Chaos (Lanie Bross) - Lanie Bross Page 0,19

her aunt said, and shut the door.

So much for fresh starts. Jasmine stood and slipped out of the T-shirt she always slept in, then pulled on her jeans and favorite sweatshirt. Luc hadn’t called yet, but there was no way in hell she was staying there a second longer.

She pulled her hair into a loose ponytail and stood in front of the gilt-framed mirror. Dark circles ringed her eyes, and she looked paler than usual. A faint bruise shadowed the right side of her face, and she ran her fingers over it, willing herself to remember.

Nothing.

What was Luc trying to protect her from?

“Sorry, Luc,” she whispered to the mirror. She wanted answers. She stuffed a few things into her messenger bag and tiptoed into the hall.

“Aunt Hillary?” she called out experimentally. No answer. She moved to the window that overlooked the backyard and saw Aunt Hillary bent over her bed of pansies, up to her wrists in dirt. Perfect.

Jasmine went into her aunt’s room, wrinkling her nose at the overpowering smell of mothballs and lavender-scented candles. She pulled her notebook from her bag and scribbled a short note.

Went out for a bit.

Short and sweet.

She went down the stairs and out the front door. For a second, the noises of outside—the whoosh of cars on the road, the flushing of toilets, someone warbling in the shower—threw her off. She fumbled in her bag for her earbuds and shoved them in her ears. Better.

It was a quick two-block walk to the bus station. They’d passed it on the way in last night and Jas had made a mental note exactly where it was in relation to her aunt’s house. Without her cell, she felt exposed, naked. What if Luc called their aunt’s house and she wasn’t there? He’d be worried and mad.

Jasmine almost turned around and went back.

But what if Luc had really done what he’d said—had tried to track down Jasmine’s attackers? Luc could be super overprotective—she didn’t trust him not to do something stupid. What if he was in trouble? A chill ran down her spine, despite the sun. She had to find him.

She had a few twenties and her metro pass in her wallet. The bus ride to Richmond would give her time to think. When the 44 pulled up, she swiped her card and made her way to the middle, where she could sit alone, leaning up against a window. She tried not to gag; there were only a dozen people on the bus, but they were producing a thick, cloying aroma of perfume mixed with sweat and soap and coffee. She switched to breathing only through her mouth. But then she could almost taste the odor, which was a hundred times worse. Her stomach flipped over and she swallowed, then gave up and just breathed normally.

Maybe she had some kind of neurological condition? She’d read about that once—epileptics who smelled funny things just before they had seizures. Or maybe she was pregnant.

Except she wasn’t having sex. And pregnancy wouldn’t explain why she could hear better, and why she could feel things, too.

She closed her eyes. Friday. What was the last thing she remembered?

She followed the thread down.

Four o’clock. She’d gone to the marina to meet T.J. around four. He was stoned already, offered her a joint. It took at least three tries before he understood that she was breaking things off. She was sick of the fact that he screened her calls when he was out, that he flaked on plans, that he always said he’d drive up the coast with her and never did. She was sick of how much he smoked, and she was sick of getting messed up with him.

The doctors said she could have died. And T.J. just blew the whole thing off, like she was making a big deal out of nothing, like getting your stomach pumped was no big deal.

Still, she’d felt crappy after she dumped him. T.J. was the first guy who’d ever really paid attention to her—Luc’s friends were scared to even look in her direction. She’d taken the long way home that night. Luc was at Karen’s stupid boat party, and Jasmine wasn’t in the mood to be at home by herself.

What else did she remember? Her ring. She had realized her ring was missing when she got home. So she’d left a note for Luc, because she couldn’t reach him on his cell. Service by the harbor was crap, she knew. Then she’d returned to the marina.