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I was close to both of my stepbrothers growing up, so I missed them when they finally left, but I was a naïve high school senior distracted by her boyfriend. Then I caught my mom cheating, and I wrecked everything.
I overheard her phone call. I didn’t find out who it was or why it happened. I only knew that I felt hurt and betrayed, and I couldn’t keep such a poisonous secret to myself. My stepbrothers were shocked as well, and we all watched in horror as our parents’ marriage fell apart, my mom committed suicide, and my stepfather left six months after her death. He emails my brothers sometimes, but we have no idea where he is, and Marcus and Seb still don’t know that he left me with nothing—and I’m not just talking about money. He left me all alone in that big, empty house.
Those months were pretty bleak. Every room triggered some sort of childhood memory.
Biological child or not, Martin raised me, and his abandonment was the final knife in my already fractured heart. I still had my car and some cash in my personal bank account—enough to feed myself and keep my phone active—but that’s about it. Like Marcus, I know Martin blames me for my mom’s suicide. I was the one who told him about the affair, after all. I unconsciously rub the ache in my chest. It never truly goes away.
TWO YEARS EARLIER…
I skipped school again because I’m having a hard time caring about something that seems so trivial now, but at least I got through the day without crying for once. I walk up to the front door, pulling out my key, but to my surprise, it’s unlocked. I frown and open the door, stepping into the entryway cautiously.
“Dad?” I call out.
He should be home working, but the house is deathly quiet. When I walk into the living room, a jolt of shock vibrates through my entire body. It’s…empty. All the furniture is gone.
I drop my keys and purse onto the floor and run from room to room to room.
Empty. Empty. Empty.
I run upstairs, bursting into my father’s office and whirling around. Everything is gone. His oak desk. The little basketball hoop over the trash can. His books. Family photos. The artwork my brothers and I made when we were little.
My heart is racing impossibly fast, and my limbs start trembling. I drop to my knees, trying to breathe.
I can’t breathe.
My hands are slick with sweat. My stomach rolls with nausea. Bile rises in my throat.
I dig my fingers into the hardwood floor, needing to feel something solid and real, and I start counting backward, trying to rein in the panic attack.
“one-hundred…ninety-nine…ninety-eight…ninety-seven…” My vision is going black at the edges, and I think I might pass out. “Ninety-one…ninety…”
Finally my heart starts to slow.
I lean back against the wall, taking deep breaths. I shake as the adrenaline leaves my system.
Breathe. Just fucking breathe.
Outside, rain starts to fall, tapping insistently on the window. I stare out into the oncoming storm. Everything looks cold and gray. Desolate.
I am all alone.
Hot tears slide down my cheeks
So much for not crying today.
“You’re goingto love Lola’s apartment—it’s down the street from some pretty swanky bars.” Fiona interrupts my thoughts, and I glance at her.
“You know I’m not normally a bar hopping girl, right?”
She waves her hand dismissively. “Make an exception this weekend. You can go back to being cute little studious Charlie on Monday.”
I give her a doubtful look. Crowds of sweaty people drinking in small spaces sounds awful, but it’s better than being on campus where I can run into Lincoln, I suppose.
Fi takes a breath like she wants to say something but then pauses.
“What?” I ask. “Spit it out.”
“It’s just, we haven’t really talked about what happened yesterday.” Fi glances over at me. “Are you okay?”
