"Elizabeth, why haven't you been taking your meds?" Doctor Johnson asked.
What is he, my therapist now? "I don't like the side effects." I muttered, avoiding his gaze and picking at a hangnail.
"Then you discuss that with me—your doctor—not just stop taking the medication altogether."
"I'm a high school student, Doctor Johnson. I need sleep. I can't afford to be dizzy or nauseous like I'm in a sad indie film. And sorry, I actually have a life—I can't keep skipping class just to come vibe in your depressing little office."
"And what could possibly be more important than your health?"
"Well, Mr. Doctor, I was supposed to meet up with a friend today. You know, normal teenage stuff. Before I got ambushed and hauled in like I'm on house arrest."
"Friend? Last I heard, you don't have any." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.
I blinked, did I just get roasted by my doctor? "Wow. And here I thought we were building trust. Who told you that? My mom? You two gossip like middle school girls."
He cleared his throat, clearly dodging that one. "Let's get back on topic. If the nausea and dizziness are too much, you should've told me. I'm switching from the extended-release to a short-acting stimulant. You'll take it only on the days you need it—like school days. Should help with sleep too."
"Oh, so I get a 'choose-your-own-adventure' med now?" I mimed flipping pages in the air. "Option A: survive class. Option B: nausea-induced collapse."
Completely ignore, "Also, if you're still struggling with sleep, I'll prescribe something mild to help. Nothing habit-forming. We can also try melatonin first."
"Ugh, now I feel like a grandma. You gonna offer me prune juice too?"
"Only if you promise to stop playing pharmacist and actually let me do my job."
I smirked. "You're really committed to this whole responsible adult thing, huh?"
"I try."
"So… just curious. You and my mom—do y'all, like, text? Send each other memes? Or is it strictly 'talk behind Elizabeth back' kind of vibe?"
His face turned bright red. I grinned, proud of the emotional damage. Victory: achieved.
I stood up, brushing imaginary dust off my pants. "Well, since you're gonna tell Mom everything anyway… I'll be taking my leave."
And with that, I was out. Drama queen exit: executed.
I was meant to be out of there in minutes—now I'm trapped. Ugh, guess school's a no-go today. Fantastic. As if I didn't already have enough to deal with. I was actually planning to spend time with Dante today—now that's ruined. Of course, right? I mean, when does anything go according to plan for me? And now, instead of spending the afternoon doing something remotely interesting, I'm walking home alone.
But hey, at least we're friends now—so that's something. Unexpected, but kind of nice.
Now that we're friends the only logical thing to do is convince him for us to be murder buddies. Okay, maybe that escalated fast—but you can't blame a girl for having ambition.
I should call him. Wait. He took my number. I didn't take his. He hasn't even reached out to me yet.
I checked my phone to see if I'd received anything. Nothing. Not even a single text. What could be more important than texting me. So annoying. Whatever, I'll see him tomorrow at school anyway.
I have a ton of homework to do that I've been procrastinating. There's something about waiting until the last possible second—it gives me a rush. It's a do or die situation, you either finished that assignment or you failed. Dopamine addict here—reporting for duty.
I'm going to sleep extra early today so tomorrow can come faster.
Bad idea. It only led to me being up all night. Bored out of my mind. Counting down till morning. Wondering what Dante does when he can't sleep. Planning my funeral. Normal stuff.
Coming to school this early is so weird. I mean, I don't usually come to school late or anything but the crack of dawn is new. Only freaks come this early.
I'll just go to the library and read. I didn't even read two pages before falling asleep. Turns out staying up all night will do that to you.
"Elizabeth, you're late." My math teacher said, but math first thing in the morning is diabolical.
"Detention, after school. Now go take your seat." Why is this man so quick to do evil things. Ugh. Why me?
I haven't been to detention in forever. And I don't miss that hellhole, ripping out my own hair would be more fun than doing absolutely nothing in detention. I stormed out of that class, really freaking pissed.
I was placing my books in my locker—more like throwing them in when I noticed Dante, surrounded by his usual entourage. His hair was styled in that half-up, half-down look he somehow always made work, and his ice-blue eyes looked especially cold today. He wore a black hoodie and matching sweatpants, the picture of effortless indifference. So hot. It seemed like the perfect moment to approach him.
"What happened to 'I'll text you'?" I shot him a glare, rolling my eyes.
"It's only been a day." Yeah, a whole day of me waiting.
"Uh-huh. Hand me your phone." I extended my hand, and he placed his phone in it. I called myself and saved his number before giving it back to him.
"Who are you?" A girl asked from the side, crossing her arms.
"Who are you?" I shot back.
"Linda."
"Elizabeth."
"Hi, hot stuff," One of the guys flashed a grin.
I didn't turn my head—but my eyes slid sideways, slow and sharp. The kind of side-eye that said sir, please be serious. Gross. Only the ugly ones try to flirt with me.
"I'll be stealing Dante. 'Kay" I flashed them a sugary smile as I reached for his hand without thinking—because clearly, impulse control isn't my strong suit. He didn't speak, but his gaze lingered a second longer than it should have. Like he was trying to memorize something.
"What? Why?" the other girl asked.
I don't know—maybe try actually learning something instead of asking dumb questions like that again.
"Byeeeeee. Go find something else to do instead of trailing after him. He's my friend now."
Dante smiled faintly—barely there, but I caught it. See? He liked it. I hadn't exactly thought through what would happen when I grabbed his hand—but now that I had his attention, I wasn't in a hurry to let go. His hand was surprisingly warm… for someone who's a cold-blooded killer.
"We're going to be BMFs—best murder friends." I whispered it like a secret mission, grinning so wide it made my cheeks ache.