Follow Me(91)
“Hold that thought,” I said, pressing a finger to Nick’s lips and pulling my phone from my purse. “I want to Instagram this sunset.”
CHAPTER SIXTY
MAX
One month after that horrible evening when everything unspooled into a bloody mess, Leigh pulled me aside after dinner. Her plain face arranged in a mask of sympathy, she patted my arm as though I were terminally ill and solicitously asked, “How are you doing, Peanut?”
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth, counseling myself not to yank my arm away.
“Really? You’re not still . . . obsessed with that girl?”
“Of course not,” I said stiffly, because I wasn’t “obsessed” with Audrey.
I had never been obsessed with her. Calling it obsession made it sound dark and one-sided, and that hadn’t been the case at all. I loved her, could feel our connection in every single cell of my being, and she loved me, too. No matter what she said now, no matter what she told that judge, I knew she loved me still. Her soul called out to mine.
But Leigh, who was ordinary in every sense of the word and married to my equally unromantic older brother, wouldn’t be able to understand the transcendent bond between us. None of my family would, and neither would the new therapist my father had arranged. I felt sorry for them, knowing they would never experience the same kind of love, being consumed from the inside out.
Besides, I knew it was only a matter of time before Audrey and I were reunited. Leigh and the rest of them might argue that a restraining order was a clear indication our relationship was over and she never wanted to see me again.
But that wasn’t the case. How could it be, when she continued to open her laptop and stare directly into the camera, biting her plump bottom lip enticingly? They could say she didn’t know about the RAT on her computer, that she had never seen those forum posts, particularly the ones hidden within the VIP section—but then why did she look straight into the camera? Why did she point those sparkling, soulful eyes right at me?
It wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. Not when she posted online about her favorite snack, popcorn with Tabasco, a creation I introduced her to. Not when she created a public playlist of her favorite Ted and the Honey tracks and included “Everything,” the song I had told her was my favorite, the song that contained the lines “I’ve done everything for you everything you ever wanted everything you never knew.” Not when she continued to drop bread crumbs about her new apartment’s location, like that photograph of the sunset taken from her window.
Not when she still Googled my name.
The signs were unambiguous, the conclusion inescapable: Audrey still thought about me. She still loved me. We were still inevitable.
This time, though, I wouldn’t rely so much on fate. I had allowed too much room for error, and everything had fallen apart. I couldn’t let her get away again.