I scrambled to pick up my clothes from the floor, but just as I reached for my blazer, my phone began to ring out, the vibration loud against the wooden floor.
My eyes darted around the room in a panic until I finally spotted it a few feet away. When I picked it up, my stomach dropped when I saw the screen: more than 60 missed calls.
Confusion warred with a growing sense of curiosity. Was everyone just worried because I hadn't made it home? Or was it something else?
I ended the call from my mother, but a second later, my grandfather’s name appeared on the screen.
My breath hitched. I couldn't ignore him. I picked it up, pressing the phone to my ear with a somewhat steady hand.
“Do you want to kill me!” my grandfather’s voice boomed through the line, raw with a fury I had never hear
