I take one last look at the trash in which I dumped my belongings. The picture of a girl who was strong, funny, and full of life stares back at me from my abandoned driver’s license. My phone has already sunk deep into the rest of the thrown-out muck. My credit cards that are attached to accounts I drained earlier in the week are cut into pieces and scattered among the trash. I no longer want to be Teagan Hensley. So, with nothing but the backpack of clothes that ties me to my old life, I wait for the bus that will take me to Greenwood. It’s only a few towns over from where I grew up, and it’s the perfect place for me to disappear. Drugs fill the streets, and crime haunts the neighborhoods. The first ounce of relief I’ve had hits me as I board the bus. This contraption on wheels will take me away from it all.

I sit in the last row beside a man who seems to be about my age. He doesn’t look scary or intimidating or even interesting in his torn jeans and generic white shirt. This is probably part of his normal routine, and he has no idea that a damaged girl sits beside him.

My attention becomes fixated on his ripped jeans. I don’t know why. I come up with a narrative in my head about his day that is much brighter than my own. After some coffee and a quick update on social media, he probably left his beautiful, emotionally stable girlfriend naked in their bed with a kiss on the forehead before he went off to catch the bus this morning. He’ll go on to his job where he’s a sure thing for the next big promotion, his ticket off the bus and into a luxury sedan. He’ll have lunch with a coworker at a little deli around the corner, during which they’ll laugh about typos in the morning staff email memo. When he comes home, his girl will have dinner ready, and he’ll fantasize about the perfect way to make her his after he gets her parents’ blessing. It’s all very traditional and admirable.

Very much something I will never have.

The band around my chest squeezes, constricting and choking and breaking.

What am I thinking?

How will I ever quiet the chaos living inside my heart?

My head starts to spin. My eyes get heavy, and my breathing becomes ragged.

“Are you okay?”

The sides of the bus close in on me. The walls turn to wood, and I can’t remember where I am. The smells of mold, dirt, and sweat hit my senses. The face of the man I spent a day in hell with is there every time I squeeze my eyes closed. I rush for the exit as the bus come to a stop and my sight goes in and out of focus as I make my way.

The world goes fuzzy.

The man from my nightmare glares and mocks me until water soaks my face, and he disappears.

I force my eyes open and focus on the man with the torn jeans, who apparently just threw water in my face but is now holding on to my shoulders, so I don’t collapse on the sidewalk. He looks at me with concern pinching the corners of his lips.

“Are you okay?”

People walk by us without a second glance, as if the scene we’re making is something they’ve seen time and again. Perhaps on this side of town it is. Sweat runs down my neck and soaks my shirt, and the barely risen sun feels as if it blisters my skin.

“I’m so sorry!” Embarrassment floods me. “I’m fine, really.” My head flings from left to right. “I’m sure I’ve totally messed up your day or made you late for work. I’m okay. I’m fine. I promise.”

What if this moment with me totally derails everything I dreamed up for him? He’s late for work and he loses the promotion and his girlfriend leaves him after he can’t find another job. That’s how toxic a blip in time with me could mark others—or at least, that’s how it feels lately.

“I wasn’t sure before, but now, I’m positive you aren’t from around here.” He extends his hand. “The people around here on a bus this early in the morning are much more likely ending their night as opposed to starting their day. The only thing you’ve made me late for is a good day’s sleep.”

No girl? No monotonous job? No promotion? Forget about the sedan.

Alarm bells ring in my head. I’d say it was angels, but my devils massacred them months ago. So, I tilt my head and look at him with new lenses.

“You’re just now coming home from a night of work or play?”

Burke and Kai never shied away from wild nights, but that was different. The parties were theirs, and I was allowed to attend but not participate.

There was only so much fun that I was allowed.

“If I said the latter, would you be appalled or intrigued?”

I’m neither.

There is mischief in his eyes as I size him up. He is tall and lean with a skinny frame, and his dark hair is neatly styled and has more product in it than mine.

“You’ve piqued my interest.” My false flirtation rises. My interest here is not in him, as a man or as a person; it’s in what he can do for me.

“Oh, yeah? How so? Even with all the tattoos, you don’t look like the type of girl who could handle the kind of night I just had.”

Challenge accepted.

