Session 𝓢ixty-Three

Session 63:
"The Notes"

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"There isn't any garlic here."

"Check again, darling," her voice echoed from my phone sitting on my kitchen island, messy with different ingredients.

I would never have any of this kind of stuff on hand.

Tomato paste? Who the fuck needs that?

Well, apparently I do.

Monroe had these groceries delivered when I mentioned making dinner for Sarai and Zion tonight.

I felt bad for cancelling on shopping, and I feel much better now.

The Maricel thing happened hours ago, but mentally I've moved past it and even tried texting her to apologize again.

There's still no answer from her, but I'm not surprised after how it all went.

I'm just happy to host my friends for the first time ever.

And Monroe paused her work to walk me through the process of making homemade spaghetti for them.

I'm planning to go to her house after for the painting we rescheduled from last night.

"It's not here," I sighed, sifting through everything spread across the counter.

"It's fresh garlic, sweetheart, so it'll be tied in a plastic bag," Monroe said as calmly as ever.

Meanwhile, I'm growing fucking anxious.

It's four now, and they're coming over at five.

I can't be on the phone with Monroe when they get here, and this is her recipe, so I need to make sure dinner is done before five.

"Whatever I don't need garlic—I don't even care," I determined, trying my best not to throw a fit.

But I do care.

This is my first time cooking for them and hosting.

And now it's not going to be good.

"Liberty," her soft voice echoed from my phone, "The only way this will work is if you're calm, darling. Take a few breaths, shake it out."

I nodded a few times, "Yeah, you're totally right," I whispered, letting out a deep breath as I shook my arms.

Then I tried to look for the stupid garlic again, sifting through the ingredients and picking up—

"I found it!" I called out happily, picking up the plastic bag buried under the large bag of shredded cheese, "I found the garlic."

"That's good, sweet girl. I knew you would," Monroe praised me, making me smile wider.

"Yes, it was just hidden under the cheese," I murmured, eyeing the fresh garlic, "So how does this work?"

"Take it out of the bag and set it on the cutting board," she instructed, making me nod a few times as I opened the bag and grabbed the garlic clove. "You have the knife we picked out?"

"Yes... the medium one?" I asked, setting the clove on the cutting board.

"Yes, darling, that one," Monroe confirmed as I let out a long exhale, rolling my shoulders back.

Then I got to work with Monroe's help over the phone.

First, I had to peel the garlic and smash each clove, peeling another layer off.

Then I got that started in the pan with onions, which Monroe said would be the base of our seasoning.

I don't know what it meant, honestly, but I pretended to.

She walked me through the sauce making really fucking well.

She also told me to put the noodles in the pot of water at the perfect time.

I don't know how, but everything finished at the same time.

She even walked me through how to make cheesy garlic bread, which was so fucking easy.

It was just bread, cheese, and seasonings.

I'm totally making it once a week, even if it's for lunch.

I've been using my free will all wrong.

Apparently, cooking isn't that bad, especially when Monroe is guiding me.

"It tastes really good—they're going to be so impressed," I murmured with a happy smile as I changed into a black long-sleeve shirt and a pair of light pink sweatpants. "Can I bring you some when I come over later? Or never mind, you're probably eating before, right?"

"Bring me a bowl, darling," Monroe didn't hesitate to say, making my smile widen, "I would be honored to try what you made."

"It's technically your recipe," I said, refusing to take the full credit for it. 

"And you made it," she emphasized, her voice flowing from my phone speaker, "You did this, Liberty."

I remained silent for a moment, smiling like a fucking idiot as I stood in my bedroom.

"I did," I whispered, "I cooked a real meal on my own."

"I'm so proud of you, darling," Monroe said as I walked out of my room, admiring the dining room table I put together.

There were the bowls of spaghetti and sauce—also the platter of cheesy garlic bread.

I even put the plates out with napkins and silverware.

Real adult shit right here.

"Thank you so much," I said, letting out a deep sigh, "I really appreciate your help, baby."

"You're welcome, sweet girl," Monroe said, making me smile slightly, "I need to finish up on these files, but I'll see you after your dinner."

I nodded a few times to myself, "I'll bring you a bowl too," I murmured.

"And bread. I need to try that as well," she added, making me chuckle softly.

"I'm on it, Ro Ro," I assured her, "Oh, and have you heard from Maricel? She hasn't answered my text, so I wasn't sure if you talked with her already."

It had only been a few hours, but something tells me Monroe had already handled this.

