Hey, brat,

It’s me. I tried to call you this morning but you must’ve been out. I left a message on the answering machine. I guess you didn’t get it. I’m still here doing what I should have done a long time ago. It’s hard. So fucking hard. But I have to try. I want to try. I can’t be that guy anymore. I won’t let myself be that person again. I’m sorry I can’t be there with you to celebrate your birthday. Seventeen, hey? You’ll be heading off to college soon, living the dream. I hope I can be there to see you through it all. Me—the old me, not the one I have burdened you with for such a long time. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for putting you through it all. I wish I could say that I understand how hard it must have been for you, but I don’t. The drugs... they don’t just make you high, they turn you into a selfish bastard, too. One who lives each day for the next fix and nothing else. I stopped caring about how it made you feel and I truly am sorry for that. I’m going to do this, though… for you, and to prove to Mum and Dad that I can be a better person. I can be the son they deserve. I can be the brother you deserve.

The day Dad brought me here I was a mess. I hated him and I lashed out through fear of what was to come. I stayed that way for a while. I was angry with everyone. Mum and Dad, the nurses here at Hamilton. God, I was even angry with you! I hated knowing that wherever you were you would be doing great, working hard and studying even harder. I wanted that. I wanted to be successful like I know you will be one day. And you will be. I know you don’t always feel like you matter. Please know that you do. And when I come back, I’m gonna make damn well sure you realise that. I know my promises won’t mean much to you after all I’ve done, but I promise you this time will be different.

I’m sorry I was angry with you. I wasn’t really. I just wasn’t thinking straight.

I wish I could say that I’m getting better every day, but I’m not. Being here is much worse than anything I could ever have imagined. The cravings get so bad that sometimes I actually think I’m going to die. Sometimes I wish that was true. I hate feeling this way—so out of control. I’m ashamed to admit that the nurses haven’t had it easy with me. They’re tough as shit, though. They don’t take any of the crap I throw at them. Now I can see why Dad sent me here. I guess money has its advantages. The staff must be earning a shit tonne having to put up with me.

I’m not sure when I’ll be able to write next. We’re only allowed limited access to the outside world. Apparently it can lead to a major setback.

Mum said your exams went well. I’m proud of you.

I miss you, kid, and your laugh, as well as that creepy smile when you’re up to no good. Hell, I even miss that shit Taylor Swift song you constantly played on repeat. I know it wasn’t my choice to be here but I’m glad I came. No matter how hard it is, I needed this, but what I wouldn’t give to hear a decent tune again that isn’t from the swinging twenties. I’d love to tear my car around the track behind Billy’s house. Shit, I’d even settle for old Swifty if it meant I got to hear anything other than patients vomiting or the sounds of Bessie Smith around this joint. Don’t ask me how I know her damn name. I think Coraline likes to drum that shit into our heads in the hopes it’ll block out the bad thoughts.

Did I mention that it’s hot as hell here? All the money thrown into running this place and you’d think they’d have a/c.

Anyway, look, I’ve really gotta shoot. Tell Mum and Dad I said hi. And Mel… I love ya, kid.

Twenty-four.

That was how many times I had pulled the letter from the inside pocket of my handbag where I kept it hidden. I’d read it at least twenty-four times, yet the words never changed. They were the same as they had been the very first time I opened it. On August 1^st 2013, to be precise. It was hard to believe that almost four years had been and gone. It was as if time continued to pass me by but I was still stuck in that same year, living the same nightmare over and over again.

The periods and commas remained in place. The ending was still very much the same. I continued to hope that the next time I opened it the words would have miraculously changed, that Shawn would have written to let me know that he was clean and coming home.

They didn’t…

He wasn’t…

It took me up to the seventeenth time of opening the letter before I realised that nothing had changed at all. It was the same day that I lost all hope and finally admitted to myself that Shawn wasn’t coming back.

He was gone.

The outcome would always be the same.

Shawn was dead.

