Chapter 2

The next day is Monday. Ethan and Maria are at the "office."

The silence in the condo is deafening. I' m alone with the tattoo on my ankle and a growing knot of dread in my stomach.

I start searching. I don' t know what I' m looking for, but the tattoo proves one thing: a part of me, the me from last week, is trying to tell me something.

I go through my closet, my drawers, under the bed. Nothing.

Then I see my vintage jewelry box on the dresser. It was a gift from my grandmother. I run my fingers over the worn velvet.

I press a hidden latch on the side. A false bottom clicks open.

Inside, there' s a folded piece of paper. It' s my handwriting. Messy, rushed.

"THE PILLS ARE SLEEPING DRAFTS. DON' T TAKE THEM."

My heart hammers against my ribs. Every night, Maria brings me a small white pill. A "vitamin," she calls it. To help with my "recovery."

I' ve been taking it every night. For two years.

That night, Maria comes into my room, a glass of water in one hand, the little white pill in the other.

"Time for your vitamin, sleepyhead," she says, her voice sickly sweet.

I take the pill from her palm. I put it in my mouth, take a big sip of water, and swallow, making sure she sees my throat move.

But I don' t swallow the pill. I hide it under my tongue. The bitter taste coats my mouth.

"Good night, Gabby," she says, patting my head.

"Good night, Maria," I say, my voice muffled.

I wait until I hear the bedroom door click shut. Then I spit the wet, chalky pill into my hand and hide it under my mattress.

I lie in the dark, my body rigid, my ears straining for any sound. I force my breathing to be slow and even. I have to pretend.

An hour passes. Then another.

Finally, I hear voices from the living room. Low at first, then louder.

It' s Ethan and Maria.

They' re laughing.