I think Maricel would at least answer me, right?

Even if it's to cuss me out in Spanish.

"I haven't talked to her," Monroe said, making my brows furrow, "I don't plan to either."

I blinked a few times. "Oh, okay?" I said, unsure what she meant by that, "I guess I'll text her some more."

"Very well," she murmured, which made me more confused, "I'll see you later, darling."

"Uh, okay," I whispered before our long call ended.

Then I was left in a brief silence, replaying her words in my head.

Monroe's a very literal person.

If she says she didn't talk to her, then she didn't.

But that means she did something else instead.

She just didn't specify what that something else is, but technically, she answered my question truthfully.

As usual, that's how it is.

She's truthful, I just have to ask the right questions.

And there's one on my mind.

Did she remove her?

Fuck, I really shouldn't have said anything to her.

I truly might've fucked up Maricel's life.

Well, I don't think Monroe would do anything.

Maricel's a past arrangement.

It's not like she's Dr. Kincaid or someone overstepping their boundaries.

She spent a little over a year with Maricel.

Then again... they didn't even kiss.

It was a controlled dynamic.

The side I see of Monroe is not what Maricel saw.

I flinched when rapid knocks echoed against my front door, snapping me from my thoughts.

I let out a deep breath, rolling my shoulders back as I turned away from the table to answer the door for my friends.

"Libs!" Sarai immediately greeted me when I opened the door, throwing her arms around me for a hug.

I smiled as I briefly hugged her back, glancing over to Zion, who had his phone pressed against his ear.

"What's the score now?" he said to whoever was on the phone, smiling at me as he briefly hugged me.

"He's in the middle of a bet on a game," Sarai whispered to me as Zion and I pulled back.

"You can go out on my balcony if you want," I offered him as they walked into my apartment.

"Thank you, Libs," he said, patting my shoulder, "Give me five minutes guys."

Sarai and I both nodded as we walked over to the kitchen.

Zion briefly set the bottles of red Gatorade down on the counter before heading to my balcony.

Meanwhile, Sarai was eyeing my dining room table.

"Girl," she said, glancing back at me with a growing smile, "You made all of that?"

I nodded proudly, "The sauce and garlic bread are homemade—I made them myself," I said happily.

Sarai's lips parted with a smile, "I can't wait to try it now," she said, opening one of the kitchen drawers. "I can grab serving spoons if you want?"

I nodded, briefly glancing over to the table, only to realize I forgot the spoon and tongs for the sauce and noodles.

"That would be great," I said, glancing back at Sarai, "Oh no, it's the drawer over—"

I cut myself short as soon as she opened the middle drawer.

Specifically, where a note was.

Or a few notes...

It started with the first one I shoved in there the last time Kaia was over.

It said Monroe's nickname.

Ro Ro.

Some of the other notes had Ro Ro, while the earlier ones I put in the drawer for safekeeping said M. Leclair.

Like the note she left with flowers, the time she told me to pack for the weekend.

It was when we went to Cannon Beach.

I know it was stupid, but I started keeping her notes.

Specifically, in this drawer.

That Sarai is currently fucking looking at.

I felt frozen.

And then it processed in my head.

I quickly pressed the drawer shut before I could think it through, noticeably startling Sarai.

"Libs are those from—"

"No," I quickly shut her down, even if it was clear who those notes were from.

She didn't need to read Monroe's first name on the card.

Her last name was enough.

Fuck.

She can't know.

God only knows what Monroe would say.

How she would react.

"Your therapist?" Sarai whispered, leaning closer to me.

I quickly shook my head, "No," was all I said, walking away from her before she could say anything else.

"I freaking told Zi you were dating someone," Sarai said, making me immediately turn back around.

"Wait, you can't tell Zion," I rushed out, walking back over to her.

Sarai furrowed her brows, "Why not? He won't judge you—I'm not judging you," she clarified, grabbing one of my hands, "I'm happy if you're happy, but other people might drag it—"

"There aren't other people, Sarai. No one knows," I cut her short, my tone a little tighter than I originally planned.

It made me clear my throat, especially when Sarai grew more confused.

"No one can know. Zion can't know, and you shouldn't know," I whispered, lowering my voice as I briefly glanced around, "We shouldn't even be having this conversation. This can't be a conversation."

Sarai immediately stepped closer to me, her eyes trailing my face, "Hey, it's okay, Libs," she assured me, but god, did this not feel okay.

Sarai knows.

