CHAPTER 1: THE VIEW FROM BEHIND
CLEO'S POV
I'm going to die in a washing machine.
Not in a car crash. Not skydiving. Not doing anything remotely cool or interesting. No - I'm going to suffocate face-first in a Maytag front-loader because I climbed in after a f*****g sock.
A SOCK.
It's my favorite sock, okay? The fuzzy one with the little cats on it.
It got tangled in the sheets and I saw it tumbling in the drum and I thought - I'll just reach in and grab it. Quick. Easy. No problem.
Except I leaned too far. And then I reached a little further.
And then somehow - SOMEHOW - I tipped forward and now I'm wedged halfway into the washing machine, my hips jammed against the rubber seal, my ass in the air, my face pressed against the cold metal drum, and my feet kicking uselessly behind