And when he died, I did, too.

I swiped angrily at my cheeks and took in a deep breath. I stuffed the letter back inside my Michael Kors handbag, forced a cheery smile onto my face and crept through the door to Lillie’s—the clothing store I worked at. When I made my way to the storeroom at the back, I slipped my arms out of my thin black jacket, hung it up, and then headed out to the shop floor.

“You’re late,” Leanne accused as she marched towards me. I didn’t argue with her, although I knew that was what she wanted. “Sort these out,” she said, dumping a pile of clothes in my hands. I quickly averted my eyes in fear, hoping she wouldn't be able to notice I’d been crying. “And when you’re finished with them there are a few boxes in the storeroom that need checking,” she added. I nodded, still unable to look at her. I knew my silence would likely annoy her. It was only one of the few pieces of satisfaction I was granted and would likely keep to myself—because I needed the damn job.

When I glanced up, I caught her nostrils flaring before she turned on her heels and moved towards the counter. I blew out another breath.

I had started working there two summers ago. It had just been a part-time job. A little weekend work to keep me occupied, and sometimes during the half term I’d earn a little extra money while gaining some experience in the fashion world. I hadn’t planned on it becoming a permanent placement, but life was funny like that. I couldn’t ever pass up the offer of extra hours, and before long, part-time had turned into full-time. I knew it wouldn’t always be that way, though. I hadn’t studied fashion design at Winslow Falls for three years to end up stuck in a tiny clothing store.

Admittedly, I had been a little disheartened when I’d come to the realisation that the qualification I had worked so hard to get meant absolutely nothing in the end. No one ever tells you growing up just how hard the real world could be when you finally made it out there. When you enrol in college, you’re told that if you work hard and get your qualifications all your dreams and ambitions will fall right into your lap. Well, I was living proof that that wasn’t the case at all. That little piece of paper? That all so important qualification? It all means diddly squat.

I gazed down at the pile of clothes in my hands. Just a little while longer, I told myself as I went about folding the garments as neatly as I could before placing them back onto the correct shelves.

“How many times have I told you?” Leanne hissed. She was somehow behind me in an instant.

Snaking out a hand, she tore away at the pile I’d already folded and dropped the clothes in a heap on the floor. “Really? You’ve been working here how long?” She pointed out, raising both brows. “And you can’t even fold a damn shirt properly.”

Quickly lowering my head, I closed my eyes and mentally counted to three before opening them again. Don’t let her get to you. That’s what she wants.

When I was finally able to meet her eyes, Leanne was glaring at me with such an intense hatred, I could almost feel it tearing through the small space between us. She was cold and fierce.

You wouldn’t think it, but Leanne and I had been friends once. We’d started college around the same time, and with the same eye for fashion, we’d sort of gravitated towards each other. But that had changed when I’d started seeing Tony, knowing full well that Leanne was besotted with him. There really was no excuse for what I had done to her. What was harder for Leanne to understand was that I’d never even really fancied Tony. Like most guys I’d encountered throughout the years, Tony had been persistent and paid attention to me… enough to have me eventually betraying my friendship with Leanne. Needless to say, she’d hated me ever since.

In a normal situation, the likelihood of me standing for her cattiness was slim to none, but at work, Leanne would always have the upper hand. Her mum was my boss, and because she was rarely ever at work, it left Leanne to manage the shop. To manage me. Sure, I could hand in my notice, rid myself of Leanne once and for all, but then what? No one else would hire me around this town. My options were limited.

I threw on a smile and said, “I’ll fix them now.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll do it myself.” She huffed, her blonde hair blowing out at the sides as she did. “At least it’ll be done properly.”

Yeah, you do that.

The bell above the shop door chimed, signalling a new customer. I left Leanne to continue the task she had set for me, and I went to greet the balding gentleman that seemed entirely out of his comfort zone.

“Hello there. My name is Melanie,” I forced out through a wide smile. “Is there anything in particular you are looking for today?”