She... she knows something that's been hidden for so long.

I want to cry because of how exposed it makes me feel.

It feels worse because she's closer to me, and now this hidden life of mine is out.

And what is Monroe going to do?

I'm put in another difficult predicament where I have to choose between telling her or keeping this from her.

But I don't know what she'll do if she finds out Sarai knows.

Monroe is unpredictable.

I'm still trying to figure out what happened with Maricel.

And now there's this.

I can't tell Monroe.

The last thing I need is her removing Sarai, too.

"Please don't tell Zion," I whispered, my voice in a weak whisper, "We can't speak of this again—you can't know."

Sarai pursed her lips as she eyed my face, "Zi and I can keep the secret, Libs, I swear," she said, but it only made me shake my head, "Imagine double dates or—"

"Sarai," I softly cut her short, staring so deeply into her eyes with the most serious expression I could possibly fucking fathom, "We cannot speak of this aloud again. It's not about whether you guys can keep the secret, I know you can. You just should not know this."

She blinked a few times, "So... it's not about you or us," she clarified, "She doesn't want anyone to know? Even if we keep it a secret?"

"I'm not allowed to speak on her or this," I quickly said, hoping she would just take my word for it and drop it.

I know she's confused, but I signed an NDA.

"Not allowed?" Sarai emphasized, her eyes widening slightly, "Like legally or something?"

"Sarai," I said again, my tone growing more serious, "Trust me when I say, this is better off forgotten. You can't speak another word of this."

Sarai remained silent for a moment, glancing away from me.

"I get it... I've just never kept anything from Zi," she whispered, letting out a deep sigh, "But this is your business and not mine, so like it's not for me to tell him, but I don't want to lie to him, and you're his best friend and..." she trailed off, shaking her head a few times.

I drew in a deep breath, noticing how conflicted she looked.

I hated that I was putting her in this predicament, but it's for the best.

For all of us.

I glanced over when the door to my balcony opened, making my heart physically stall in my chest.

"I won the bet," Zion said with his usual smile, walking inside and closing the door behind him. "It was close, too. Mason was pissed."

I remained silent, unable to form real words to his good news.

I was also waiting for Sarai to see what she would say.

But she's struck just as frozen as me.

"Damn, are you guys good?" Zion said as he walked over to us, "You guys look like you just saw a ghost."

More like incriminating cards from my therapist, but sure.

"Yeah-yes," Sarai suddenly said, smiling briefly as she picked up the Gatorades, "I'm uh still in shock by what Libs made."

I forced a smile as we walked towards the table, "Yeah, I made homemade sauce and garlic bread," I murmured.

"Wow, all on your own?" Zion asked.

I nodded, unconsciously glancing over to Sarai, who now knew this wasn't all my doing.

Monroe helped me, and I think Sarai's aware of that now.

"Yes," I whispered, making Zion smile.

"Good for you, Libs," he said, briefly patting my shoulder before passing me to get seated.

Sarai and I both remained silent as we got seated at the table—while Zion filled us in on the basketball game, and how crazy it apparently was.

The teams were tied for a few minutes in one of the quarters.

There were also a few other things that happened, but I honestly zoned out on it all.

I was too in my head, now that Sarai knew.

Even she was quiet, and I knew it was because of this new secret she had to keep from her boyfriend.

I felt bad, but there was truly no other option here.

I'm not even telling Monroe to keep this running smoothly.

It made me feel icky having to lie to her.

This wasn't like before.

I felt closer to her, so much closer.

Keeping anything from her makes me feel separated from her, like I'm in my own head, away from her.

I enjoy telling her everything about my life.

That's why I mentioned my coffee plans with Maricel.

Lying to her genuinely makes me feel sick now.

I swear I felt nauseous the entire evening.

I barely ate any of my food, and I wasn't that present for conversation.

Zion did most of the talking, but Sarai tried her best to chip in.

Dinner was ruined, but at least they enjoyed the food.

I sent them with a lot of it to go, but I made sure to save enough food to bring to Monroe.

I let out a frustrated sigh when Maricel's voicemail filtered from my car speakers.

I've already tried to call her five times now.

When is it too desperate?

Probably after the fifteen texts I sent.

I quickly searched up her family's art consulting firm the moment I made it to a red light.

I almost clicked the one in LA, but then remembered, there are two of them—one here in Seattle and another in LA.

I dialed the Seattle number, hoping I could get some kind of information from her assistant.

"Alarcorn Consult, this is Tiana. How can I help you today?"

