My goosebumps are so large it's like I'm covered in a mass of warts. The AC in this strange room just kicked on. Nothing can protect my bare skin from the elements, but I try to settle regardless by covering my breasts with my free arm. 

The clock on my phone reads 3:07 AM on November 1st. There is no reception.

"I've recovered two hours of last night," I think. The prospect rings hollow; all I know is that I ended up in this freezer of a room and that Bryce cheated on me. And also that I dumped him.

"What a classy night."

The fourth voicemail is from Jessica. I can hear the party in the background. 

"Yo! Where'd you go? And what was all that with Bryce about? Everyone we know's talking about it! Call me back!"

The phone clicks, then tells me that the voicemail is over. 

Bryce's voice is the first thing I hear on the fifth voicemail. My stomach ties itself in knots.

"What's your damage? Seriously? You had no problem being a cock-sucker, but the moment I turn and kiss someone else, you up and lose it?"

I can't tell if he's talking about himself or that one time I blew Tommy Filch before Bryce and I started dating.

"And now you aren't even picking up your phone. Typical."

My stomach knots up again. The voicemail ends.

Voicemails six, seven, and eight are all from Jessica once more, all of them having been sent withing a ten-minute time span. Each message basically reiterates the same thing: "Where are you? Call me! I'm worried." The last of them is dated at 11:59 PM.

"This isn't so bad," I think. "There's only five of these left."

The bottoms of my feet are like ice. I ease myself to the floor, careful to keep the pressure off my ankles, and brace myself for the next message.