is meeting me there.
Logan Fitzgerald: I guess I don’t want to know the answer to the burning question in my mind after all
Me: what question?
Logan Fitzgerald: I was wondering if you were going to wear something under the toga. Maybe something red. Maybe something black.
Me: that’s definitely none of your business.
Logan Fitzgerald: Maybe I’ll find out
Me: With how I feel about you right now, I might break your hand so you have to sit out this year if you try to find out
Logan Fitzgerald: You’re funny when you’re angry. Are you going to break the hand that contains your blood?
I paused, biting my lip. Why did it feel like the butterflies in my stomach took flight when I read those words?
Me: Maybe.
Me: I’ll be naked under the toga
After a moment of receiving no answer from him, I tossed my phone into my bag with a laugh, grateful for the slight improvement in my mood, and headed downstairs where an Uber was waiting for me.
Chapter Thirty-One
“For the record, toga parties are just an excuse for jocks to show off their muscles and girls to walk around almost naked.” I lifted my red cup to make that toast with Celia and missed her cup, hitting the air beside it instead.
“You know you’re slurring your words.”
“Am not.” I blinked hard.
My eyes felt heavier than usual. I hadn’t drunk like this in a long time, but tonight I’d decided to escape the madness inside my head and drown out my thoughts. Maybe I was slurring.
“You are.” Celia raised an eyebrow. “Have some water. You don’t want to be slurring when Travis gets here. Also, let me tie your toga again. I’m scared your boobs are going to pop out.”
I looked down at myself. My boobs were not in any danger of popping out. My vagina, maybe. The slit came all the way to the tip-top of my thigh, but not my boob. I said this out loud and Celia laughed.
“Dude, your slit is really high. You know people don’t normally use actual sheets for these things, right? We buy ready-made togas at costume stores.”
“Um, excuse me, I did buy a ready-made toga. I just made minor improvements.” I looked down at my exposed thigh. “Maybe I went a little overboard.”
Celia laughed again. “You’re a mess.”
I took another gulp of the water. Maybe I did need it, after all. My throat felt parched.
“Do you have a mint?”
“I do.” She shook a tin of cinnamon Altoids and handed it to me. “Are you planning on making out with your ex? If so, I’m gonna have to advise against it.”
“No way.” I laughed, popping a mint in my mouth and handing her the tin back. “That ship has sailed. Am I still slurring?”
“Yes. More water.”
“I’m going to have to pee. Also, I want another shot of Fireball.”