"Hi, Tiana," I spoke, watching the red light turn green, "Do you know if Maricel is still in?"

"Oh, Ms. Alarcorn is out indefinitely after today," the woman's voice echoed from my speakers.

It felt like my stomach physically dropped, wondering how Monroe had worked this fast.

"That's sad. I was... looking to use her services," I quickly lied as I focused on the road, "Can I still get ahold of her?"

"Yes, of course," Tiana confirmed, making me feel a little relieved.

That means Maricel is still alive at least.

"Mr. Alarcorn called from LA today and mentioned his daughter would be handling a branch over in Florida now," Tiana informed me, "If you're okay with the distance, then she can still be your point of contact for future sales."

I remained silent, processing what this Tiana woman was telling me.

Maricel's dad is involved in this now?

Or maybe not fully.

He probably got a call or a payment to relocate Maricel as soon as possible.

Fuck, I feel so bad.

I'm surprised Monroe didn't take this further, but this is still really sad—

"Hello?" Tiana suddenly said, making me realize I had been quiet for too long.

"Sorry, I uh—thank you for your help," I quickly said, turning my signal on to turn down the familiar street.

"Of course, have a great day!" she said enthusiastically before ending the call, leaving me with my chaotic thoughts.

I don't think it needed to be taken to this drastic level.

At least not yet.

We could've tried to smooth everything out with her.

Monroe just pressed the big red button without any follow-up.

You can't just move people around how you like.

It's not right.

And I wronged Maricel—we both did.

She's still healing from her arrangement with Monroe, and I didn't help.

I let out a deep sigh as I put my car in park, grabbing the bowl of food that I packed.

I opened my car door, quickly grabbing my keys and phone before sliding out of the driver's seat.

My face burned as I closed the car door, walking past the driveway toward the familiar front door.

I felt so confused about my feelings—yes, I'm so upset with Monroe's actions, but I'm also relieved.

I think that made me more upset.

This isn't right.

She can't just move someone to another coast like this.

I opened the front door, left unlocked for me, sliding off my Nikes by the front.

A sweet aroma was in the air, almost like Monroe had been baking a dessert or something.

"Monroe," I called out, walking down the hallway.

"In here, darling," her soft voice echoed further down from the kitchen.

She stood by the sink, drying her hands as she wore a white and navy quarter zip with navy sweatpants.

Her soft brown hair was tied up in a bun, her bangs framing her glowy bare face.

The sweet smell made sense when I noticed a platter of freshly made brownies over on the dining table.

The art canvases and paint were set up as well.

There was also a matte black gift box with a silky black ribbon.

But I didn't care about gifts or painting right now.

"I know what you did," I said, walking over to the kitchen island and dropping the bowl down with my keys and phone.

The items clattered against the marble, making Monroe's blue eyes drift to the counter.

Then her stare met mine.

"I've done a lot of things. I need you to clarify better, sweetheart," she said, throwing away the paper towels she used to dry her hands.

"Shipping Maricel across the country," I didn't hesitate to say, crossing my arms over my chest, "Why would you do that, Monroe? I said don't do anything drastic and you agreed."

Monroe tilted her head, "I didn't do anything drastic," she said as she walked closer to me.

I rolled my eyes, "Can we stop with this game where you don't admit to it unless I specifically mention it to you? It's getting really old," I said, taking a step back when she stopped in front of me.

Monroe grabbed my waist anyway, tugging me into her, "How did your dinner go?" she asked, leaning down to kiss my lips.

I quickly turned my head, making her lips land on my cheek instead.

"Liberty," she murmured, now pressing soft kisses against my cheek, "Let's not do this tonight, darling."

I leaned away from her, "You messed up," I bluntly said, nudging her away from me.

But she didn't let go of my waist.

If anything, her grip tightened.

"I fixed it," Monroe corrected me.

I scoffed, "You could've fixed this any other way," I pointed out, tugging out of her hold, "This was drastic. We could've tried other options first, Monroe."

"I don't try other options, Liberty," she clarified, "This is always the only option."

I shook my head, eyeing her face as I processed her words.

Or the fact that she feels no remorse for completely upending Maricel's life.

"So you don't feel bad?" I decided to ask her, my eyes trailing her face, "Maricel is reeling from the arrangement she had with you. I've been there. I know what that's like. She did this because she's struggling, and you just—you moved her like some pawn instead of trying other options."

Monroe didn't say anything.