“Go take your little beauty rest and meet me back here tonight at nine. Then, you can see firsthand exactly how well I handle wherever the night takes us.”

“You want to party with me?” A smirk lights up his face as his eyes assess me.

“Exactly.”

Well, not exactly.

I don’t want to party. I want to forget. I want to dull the pain.

I’ve never been allowed to make my own choices. Burke clipped my wings, and I couldn’t even stand up for the only decision I ever made on my own—to be with Kai. Then, my choices were taken away from me completely. I was kidnapped and held prisoner. A monster took away all my free will when he forced himself on me.

I’m ready to make choices. I want to choose where I go, where I sleep, what I eat, what I wear, and whom I hang out with. Most of all, I want to decide who I fuck. I need for the next hands that touch me to wash away the reminder of the hands that have been there before. Because, if I go into the abyss willingly, then maybe I’ll be able to gain back some of my control. My forthcoming darkness must outweigh the darkness I was unwillingly subjected to. My extreme lack of care, toward myself or others, guides my every decision now.

My choices and my decisions.

This stranger doesn’t need to know all that though.

“You got a name, Party Girl?” He takes a step closer.

“Iris.” Teagan is dead, long gone.

“Smith.” He takes my hand as he tells me his name. “You have yourself a deal, Iris.”

With the shake of our hands, my night is planned. I just hope this guy doesn’t disappoint. He looks more likely to take me to a poetry reading than an epic party. Or maybe I’m just used to the rowdy crowd of criminals always surrounding my brother.

Smith and I say our good-byes for now, and I go to find the nearest cheap hotel that won’t ask me for a credit card. My search doesn’t take long in this town. Just around the corner, I find a place where Teagan would never have stayed, but as Iris, it’s exactly what I’m looking for—cheap, discreet, and available. I pay for two nights with cash, and the clerk doesn’t even bother to set her cigarette down before sliding me a key.

The rug has a smell.

The shower curtain has mold stains.

The bedsprings are older than I am.

None of that bothers me.

I wash my face, eat some greasy fast food, and pass the time by taking an afternoon nap. When the sun goes down and the moon comes out to play, I get ready for the first night of my new life. My makeup is heavy, and my clothes are scant. I look like a slutty Goth girl, especially with the sleeves of tattoos. I look nothing like my bright and bubbly self. Even the vivid coloring of the ink on my skin seems edgier.

Shortly before nine, I leave my trashy hotel room to meet Smith.

He’s leaning against the wall of a diner, smoking, when I arrive.

“That’ll kill you, ya know?” I gesture to the cigarette in his hand.

He leans into me, and his smoky breath heats my neck.

“If you’re partying with me and you’re as game as you say you are, then the smoking is the least of our worries.” He grabs my chin a little roughly and shifts my vision to connect with his. A jolt of worry about going off with this man moves into my stomach but quickly dissipates. “Are you still in, Iris?”

As he calls me the foreign name, my adrenaline spikes.

“I’m so in.”

His hand softens on my jaw before the tips of his fingers caress my skin.

“Good girl.” He straightens and takes his touch away from my face. “Now, we have big plans waiting for us. Let’s go.”

Without hesitation, I follow him into the night, and we don’t talk much while we walk to the unknown destination. Typically, I’d be full of questions, but for now, I simply let him lead without needing to know the details.

We arrive at an old run-down home, and the alluring music blasting from the windows pulls me in. Outside the building, people are congregated in small groups. Each of them has a drink in hand and a glassy haze to their eyes.

I can’t wait to join them.

“Welcome to my world,” Smith lazily drones as he tugs me across the threshold.

There is very little furniture, and smoke rises and hovers over the swarms of people. Almost everyone in the room turns to smile or nod at Smith as we venture deeper into the crowd.

“Are these your friends?”

“They’re the people in my world, but no, I wouldn’t call them friends. Friends are much more rare to come by. We have common ground and shared vices for a different sort of life and normalcy. That’s our connection. Not friendship.”

Although my brother would never use those words, it does sound like something he’d say. I also understand what he’s saying. As a teen, I was much quicker to consider people my friends, but that waned after being used so many times for things other than friendship. Paisley was the first person in years I allowed to get close to me. My mind screams the name of the man I want to forget, demanding I recognize him as someone who had been real.

