I lay awake staring up at Nicole's ceiling from her floor. Twenty-six. That's how many glow-in-the-dark stars I count stuck to it. The faint green glow from the random constellation my friend chose to mimic mocks my insomnia.

Our group spent the rest of the night, until closing at 2 in the morning, at The Underground dancing and drinking. It was a lot of fun, a good release of pent up energy and anxiety I had been feeling all week. The music pumped through the speakers, chasing away any tiredness we may have been feeling, fueling us to continue to bounce around the dance floor. Once we ran out of vodka lemonade, Nate's friends offered some of their own water bottle cocktails. Our group gradually grew throughout the night, only adding to the entertainment and feeling of absolute bliss. Being with my friends, out in the world rather than cooped up in my house doing homework, felt real. It felt normal.

What wasn't normal was the amount of times I craned my neck around the club to look for Tristan. After Logan had delivered us water, I couldn't stop thinking that Tristan had to be somewhere close if one of his right hand men was there. Much to my disappointment, two hours passed by without a sighting. I don't even know why I thought he would be there, it's not like a secret club seemed like his thing anyway. It would have been interesting, though, to know if the antisocial neighbor of mine let loose on the weekends. What can I say, I'm a girl obsessed.

And now here I am, sleeping in a bright orange sleeping bag at the foot of Nicole's bed at 4 am. Or not sleeping. Since getting out of the car Chloe put a drunk me, Nicole,and Nate in, I couldn't rid my thoughts of why Logan was at the club. Without Tristan and Oliver. And why did he bring us over water? How did he know we even needed it in the first place?

My thoughts have been consumed with pondering over that one small event, hence the reason for my insomnia. I can't get my brain to shut off for long enough to allow my body to rest. I tried counting sheep about an hour ago, but the sheep's heads turned into Tristan. It was truly disturbing.

I reach maximum determination to get some sleep when my phone screen lights up. I reluctantly roll over and bring it close to my face to see what could possibly be giving me a notification in the early hours of the morning.

A text from The Underground. I unlock my phone and go to read the whole message. It was just a thanks for attending the fairytale night and a reminder to check my phone for the next invite. I grumble, putting my phone back down beside me, angry that I wasted precious energy on looking at that text.

My screen lights up again and I instinctively reach for my phone. This time it's an email. From an address I don't recognize. Oh no.

My heart rate speeds up as I struggle to work my fingers to swipe across the screen to open up the email. Panic sets in when I see the message that is taunting me on my phone display.

I hope you're resting as soundly as you were in this picture. You may have woken up that night as a changed person, but you're still the same Leila to me.

xx

Attached is another picture of me, this time passed out on a bed littered with liquor bottles and an array of clothes. My outfit is the same as in the first picture I ever received, so I can confirm it is from the same party. Flashbacks begin to flood my brain, but I quickly push them away to avoid a full blown panic attack. I don't look at the photo for too long before locking my phone and throwing it across the room, landing on a pile of blankets.

Nicole stirs in her sleep and I consider waking her up. How is this happening! We just changed my email and put in extra security so Carter wouldn't be able to contact me. Not even Aunt Clara and Uncle Luke know I changed my email address again, I just haven't gotten around to telling them yet. How the hell did he get it?

I steady my breathing as much as I can, deciding on letting my friend sleep. One of us needs to be well rested to deal with this in the morning and at the rate my brain is working overtime, it has got to be her. She will have a plan, at least something better than moving to a different country and learning to start over again.

I close my eyes, replacing the plastic glowing stars with complete darkness, and attempt to clear my mind. Okay, that won't work. Instead of dwelling on Carter and my past life, I think back to the mystery that is Tristan. It has proven effective in preoccupying my thoughts so no other subject has room to even spark growth of another obsession.

Tristan Johnson, I thank you for being such a huge question mark that it takes all my brain power to come up with realistic back stories for you to explain your current state of being. I thank you for being so unbelievably gorgeous that it gives my heart another reason for rapidly beating and my skin another for being constantly flushed. I thank you for ridding me of any more thoughts for the night of Carter Hayes, my true life tormenter.