She just silently stared at me for a moment.

Her blue eyes boring deeply into mine, latching onto everything behind my dark eyes.

"I don't feel bad, Liberty."

I drew in a deep breath at her blunt words, eyeing her face in disapproval.

My face felt hot, so did the tips of my ears, hating that she wasn't seeing the same picture as me. 

"You're being just like your parents," I said before I could think it through.

But the words had already plagued the air between us.

I regretted saying them immediately, especially when Monroe pursed her lips tightly together.

I don't even know why I said that, knowing she harbors something so deeply complex from them.

But I just felt so angry, and she's not trying to be understanding in the slightest way right now.

"Liberty," Monroe said as soon as I walked past her.

But I've decided maybe she's right.

We shouldn't do this tonight.

I don't want to say anything else I don't mean.

Even if Monroe didn't react fully to my insult, I think internally it stung.

We should have this conversation tomorrow.

"I'm going upstairs," I mumbled.

"Stop," Monroe said, but I only kept walking as she followed along behind me.

Except I climbed the stairs and she didn't.

"I said, stop, Liberty."

I halted at her raised voice, which echoed against the walls around us.

She's never raised her voice before—not ever.

For some reason, it made me want to cry, but I fought it.

Now's not the time.

"I prepared a lovely night for us," Monroe spoke again, her voice lowered in a calmer tone, "You will sit and paint with me."

I drew in a deep breath as I stared forward at the steps, not bothering to say a single word to her.

But she didn't say anything else.

She just stood there, waiting for me to come back down the stairs.

After a few beats, I reluctantly turned around, refusing to meet her stare as I walked down the stairs.

Monroe didn't seem to care about my silence or unwillingness to meet her stare.

She only walked with me down the hallway, sliding her arm around my waist.

I kept a blank expression on my face as I sat down at the table with her.

I didn't touch the gift or the brownies she had set out for me.

I only grabbed the paint and did what she told me out of spite.

Monroe tried to talk to me, but when I didn't answer her questions, she would answer them for me.

This woman quite literally talked to herself, as if we were genuinely having a conversation.

It was unhinged.

And it made me mad that she didn't care.

That none of this affected her.

I purposely painted my canvas white, keeping it entirely blank.

Over and over again, I used my brush to paint white strokes.

My canvas was set up away from her so she couldn't see.

I was just waiting for her to finish so we could stop this.

"Lovely," Monroe murmured as she eyed my canvas, wet with white paint.

Hers was really good, which was unsurprising.

She painted a cheetah with a soft pink background.

"Cheetahs remind me of you," Monroe explained, making annoying remorse eat away at me.

I probably should've just painted something.

She did set this up for us again.

She even made brownies and got me a gift.

But she also did something really terrible to someone going through a hard time.

"Here," she suddenly said, reaching over to grab the matte black box. "I think you'll really like this."

I didn't say anything as she set the box in front of me, causing my stare to shift away from hers to eye the gift.

I silently reached for the ribbon, pulling it loose before taking the lid off the box.

My breath hitched in my throat the moment I laid eyes on it.

Even my heart raced in my chest, trying to process how she got this.

Or how she knew to get it.

So many memories flashed behind my eyes as I stared at the elephant stuffed animal.

This one was pristinely new, unlike the one I carried everywhere when I was a child.

My dad, he gave it to me and...

Tears weighed down my eyes before I could fight them away, letting out a weak sigh as I reached for the stuffed animal.

All I could see was his familiar face in my head, how pale he looked during those last few hospital visits.

His voice was hard to hear in my head after all these years, but I tried.

I try really hard to remember him.

"Oh, Liberty," I heard her softly whisper when I broke down entirely, "I assumed this stuffed animal was good? I looked through your childhood photos and noticed you carried it," she explained, standing from her chair to kneel down in front of me, "I'm sorry, darling."

"It's... he—" I cut myself short, hugging the stuffed animal tighter to me, "My dad gave me it when I was a child, and I... he died and I lost it, and it felt like I lost him all over again."

"I'm very sorry, Liberty," Monroe whispered, staring up at me, "I looked for hours trying to find an exact replica. I wanted to surprise you, darling."

I sniffled, eyeing the stuffed elephant through my heavy tears.

But all I could do was cry.

This unlocked a memory I completely forgot about.

Specifically, how hard it was to mourn a lost stuffed animal after my dad's death.

"You found photos of me?" I suddenly asked, realizing what she had said.

