Page 11 of Noctis

Which was a very professional way of saying he didn’t believe a word I’d said.

There were more questions after that—about stress and anxiety, sleeping patterns, and eating habits. I answered them all on autopilot, with most of my attention fixed on what Tyler had said, and more importantly, what he’d hoped to gain by lying so blatantly.

It was a relief when the session ended, and I could return to my room. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling for a long time and concluding that I needed to get out of here. In most places, leaving would be as simple as announcing that I’d changed my mind and walking through the front door. Here, doing that would strand me in the middle of a forest. That would be manageable if I had a phone, but I didn’t, and I couldn’t think of any way to persuade them to return it without revealing that I intended to leave. Given they’d been told I was suicidal, I doubted that announcement would go down particularly well.

By the middle of the afternoon, I had a plan. Admittedly, it wasn’t much of one. I would call Tyler, demand to know what the hell he was playing at, and order him to drop whatever he was doing and come back for me.

I half expected someone to come rushing over when they saw me make a beeline for the payphone, but no one did. I really had watched One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest too many times. At this rate, I’d be expecting them to lobotomize me next.

The phone rang and rang until Tyler’s voicemail clicked into gear. I resisted the urge to leave a scathing message demanding to know why he was making ridiculous things up about me. Instead, I hung up and tried again.

Same result.

With my irritation rapidly turning to anger, I tried another number. This time, someone answered on the second ring.

“Hey, Rems,” I said. “It’s me.”

“Rowan?”

“Who else calls you Rems?”

“Well, no one, but it’s not your number.”

I leaned against the wall and made myself comfortable. The common room, as I’d started thinking of it, had a surprisingly relaxed atmosphere.

Most people were watching TV, reading, or taking part in what appeared to be a covert card game in the corner. I assumed their attempts at discretion meant there was some sort of gambling going on that they didn’t want the staff to discover. It figured that if you took drugs away from a group of addicts, they’d replace one vice with something else.

“Yeah… about that.”

“Did you lose your phone?”

“No. They took it.”

“They?”

I let out a long sigh. “Tyler decided I’ve been doing too many drugs. Rather than discussing it with me like a normal person, he dumped me at a rehab center in the middle of nowhere and somehow convinced me to stay.”

“Oh.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” His lack of outrage genuinely surprised me. Remy was supposed to be Team Rowan, not Team Tyler. My boyfriend and my best friend got along well, and I was grateful for it, but there had never been any question about where Remy’s loyalties lay.

”Well, you have been going out a lot.”

“I’ve always gone out a lot. Spoiled rich boy, remember?”

Remy laughed. “Yeah, but it’s been different for the past few months.”

“Different how?”

“Just different.”

The evasive answer sounded suspiciously rehearsed. “I need you to come and pick me up.” Silence followed, lasting long enough that I checked whether we’d been cut off.

We hadn’t.

“Remy?”

“Maybe you should stay, Row.”