The gentleman—who appeared to be in his late fifties—looked back at me with a smile of his own. His pearly whites shone so brightly that I had to blink a few times and force myself not to stare too much. I never really understood how people could see that as attractive. The colour was unnatural and weird. The man’s beady eyes were boring into mine as the corners of his lips curled up into a smirk. “Well, as it happens, yes. I’m looking for an anniversary gift for my wife. A dress, maybe?”

“Well, happy anniversary,” I sang. “I think I have the perfect dress to impress that wife of yours.” I winked.

“Perfect. How about you show me the way, Melanie?” he drawled.

Men. They’re all the same, I thought to myself.

Summer was crazy here at Lillie’s. Customers came from all over the country just to catch a glimpse of the new collections. The day before the new pieces were revealed, there was always a certain buzz flying around the place. Mainly, though, that buzz came from me. My heart seemed to burst with excitement knowing that I, Melanie Livingston, would be surrounded by the bright, beautiful new pieces of material that I’d be helping to display. Geeky, I knew, but still…

I smiled to myself, thinking of the new line that had arrived the day before, and I ushered the gentleman to the right of the store where the collection was displayed.

“Jesus Christ, woman. You scared the living shit out of me,” Frankie gasped when she padded through the kitchen later that evening. She had a red towel clutched to her chest as she studied me curiously.

“Don’t ask.” I lifted a hand as if it would stop her from finding out what was wrong, and knocked back my glass of wine as though it were water.

“Bad day?” she quizzed, and went about pouring herself a glass.

Every day was a bad day. Although I had managed to avoid any further altercations with Leanne for the rest of the afternoon, so I guess it wasn’t really that bad of a day after all.

I held out my now empty glass. “Isn’t it always?”

“Is Leanne giving you shit again?” Filling my glass to the brim, Frankie continued, “Because, ya know, you don’t have to put up with it.”

I took a smaller sip of my wine and shook my head in response, just as she pulled a bag of gummy bears from the drawer and tossed them at me. It wasn’t like I could run to the boss and bitch about how unfair I was being treated. “It’s fine. I can handle it,” I said, tearing the bag open with my teeth.

“Look, I’m not saying that what you did to her was okay or anything. I mean, girl code and all…”

I raised a brow.

“No, let me finish,” Frankie said, swatting my shoulder blade. “What I was going to say was that what you did to her was totally wrong, but that was a long time ago and this isn’t college anymore. She needs to grow the hell up and move on.”

“People don’t forget, though, Frank.” I sighed, wishing that wasn’t the truth.

“They will, Mel. It just takes time, that’s all.”

I scoffed at that. People didn’t forget. Not in this town. Everyone knew everyone’s business and everyone stuck together. I was the bad smell everyone hated.

“You’re not still planning on leaving, are you?” She frowned.

“Yep. The sooner the better,” I told her truthfully, reaching into the bag and pulling a little bear out before biting down on it. Hard.

“I was kinda hoping you’d changed your mind.”

“Nope. Still going,” I replied, ignoring the look of disappointment she tossed my way.

This small town was filled with people who had long memories. People who held grudges, refused to forget. That wasn’t going to change. As soon as I had enough money saved up, I would be leaving it all far, far behind me.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’ll always be this way,” Frankie said through a sigh. She was trying to be optimistic, but I knew better than anyone that no amount of optimism could change people’s views.

“Maybe not. People grow old and then they die, sure, but I’m not going to spend the next sixty years of my life waiting for that day to arrive.”

Frankie chuckled. “Dramatic much?”

“Yeah? Well, you’re not the one getting prodded by hot pokers everywhere you turn,” I shot back, grabbing another bear from the bag and biting its head off. “I’m telling you now, it’s like a witch hunt out there,” I said between bites.

“True,” Frankie agreed. “Seeing as you’re here for now,” she continued as I scowled, “shouldn’t you be thinking about getting ready? We have some serious partying to do tonight.” I tossed the bag down. If I ate any more of those little pieces of heaven, I would throw up.

