High schooler, Helena Gallagher is still recovering from life's latest tragedy when chaos occurs.
Another murder.
Only this one is much closer to home. And when fingers start pointing towards her boyfriend-Elliot-she has no choice but to intervene...
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Waking up next to Elliot the following morning feels phenomenal. Having his naked body pressed into mine is the only way I can ever imagine wanting to wake up. He's so warm. So smooth. So perfect.
"Morning," he rasps, playfully nibbling on my ear.
I giggle at the sensation and eventually resort to swatting him away.
"What's our plan for today, then?" he asks.
Before I can answer, Celia barges in. "Morning, lovebirds."
I shoot her a cheesy grin.
"Mind if I steal your boyfriend for a moment? We need to talk."
She throws me a knowing glance, signalling exactly what it is she wants to talk about.
"Fine by me."
"Sure," he replies. "Lemme just throw some clothes on."
"Gross!"
I laugh at her disgust and watch her vanish from my bedroom. Elliot leaves shortly after, and I get straight to work on my laptop. I have an email from Penn regarding college accommodation and I decide to check it out. The dorms are lovely and not at all on the small side, as I imagined. One is located right on campus, next door to their twenty-four-hour library. The perfect place for studying. There's a Facebook group for attending students and I click the link. Hundreds of messages stare back at me, all expressing their excitement for enrolling this fall. A wave of sadness washes over me at the potential of not joining them.
"Lena?"
Elliot stands in my doorway, looking like a lost boy. Red circles shadow his eyes as though he's been crying and his lower lip trembles.
"Hey, it's okay," I soothe, closing the lid on my laptop and going to him.
His body shakes as I hold him.
"She's my mom. Sarah's my mom."
I squeeze him to me, hoping to absorb some of his pain. His heartache.
"I know. It's a huge shock."
"How could he—" His sadness turns to rage. "He's a fucking animal."
"He's gone," I ensure, caressing his hair. "He can't hurt you anymore. He can't hurt anyone."
He pulls back an inch, nodding as he goes. "You're right."
I encourage him towards the bed and climb onto his lap, still sporting last night's skimpy pyjamas. He—on the other hand—is fully dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.
"Don't freak out when I tell you this, okay?"
He makes no promises.
"I want to find out who did this. Who killed Sarah."
