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"Amy, Amy?" I distraughtly call as I step through the left-open door.
The deafening silence has me stopped behind her. She's not moving; she's standing still, and in front of her is Erin wearing a bathing robe, and Jake who springs up from a couch in only shorts, snatching his shirt from the small coffee table spread with so many drugs atop.
"Amy, come let's go." I reach for her hand, and she yanks away.
"I—I have to know," she stutters.
I thought all these days that Jake touching her was the greatest pain I'd live in, but now my chest hurts worse than it ever did.
"Amy," I beg her, but it isn't me that she wishes to speak, it is Jake, who is pacing back and forth and pulling on his hair. I wonder if he'd rather I help him rip it off along with his brain.
He's causing her s
