Page 22 of The Coldest: Stay Dangerous Part 2

Either way, she’s been docile, so I uncuffed her.

Still showing mercy.

I place the items on her bed next to her, and take a second to make sure she’s straight.

Snow’s pale, but that’s probably from the lack of sun. And she’s too skinny. The lack of body fat makes her fake tits look painful.

At least a centimeter of red hair covers her scalp. Contrasting with the brown circles dotting her face.

“I hate you,” I whisper.

She sighs, and turns away from me before her breath evens out again.

I get the fuck out of there, texting NiNi with one hand.

I got some shit to handle.

Wyn

For the first time since I’ve been wherever the fuck Rico has whisked me off to, I wake up and don’t feel like I’m in an alternate dimension.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I tried to keep count of each time the sun rose, but between whatever Rico gave me and whatever I had in my system before, everything is bits and pieces.

I swear I think I saw Summer. Shit, I swear I saw Fredo, too.

This morning, I actually feel… normal? Real normal, not normal for me.

That’s an important distinction.

Normal for me, is waking up, and looking for a morning pick-me-up. A bump or line, depending on how drunk I still am. More recently, something a little stronger. Then a blunt to balance it all out, and get ready to coast for the rest of the day.

Real normal, is just… stone cold sober.

I don’t necessarily feel nothing. No, not numb.

It feels like a rising tide. Things that have been washed away, buried under sand and waves are coming back to shore.

But for once, I don’t have the need to keep it at bay.

Slowly, I rise to a sitting position. Someone’s been in here; there’s a tray of breakfast on the table by the bed, and the blackout curtains have been opened and tied, only leaving sheer ones. It’s drizzling outside, but I’m sure it won’t last. Briefly, I wonder what part of Belize we’re in, since I’m sure that’s where we are.

Rico has family dispersed all over the country. I could be anywhere.

I stretch, reaching toward the ceiling and yawning so hard that tears form in my eyes. When I drop my hands, my left one lands on something hard.

I curse, bringing my hand to my mouth, as I glare at the offending object.

Objects.

Notebooks. One college ruled, one composition book.

And a laptop.

I grab it immediately, letting the charger slide onto the floor. It’s fully charged, and there’s no password on it.

There’s also no wifi.

There’s not even a button to connect to it.