It wasn't surprising that she obtained even the deepest details about me, given her family's background and her work with the government.

She could know anything she wanted.

I just wanted to know why.

"I was curious. I wanted to know more about your life," Monroe briefly explained.

I sniffled, wiping some of my tears, "You could have asked me," I whispered, knowing I would've shared anything with her.

Monroe didn't say anything. 

She just stared at me for a moment, tilting her head slightly. 

Then she blinked, "I suppose I could've?" she murmured hesitantly, staring up into my eyes, "I'm not quite used to this dynamic. "Typically, I get information on my own."

I nodded, knowing it's different for her.

She's not only used to arrangements, but she also grew up differently.

This is what she's used to doing.

"I know baby, but it's... normal to ask me about my childhood if that's what you want to know about," I whispered, holding her dark blue eyes, "I know you're used to a different way, but this can be our way," I tried my best to explain.

"Our way," Monroe tested the words out, her lips twitching up slightly as she remained on her knees in front of me, "Let's do it our way then, Liberty."

I nodded, glancing back down at the stuffed elephant, "Thank you so much for this," I whispered, "This is priceless to me, and somehow you managed to buy it."

Monroe's smile grew as she stared up at me, "Nothing is ever priceless," she murmured, "You want it, you get it, darling."

Her words made my face grow warm, subtly glancing over to the platter of brownies.

I've been holding off on eating them for the sake of the previous point I was trying to prove.

"Have a brownie, Liberty," Monroe suddenly said, noticing my line of sight, "You've been eyeing them for the last couple of hours now."

I smiled slightly, "You noticed?"

"I notice everything," she reminded me, standing from her knees. "Do you want a glass of milk to go with it?"

"Yes, please," I whispered, squeezing the stuffed animal in my arms.

It feels so nice to have this back again.

It's healing a part of myself I lost so long ago.

"I'm sorry for being so mean," I suddenly said, turning my head where she stood by the kitchen island, pouring me a glass of milk, "You put this all together again, and I messed it up."

"Don't apologize, Liberty. I understand why you were mad," Monroe told me, meeting my stare as she twisted the cap back onto the milk with ease, "It doesn't change that I feel differently, as she threatened you, or us," she briefly explained, walking over to the fridge, "She was meeting with a reporter this evening, and I prevented that by acting on it rather than trying to exhaust other options."

I blinked a few times, processing her explanation.

I guess I see her point of view.

There wasn't enough time to try other ways.

Maricel is in a state of mind where she's determined to ruin this.

The only option was to remove her.

"I just feel bad because I befriended her and she was trying to heal and move on," I admitted as Monroe opened the fridge, putting the milk back on the exact shelf as before.

"I understand you made mistakes, darling, but that doesn't validate her wrongdoings either," Monroe said, grabbing the glass of milk and bringing it over to me.

I remained silent, processing her words a little deeper.

Maricel did manipulate me, and what if Monroe and I never made this work?

She was just going to continue on as my friend or drop me once she realized I wasn't competition to her anymore?

I mean, what was real with her?

Were the things she told me about Dr. Kincaid even true?

Clearly, the BDSM club was a premeditated thing, and so were her efforts to get me to move on.

She also skipped to bringing this public to ruin everything, and even scar my relationship with my mother deeper.

She had her own motive, just like I had mine, but I tried apologizing, and she lashed out at me.

I was the same as her at one point.

It's only different for me because Monroe and I worked it out.

But otherwise, in those moments, I was just as broken as her, and she was trying to manipulate me further away.

All I wanted was advice... I never even planned for her to find out I was involved with Monroe in the first place.

I glanced over when Monroe's phone started vibrating face down on the table.

She reached over to grab it immediately, placing her hand on the back of my neck. 

"I should take this darling," she murmured, lightly squeezing my neck. 

"Okay," I said, grabbing one of the thick brownies, "I'll be busy eating all of these."

"Have as many as you like," Monroe said, leaning down to softly kiss the top of my head, "But don't give yourself a stomachache," she reminded me as she walked away from me.

I nodded as I took a bite of the brownie, watching as she headed toward the back door to the patio.

I picked up my phone with my free hand, taking another bite of my brownie as my stuffed elephant laid in my lap.

There were two new texts in my group chat with Zion and Sarai.

Both were from Sarai over two hours ago.

My stomach immediately dropped as I read her first text.

Sarai: Omg, isn't this your friend?

I halted my chewing, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach as I read over Sarai's second text about Maricel.

Oh my god.