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“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, kind
a 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.