For once, I didn’t feel like going out.

I sighed, wishing I’d just said no to partying that night. But I hadn’t. Frankie needed me.

Frankie’s gran Elizabeth had been diagnosed with bowel cancer a few years back. She had beaten it the first time, but now it was back and it was so aggressive the doctors had given her just twelve months to live. I felt bad for leaving Frankie when she already had so much going on in her life. The only comfort I had was knowing that her parents lived just a few streets away so she wouldn’t have to go through it alone. I’d mentioned my concerns to Frankie, but she’d insisted she would be fine—even though she made it perfectly clear that she really didn’t want me to leave—and that we’d only be a plane journey away. I still had my doubts, but I knew that staying in Winslow would only destroy me. I needed to leave. While I was stuck, though, I was determined to make the most of the time Frankie and I had together. If that meant going to a club when all I wanted to do was curl up on the sofa and watch crappy television, then I would do it. I would do it because she needed me.

The short, emerald green dress that hung from the wardrobe door no longer enticed me. Sure, I could put it on, slip my feet into a killer pair of heels that hurt my toes and pretend that my life was perfect. It wouldn’t change who I was, though. The girl who’d thrown on skimpy clothes and danced the night away in some club, hoping, just hoping, someone would pay her enough attention that she forgot who she was. The one who hurt others to make herself feel better. It didn’t matter how much I’d changed since leaving college. The past would always be there, clawing away at me, refusing to allow me to forget my wrongdoings. Just like everyone else in Winslow.

“You’ve got five minutes or I’m leaving without you,” Frankie bellowed from the other side of the door. I eyed the dress again and sighed.

Frankie and I had met during a night out last summer. I had taken an instant liking to her no-nonsense attitude. I’d thought she was like me; obnoxious, reckless, insensitive, and a party animal. I’d been wrong. Well, except for that last part. Frankie could drink me under the table and still insist on going out the next night. I needed at least two days to recover from one bender before I even considered another session. No, Frankie and I weren’t exactly alike at all. I was a horrible person who didn’t know the first thing about being a loyal friend. One who people couldn’t stand to be around. Frankie had tattoos that covered her arms like a second skin and made her appear unapproachable and scary, but she was one of the sweetest, most loyal friends I’d ever had.

From the first night we’d met, after many shots, our friendship had been sealed, and she hadn’t gotten rid of me since. I practically lived at her apartment those days. Although I technically lived with my parents, having moved back after finishing college, it didn’t feel like home anymore. It was cold and unwelcoming, and at times it was as if I’d never lived there at all. Being with Frankie, I didn’t feel alone. I also never felt as though she were judging me. At first, I hadn’t been used to the kindness she’d shown, but eventually I stopped questioning it. It was like Frankie could see something worthy in me. Whatever that was.

Frankie’s head popped around the door just as I finished zipping up the dress. With her hair having been wrapped in a towel earlier, I hadn’t noticed the change in style. “You changed your hair?” I smirked. It was such a Frankie cut. Her once shoulder-length hair was now slashed into a sleek bob, angled lower at the front. “I like it. It’s so… you.”

She shrugged. “Fancied a change.”

I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes. “When did you get that tattoo?” I pointed to the python that wrapped around her neck. The fine detailing was so intricate it was almost too hard to focus on just one spot.

“Eh… last week. Why? Do you want one?” Her eyes held a daring twinkle in them and I quickly shook my head, causing her to laugh. “Baby,” she taunted.

“My skin is pure. I plan on keeping it that way, thank you very much.”

I had thought about getting one, I just didn’t know what I wanted. I knew that if I did mark my body for life, it would be with something of importance, something that meant something to me. I wouldn’t tell Frankie that, though. She’d have me down the tattoo shop before I had the chance to blink in protest.

She shot me a wink. “We’ll see. Let’s get out of here.”