Page 73 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

Drea is a rare beauty, and that’s putting it mildly. She has butt-length, dark purple ombre hair, porcelain-pale skin, and big hazel eyes. She’s that girl who can pull off any hair color, and from what I’ve seen when I stalked her on Instagram—I was curious, sue me—she changes hair color often.

I’m having so much fun I only realize how late it is when my eyes begin to water from my constant yawning. I’m still a little drunk, and we’ve been talking nonsense for so long, it’s almost one in the morning.

I’m supposed to go pick up my uniform at Sandy’s early tomorrow, and I was hoping to spend my last day of freedom on the beach. If I don’t go to bed soon, I’m just going to end up sleeping the day away.

I ask Drea if she wants to head home and she nods.

We say our goodbyes shortly after.

* * *

Drea and I are drained by the time we get back to the beach house.

I was worried she was going to fall asleep at the wheel for a second there. Had to select the most upbeat playlist I have on my phone and blare music the entire ride home.

“Thanks for the invite. I’m glad I said yes,” Drea tells me as I’m unlocking the door.

“Of course,” I say mid-yawn.

We exchange good-nights, and Drea races up the stairs, as if in a hurry to doze off. I’m right there with her. All I want is my head on a pillow.

Too bad my tolerance is shit, and I just know if I don’t chug a gallon of water right now, I’m going to wake up with a headache.

The house is dark and quiet as I glide down the hall toward the kitchen. I open the cabinet and pull out the biggest glass I can find before heading for the sink.

Right as I begin filling up the glass, I hear something.

At least, I think I do.

I twist the water off to listen.

Someone’s playing the guitar.

I notice the kitchen window is cracked open, probably to let the night breeze inside.

I scan the backyard and large deck through the sliding glass door, trying to figure out where the noise is coming from.

It’s pitch-black outside, save for the glow of the moon and a few night-lights in the pool. I step outside without even realizing it, drawn closer to the music.

That’s when I hear him.

Kane’s raspy voice is close to a murmur, but the lyrics he sings wrap me up like cashmere. I feel them everywhere, soft and warm despite the chills covering my arms.

There are words I just can’t say

But know you need to hear

Scared you’ll see me the same way

I’ve seen myself for years

Monsters don’t live in the dark

They share the air we breathe

One day you’ll stop and realize

The real monster is me