I had grown up in the foster system, born to parents in active addiction and given up before being passed from home to home. A few weeks after my sixteenth birthday, my foster mother died, and her husband was in no state to care for me and the other three kids living there. The others were young enough and able to be placed with new families, but I was sent to live in a group home.
It was fine for a while—until it wasn’t. After a few weeks of living in the home, some of the other kids began noticing me, and not in a good way. Growing up, I always looked older than I really was, which led to many unwanted interactions and lewd comments—practically all with and from men. In addition to looking older, I was naturally curvy, bustier than most of my peers. I tried to hide my body as best I could, but no matter what I did, I found myself on the receiving end of that attention I despised.
Despite my efforts, the teenage boys in the homenoticed,and a few of them even became bold enough to comment. Those comments turned to shameless leering, which led to the touching. I tried to get it to stop, to make someone help me, but they never did. It got so bad that one day, I had enough, and I had to get out of there.
I left in the dead of night, taking with me only what I could carry in my backpack. I slipped out the window and hitched a ride across state lines, stopping only when I was in the heart of Moriton—a city so vast and chaotic, no one would find me even if they came looking.
Hungry, exhausted, and down on my luck, I found Saffron. All I had to do was tell her my story, and she dropped everything to help me. Within hours, I had a fake ID, a temporary job at the Orchid Lounge, and Saffron's couch to crash on for a few weeks.
Those weeks turned into months when the owners of the Black Orchid Lounge found out I was a decent barback and decided to keep me on long-term. Thankfully, Saffron and I were getting along great, and her roommate just so happened to be moving out, so she was more than happy to let me stay in the spare bedroom of her apartment until I could afford my own place.
But then I just… never left.
I realized pretty quickly that Saffron was more than just a friend to me. She was the sister I never had, my best friend—and I was hers. For years, we lived together, worked together, laughed and cried together. Saffron uplifted me, supported me, and gave me a soft place to land. She was my mentor at work, my cheerleader at home, and always an ally.
When I mentioned I wanted to further my education, Saffron stayed up countless nights helping me study for my GED so I could pass. She even paid for me to go to community college so Icould pursue a degree—a gesture I don’t know I’ll ever be able to pay her back for.
She was my rock through everything, and I, hers. No matter what life threw at us, we had each other. It was enough. Then I got offered a job as the lead financial analyst at LoveBytten, and I had to move. Saffron couldn’t come because it was too far of a commute to the Black Orchid Lounge, and though it was hard, we parted ways as roommates and coworkers.
That was an entire year ago, but still, on days like today, I think back on that time and wish I could go back. It was simpler then. I was happier.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I jump, having been so lost in thought that I forgot Saffron was beside me. At her mention oflast night, my pulse skyrockets, and my hand involuntarily moves to cover the new tattoo on my hip. “I was walking, stopped to help a trapped animal, and then this happened.” I gesture to my busted face. “I got away somehow. Came home, passed out, woke up. Called the police—an absolute waste of my time, by the way. Now, we're here.” I shrug. “I don’t remember much else. My memory is in bits and pieces.”
I’m not sure why I lie to Saffron—but I do know I can’t tell her about Red 7, or his brand inked into my skin. Part of me hopes it will all turn out to be a vivid nightmare. That I’ll wake up tomorrow with only faint memories of that night and the masked killer that claimed me.
The other, rational part of my brain knows that this is all very real. It also worries that if Saffron knows about Red 7’s obsession with me, he might harm her. At least that’s the way it always goes in the books I’ve read. And even if they’re not completely accurate, I’m not taking that chance.
Saffron raises a brow, the expression on her face telling me she doesn’t buy my story. “Okay. Just know I’m here if you everwant to talk. It’s not good to keep things inside, Grace. Especially not something like this.”
“I know,” I say. “Maybe I’ll feel up to it later.”
“I know what ‘later’ means. Never.”
I shrug, unable to meet her eye. “Do you have to work tonight?”
“You’re that desperate to change the subject, huh? Okay.” She lets out a deep sigh. “I was scheduled, but I’m calling out.”
“What? Why?”
She levels me with an incredulous expression. “Because you wereattacked, Grace. There’s no way in fresh hell I’m leaving you alone today. If you won’t go to the hospital, then you’ll have to deal with me smothering you.”
“Saf…”
“Nope. I’m not hearing it. Up you come.”
Saffron helps me off the floor and into the bathroom, keeping her arm around me for support each step of the way—and no amount of protest helps. She sits me on the toilet lid while she runs a bath, testing the temperature with her slender fingers to make sure it's just right.
She bustles around the space, adding bubbles to the bath and lighting some candles. She disappears for a few minutes, rematerializing with a full glass of red wine in her hand and a cheery—albeit forced—smile.
“Do you need help in the tub?” She gives me a once-over with scrutinizing eyes. “You look like you need some help.”
“Always good to hear.” I wince as I stand and hobble toward the tub. “I think I’ll be okay.”
“I’m gonna stick around just in case.” She narrows her eyes in adon’t argue with meway.
“Fine. But you have to turn around and promise you won’t look.”
