Chewing on my lip, drawing on the tiny shock of pain, I fight the memory, wrestle it down and lock it away.
I'm okay. I will be.
Not that I haven't thought of ending it-ending the dark crowding inside me, the self-doubt, the feeling I'm worth nothing.
But I've made it so far. Alive. Heart still beating, a voice in my mind telling me Nick was wrong. I am worth something. After all, I'm here and I have my art: my beads and strings to make jewelry. To create beauty. If nothing else, I've got this.
And the sad days, the calm days, they sift through my fingers like cool beads. I string them up and hang them around my neck, count them, measure them. Weigh them.
I do this to remind myself I survived. Survived the mindless hatred and violence that shaped my nightmares. That the string of days that is my life lies in my hands, and that it's up to me to be happy.
Somehow, one day, I will.
~ Amber
Chapter One
Amber
Returning to Madison, my hometown, feels as good as a car collision. Yeah, that good.
Being here makes me feel frightened, unimportant, worthless … and the scary part is that it's a familiar feeling. The past three years I spent in Chicago I thought I made progress. That I became stronger, more confident. Free and happy.
Now that I'm back, if feels as if I have nothing to show for it. All gone down the drain. As if I never left, and my past is wrapping tentacles around me, leaching the life out of me.
Truth be told, right now I wish I'd never returned, and the reason for my bad decision-the one convinced me it's be a fabulous idea-is currently making faces at me in the mirror, standing by my shoulder.
"Ev … " I sigh. "What are you doing?"
Evangeline sticks her tongue out at me and crosses her hazel eyes. "Trying to get you to quit scowling. Hey, I think it's working!"
"Stop it." My mouth twitches, my mind veering off its true, beaten path of regret and fear. She really does look ridiculous like that, her copper curls all over the place, forefingers pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Ev!"
She giggles and falls on my shoulder, completely spoiling my efforts at applying mascara to my lashes. Not like I want to, anyway. But apparently there's going to be a party, and I'm hosting it.
Ev is moving out of the apartment she's been sharing with her friend Kayla, and Kayla already agreed I could take Ev's room. Now the two of them are throwing a sort of farewell party for Ev-who's only moving to another neighborhood and not another continent-but hey, who needs an excuse, right? Getting drunk is a goal all on its own.
And I agreed to the party, but only because I don't want my new roomie to think I'm stuck-up and weird. I've only just moved back to town, and the room is cheap and nice. I should at least give it a chance, right?
Right.
"You'll see, it will be fun," Ev says, smearing glossy lipstick on her lower lip with her fingertip.
Maybe for her it will be. I barely know Ev anymore. We went to school together and used to be besties, back before I ran away to Chicago to hide and lick my wounds.
"Since when did you turn into a party animal?" I mutter and then bite on the inside of my cheek to shut myself up before I say anything else I might regret.
"I didn't." She adjusts the cleavage, revealing a hint of blue lace. "It's my farewell party."
I stare at her.
She looks pretty as a picture in her short, flared lilac dress and ballerina shoes. She still limps a little from an accident she won't talk to me about, more than a year and a half ago, and can't wear heels yet.
"And Micah will be there," I mutter.
She gives a smile so bright it hurts the eyes-but softens my heart. "Yeah."
"You're happy with him." Not a question. She answers anyway, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.
"I am."
"Good," I say gruffly and adjust my pendant, one of the last ones I made before moving here, and then grab the eyeliner like a weapon. I shake it at her. "He'd better treat you right, or so help me God … "
She lays a hand on my shoulder and beams at me. "He does, Amber. You should never worry about Micah."
But I do. I try to laugh it off, but I worry about men. I worry about people. I don't understand them, don't get what makes them tick, what makes them do the things they do. Good things, and bad things.
Mainly the bad things.
Ev shakes her head. She knows bits and pieces of what happened to me back when I was sixteen, but nobody knows the whole truth. Not even my father who yanked me out of school and moved me a hundred and forty miles away, give or take a few, to get a fresh start. He knew enough, though, to decide the move was necessary, and Ev does, too, so no need to scratch old scars and open wounds that I'd rather forget all about.
