Flirty texts.

Zoe’s POV

I took the stairs instead of the elevator because I needed to pull myself together and calm down. I needed to kill the butterflies in my stomach, too. I had no idea what to make of this "new" Arman, and I seriously needed to snap out of the bubble he had put me in today.

The thought was solid in my heart, yet even as I got back to my apartment, I could still taste the mocha and feel the flutter in my chest.

I took a shower and changed my clothes. I was drying my hair when M.J. walked in.

“Hey,” I greeted.

“Merida,” he answered, and my lips relaxed into a smile. “How was your date today?” he asked, taking the dryer from my hands.

Usually, I’d hoped for a girlfriend to talk about boys with, but M.J. always made me comfortable; it was easy to talk to him. I had been worried because he’d initially hated the idea of me pretending to be Arman’s girlfriend, but he had come around once the agency met all his conditions.

“You won’t believe me, but it was nice. Arman is… different. It’s like I was with a totally different person,” I exclaimed.

“Not the guy who led you into horse dung?” M.J. joked.

The horror of my Jimmy Choos in manure still gave me the ick. “Definitely not that guy.”

“You should be careful, though. I don’t want you getting hurt. This Arman isn’t the real Arman. Don’t forget that.”

“I know, right?” I muttered. But the question in my head was: *What if this Arman is the REAL one?* I couldn’t ask that, though. Instead, I subtly changed the topic as my hair finished drying. “You’re really good at this,” I commented as M.J. turned off the dryer and rolled the cord back into its box. “Your girlfriend must be lucky.”

It was slightly weird that M.J. knew a lot about me, while I knew absolutely nothing about him.

“Only you would say that,” he responded lightly.

The air grew thick with silence. I tried to be brave and pursue the subject. “Is it because you’re always busy?” I thought about it; M.J. had a heavy workload just from me, and I wasn’t the only person he managed. “You don’t have to always check on me, you know?” I was beginning to feel guilty. “You should make time for your personal life.”

“If anything happened to you in my absence, or because I stayed away for too long, I would never forgive myself.”

I winced. Being responsible for so many people must be a lot of work. I made a mental note not to give him any unnecessary trouble. “I understand.”

That night, as I lay in bed, I wondered if Arman would have actually kissed me if I had zoned out one more time. I wondered if it would be anything like the kiss we had on awards night, or if it would be different—like his smile or his serious face. Would it be soft and romantic, or heavy and passionate? I thought about his apartment. What would Arman’s private space even look like?

A beep from my phone drifted me out of my thoughts. It was a text from Arman. His number was saved as "Manny" with two hearts—one red, one yellow.

**Manny:** “Awake?”

**Me:** “No. Did you change your name in my phone? When?”

**Manny:** “That’s what happens when you zone out in public. Although, you know what will happen if you zone out again…”

*Fuck.* He was serious about that kiss. I was feeling daring and a little naughty.

**Me:** “You know, you really don’t need an excuse to kiss your girlfriend.”

**Manny:** (typing...)

He was typing for a while, and I started to freak out. I shouldn’t have said something so bold. I turned my phone face down and scolded myself for being so stupid. A beep made me jump.

**Manny:** “You have no idea how badly I wanted to kiss you.”

I had no response for that, so I turned off my data and went to sleep.

A loud noise jerked me out of dreamland. I was on my feet the second my eyes opened. The noise was coming from outside. Someone was trying to tear my door down.

I pulled the door open, ready to cuss out whoever it was, but the words died in my throat when I came face-to-face with Doctor Adams. My mother.

Every emotion I was capable of feeling vanished, except for fear. It wrapped itself around my throat, cutting off my air supply. I struggled to breathe, unable to speak.

“Cat got your tongue?” My mother—no, *Doctor Adams*—took a step into the apartment. My hand went to my throat and my knees weakened, yet I forced myself backward, pleading for space. “I saw your movie. I saw how fluently you delivered those lines, so many words in your mouth. Where are those words now?”

Still, I could say nothing. I could do nothing but move away from her.

She reached me and delivered a sharp slap to my cheek. “Where are your manners?”

“Good morning, Doctor Adams,” I forced out. I was on my knees now, trembling. How could one person have so much power over me?

Doctor Adams bent over me, responding to my unspoken thoughts. “Because you are a terrible excuse for a human. I gave you a chance to redeem yourself by saving lives, yet you threw it away for *this*? You disgust me.”

Each word hurt more than the slap.

“And for every action, there are consequences,” she groaned.

Then my mother pulled a knife from her bag and slashed my throat.