Kai.

I scan the room, looking for something to help me forget the people who love me.

Smith, who turned to watch me, must recognize something in my expression because he drags me toward the kitchen. A large kiddie pool, which is filled with ice and beverages, takes up most of the kitchen floor. He skirts around it and pulls a handle of vodka from a cabinet. Then, he leans down and grabs two beers from the pool. He hands me a beer with the top still on the bottle. Kai would never hand me a drink without unscrewing the cap first.

No.

Forget! Forget! Forget!

Please, let me forget him.

I unscrew the cap myself as Smith does the same to the vodka, and then his hand goes to my jaw. His nails lightly scrape the skin below my ear. A wicked gleam lights up his face. “Open.” He stares at my lips. The strong scent of nicotine fills my senses as his thumb rubs against my bottom lip. He tilts my head back and holds the bottle of alcohol over my head. “Bottoms up, Party Girl. Let’s see exactly how much you can handle in a night with me.”

The potent liquid hits the back of my throat, and some splashes against my cheeks. Smith doesn’t go easy on me. He holds his pour until my eyes start to water, and concern grows in my stomach about whether I’ll be able to take it all down. But I’m a woman with a point to prove, which makes me very stubborn. I was the one who jumped into the rabbit hole, so who am I to complain about the fall?

Smith clearly isn’t worried about me drinking too much. He isn’t concerned that I’m about to be very drunk in a house full of strangers. In fact, he’s challenging me to be completely reckless. It’s the exact opposite of everything I’ve ever known, and that feels powerful.

I. Want. More.

More recklessness. More power.

“I’m impressed.” Boldly, Smith licks the wayward alcohol from my chin.

I lose my balance slightly when my legs grow a little weak but catch myself with my hand on his chest. My knees don’t give from his praise or the sensation of his tongue against my skin. There isn’t an ounce of excitement over his touch, but I still put on a sultry smile and say, “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“I look forward to everything you’ll show me.”

He tilts the vodka over his own mouth and never even flinches as he swallows in one large gulp before hiding the bottle back up in the cabinet. He slings his arm around my neck and guides me out of the kitchen and toward the full swing of the party.

The people here are interesting and seem to be from all walks of life. Some I wouldn’t be surprised to learn are homeless, and others look like regular joes you’d stand next to in line for coffee. I take it all in from my spot under Smith’s arm.

After one drink, the rattling of my nerves slows to only a stir. After two, I can finally breathe in deep without uneasiness. After a few, my brain stops telling me how worthless I am. The more I drink, the less self-involved my heart feels, which is a small miracle. When you’ve been through what I have, the last thing you want to do is dwell on everything built up inside. The haunting ghosts that follow me around look less like spooky ghouls and more like playful poltergeists. There aren’t many more words exchanged between him and me throughout the night, but drinks are consumed, and laughs are had as we dance to an electronic beat. Smith disappears a few times, but I’m too drunk to care about where he goes. He drinks his vodka off my skin and continues to enable bad behavior when he holds the bottle to my mouth. I’ve never been a good girl, but I’ve never drunk like this. My speech becomes slurred, and my vision turns hazy. Yet no one seems to notice or care. The more inebriated I become, the more I seem to fit in with this misfit crew.

Eventually, the inevitable happens, and I can’t keep up.

“I think I need to go.” I hang on to Smith’s arm, hardly able to hold myself up.

“Come on, Party Girl.” He guides me to a back room, and my feet drag against the soiled carpet. Everything seems loud and distorted. My mouth tastes like I just sucked on cotton balls. Helplessly, I let Smith steer me in a direction unknown.

He opens a door in the back of the house. Inside, the room is bare, except a mattress sans sheets that sits on the floor. I’ve never been so happy to see an old, worn-out piece of shit with exposed springs. My knees give, and I fall face-first onto the cheap bed. I see my mistake immediately. Whether it’s from the high-speed fall or just simply all the drinks I’ve consumed tonight, the room starts to spin. Nausea builds in the back of my throat as the world around me goes topsy-turvy—or, in my case, tipsy-turvy.

Despite this, my eyelids continue to sag, and I fight between needing a bathroom and being pulled under by sleep. Darkness wins. It always wins, over everything.