If only I could.
And what difference would it make? My past is in the past, although this town is drenched in it.
"You're making a mess. Let me." Ev grabs my hand, and I automatically jerk it back, before I can process her words.
Oh shit. The eyeliner flies away and hits the floor. As if in slow motion, I see the black liquid spill on the beige carpet. Like blood, dark and viscous.
I'm shaking. I'm cold. In degrees, my senses return, and I realize Ev is still holding on to me.
I pull my hand again and it's suddenly free.
"Crap," I mutter, my pulse thundering in my ears.
"Oh God, I'm sorry," Ev whispers, dropping to her knees and gathering the small bottle, then starts blotting the ink with a tissue. "I shouldn't have."
Shouldn't have grabbed me like that. Yeah, she shouldn't have, but it's not her fault I'm not normal, is it? I suppose I was a girl like any other once-shy, kinda chubby, and always doodling or crafting one thing or another to keep my restless hands busy.
But that's in the past, that past in which my life is now steeped, and we're in the now.
So I apologize, insist I'm too clumsy to live, and that Ev should help me with my make-up. Honestly, it's not as if I have much experience with eyeliners and mascaras anyway.
Ev accepts the task with obvious relief, which makes me wonder how big of a mess I was making of it. I sit primly as she runs the brush through my long dark hair until it's a shiny fall, paints my blue eyes with black, and dabs red on my mouth.
It's like war paint, I think randomly, my hands clenching in my lap. I fight the itch to grab the lipstick tube and draw red lines on my cheeks and nose.
Don't, Amber.
I can do this. Pretend to be normal. Pretend coming back to Madison isn't killing me, bringing the past to life. Maybe, if I pretend long enough, it will come true.
Ev's former room is now officially mine. I moved my stuff there this morning and spent the rest of the day helping with the cleaning and preparations for the dreaded party.
At the last moment, of course, Ev decides we need paper napkins and sends me out to get some. I'm more than happy to escape for a while, walk about on my own. I find the small grocery store she mentioned and take my sweet time returning.
To my shock, I find the party is in full swing when I arrive. Ev told me it wasn't supposed to start until after ten, and I didn't expect to have to wade through hordes of guests at half-past nine to get to the kitchen, the package of napkins clutched to my chest.
Should've known better. I mean, I did go out on occasion in Chicago. There were certain student apartments you could drop by any time of the day, any day in the week, and always find a party happening. No beginning and no end.
Fun … so not.
Loud dance music plays over the speakers, and I wonder if anyone thought to warn the neighbors sleep isn't in the cards for them tonight.
Swallowing a sigh, I abandon the napkins, Ev nowhere in sight. Returning to the living room, I take off my coat, drape it over the back of a chair, tug on my pendant nervously, and search for familiar faces.
There has to be at least twenty people crammed inside the tiny living room, standing or sitting on the sofa and one armchair, a girl in the lap of one of the guys, sharing a bottle of beer and sloppy kisses with him. He has a hand on her ass, and I wince inwardly as I continue my search.
More people are leaning by the window, talking in loud voices and swigging beer as if it's water. A guy with a blue Mohawk nods at me from his perch on the dining table, a wild-haired girl between his legs. A tall, muscled guy with blond hair and tattoos climbing up his neck is standing beside them. He lifts a brow at me, and I send a brittle smile their way.
A dark-haired boy and a sandy-haired girl are totally sucking face in the hallway, and I edge past them, tugging on the hem of my short dress, cursing inwardly. A hint of panic is creeping up on me.
It's this town, I tell myself again, and push my shoulders back. But I won't let it drag me down.
Nevertheless, I sag with relief when I finally spot Ev and Kayla talking by an open door.
Micah is with them-I've seen pictures of him Ev sent me. Tall and handsome, his blond hair falling in his eyes, his blue eyes following Ev's every move. A soft smile tugs at his lips. As I watch, he wraps an arm around her and tugs her to his side. She also smiles up at him, and all that's missing is rose petals drifting down and violins playing.