Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Erin's profile loads. I browse through for a minute but see nothing out of the ordinary. I type Fake Ivy's name into the search bar, but her page is gone. I move on to Twitter, with the same result. Fake Ivy's accounts have been deleted.
Giving it one last shot, I surf to Instagram. When it loads, I don't see anything out of the ordinary. Not until I hit the button to login and see Fake Ivy's name saved in the login field instead of Erin's.
"Please, no," I pray, my hand shaking as I click to login.
A message pops up informing me there is no account under that name. It's been deleted, too.
I click back out of the browser and then open the Start Menu again, unwilling to just give up now. Something is seriously wrong, and I have to know the truth. I click around for a few minutes, and then find the option to show hidden files. I select it and then redo the search on my name.
Almost six hundred new results appear. Photo after photo of me fills the screen. There are hundreds of them, exactly like in that damn folder. But I don't even care about those anymore. I click on a document near the top that she's labeled "Social Media".
Word opens, showing me a list of account usernames and passwords for Ivy Wade.
A whimper rolls from my lips.
I scroll through, so stunned I feel numb.
"No, no, no," I chant to myself, but the evidence is right there in front of me.
All of her strange comments and behavior begin to make sense.
My best friend is Fake Ivy.
She's the reason Rory Clark died.
She's the reason I could go to prison.
She's the reason I lost Cam.
Oh, God. Cam.
My last image of him floats through my mind, and then another one of him with his head against my stomach, praying. A dam bursts, and everything I've been fighting to ignore rushes in, roaring for my attention. All of my memories of him hit me at once. It is so much worse than I was prepared for. Memories of him are everywhere, invading every cell of my body.
I leap out of the chair, knocking it over as pain slams into me, stealing my breath. I stumble through her bedroom, tripping on the piles of clothing discarded in the floor. Tears pour from my eyes, blinding me. I keep moving, bumping into things as I weave my way down the hall, desperate to escape. The pain is brutal, and it won't stop.
My best friend is the reason my life is in tatters.
When I reach the guest room, I grab my phone and dial Cam's number.
It goes straight to voicemail.
He doesn't want to talk to me.
"Cam," I choke, sobbing into the phone. I'm crying so hard I can't even get the words out to explain that I know who's responsible for what happened to Rory. All I can say is, "Oh, God, Cam. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
I drop the phone and stumble toward the door. I don't even know where I'm going, but I can't be here. I feel like the walls are closing in on me, suffocating me. I have to get away.
Why did she do this?
How could she do it?
She's been my friend for six years. I've shared everything with her for so long. And she hated me the entire time. Why pretend for so long? Why didn't she just walk away from our friendship? Why use my name to destroy a kid?
A piece of me is dying and there isn't a damn thing I can do to stop it.
"Stop."
I freeze, confused at the sound of her voice coming from the bedroom doorway. Thinking maybe I'm just imaging things, I swipe the tears from my eyes.
I'm not imagining anything.
Erin is standing in front of the door, blocking the exit.
And she's holding a gun.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ivy
We stare at each other in complete silence for a long, tense moment. Shudders wrack my body, but my sobs die in my throat as fear creeps in, overshadowing everything else. Erin doesn't waver as she points the gun at me. She looks sad, like she doesn't really want to be here at all. And she looks crazed, like she doesn't think she has a choice.
Is she going to shoot me?
"W-what are you doing with that?" I ask, afraid of my best friend for the first time in my life.
"You know, don't you?"
I want to lie to her. For my safety, I probably should lie to her…but I can't.
"Yes," I whisper.
Her lashes flutter and then she sighs, a sad puff of sound.
We stare at one another again, not speaking.
"Why?" I ask finally, the only question that really matters. Why did she do this to me? Why did she do it at all? "I thought you were my friend."