25. A Part Of Me Died
CHAPTER 25
A PART OF ME DIED
NORA
June, 2006
15 years old
It's Saturday night, and for once, I'm actually excited. All week, I've been looking forward to crashing at Claire's place for our usual sleepover ritual—snacks, laughter, and endless episodes of One Tree Hill .
Claire, with her magnetic personality, has always been the one in the spotlight, while I preferred the quiet of the shadows. She was always transforming ordinary moments into adventures while I orbit contentedly in her glow.
The moment we reach her room after saying goodnight to her mom, Claire's energy crackles with an intensity that sets my nerves on edge. The sharp snap of her bedroom door feels like a starting gun, and when she turns to me, a familiar guilty look twists her features.
"What?" My voice cracks, betraying the apprehension coiling in my stomach.
"Don't be mad," Claire starts, her voice honey-sweet but her eyes calculating. She's never truly sorry, and we both know it.
"Just spit it out," I push, steeling myself.
"Promise you won't be mad first?" She scrunches her face in practiced remorse.
I tip my head back, exhaling slowly. "Fine, I won't be mad." The words taste like surrender.
She practically vibrates with excitement. "Evan invited us to a party, and I said we'd go." Her eyes sparkle at his name.
"He invited us or just you?”
She flashes that conspiratorial grin. "C'mon, Nor. We're a package deal, everyone knows that." Her eagerness pierces me like a needle, deflating my resistance. Fresh off our freshman year, Claire's been circling Evan like a bee to honey, and I can't bring myself to clip her wings.
I narrow my eyes, feeling the familiar sting of being Claire's shadow. In her world, she's the lead actress, and I'm just the silent extra filling space in her scenes.
"Look," she coos, linking our arms in that practiced way that always manages to soften my resolve. "This will be fun. Who knows, maybe you'll even get your first kiss." She winks like she's offering me the world's greatest prize, but my stomach knots at the thought.
It's not the kiss itself that repulses me—it's the predatory attention that seems to accompany it in Evan's crowd.
"You can't keep holding out for Nate, Nor. I'm not trying to be a bitch, but he's not your type, and you're clearly not his. Time to ditch that little daydream and focus on finding someone new to pine over." Her casual dismissal slices through years of quiet moments with Nate that she never witnessed, moments that meant everything to me.
I mask the ache with a strained smile. "Yeah, maybe."
"Come on, don't be a baby," she needles, poking at my brewing emotions. "Let's just have some fun, okay? Be a good friend and come with me." She clasps her hands beneath her chin, batting her eyelashes with theatrical flair. "Pleeeease?"
My eye roll is answer enough.
Her victory laugh rings out as she crushes me in a hug, oblivious to the dread settling in my chest. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
The moment she steps back, her critical gaze sweeps over me. "Let's get you something to wear. You always dress like you're about to hit the skate park."
I swallow the sting of her words. My baggy, boyish style is more than fashion—it's armor, shielding parts of myself I'm not ready to share. But arguing with Claire is futile.
"Here, try this." She tosses a sweater dress at me that looks suffocatingly small.
"I can't wear this."
"Why not? It'll highlight your curves, the ones you always hide. Just trust me."
I'm not sure that I do right now.
The party hits me like a wall of sensation—pulsing music, sharp scents of alcohol and weed, an atmosphere that constricts my lungs. Claire dissolves into the crowd with practiced ease, her charisma drawing people like moths while I fade into the background—present but unseen.
"Loosen up, will you?" She throws the words over her shoulder with a smirk. "You're at a party not a funeral."
I force another smile that feels like a grimace. Everything feels wrong, her voice carrying an edge that reminds me where I don't belong.
The house throbs with frenetic energy, air thick with sweat and cheap perfume. My senses heighten in the dim chaos as guys lean too close, their gazes crawling over my skin. I tug at my sweater's sleeves, mourning my usual protective layers. Claire, blind to my discomfort, pulls me toward Evan's court of admirers. I trail behind like a forgotten shadow as she basks in the potential of her moment with him. Every cell in my body screams to retreat, but I stay frozen, trying to disappear within myself. Evan Matherson's very presence sends ice through my veins, his charm too polished, too precise. Claire giggles beside me, and I force a smile despite my thundering heart.
This isn't my world.
"There he is.” Claire tugs my arm. "Evan!" Her voice carries too much hope.
He turns, his gaze lingering on me before he approaches. "Hey. Glad you could make it. Want a drink?"
"Sure!" Claire jumps at the offer. Evan's eyes fix on me, waiting.
"No, I'm good," I say quickly, but Claire's sharp elbow and whispered, “Lighten up,” make me waver.
Without waiting for further protest, he thrusts a red cup into my hand. Claire's encouraging nod compels me to sip—the liquid burns, bitter and wrong.
Why do people drink this stuff?
And do they actually enjoy it when they do?
"Just relax and have fun, okay?" she insists before Evan whisks her away.
I want to leave but can't abandon Claire, not with her judgment clouded and vulnerable. I retreat to a couch, wedged beside a couple lost in each other until they sprawl over me, oblivious to my presence.
That's my breaking point. I stand, but the room spins violently. Though I've barely touched my drink, my vision blurs and my limbs feel like lead. I take another sip, hoping to steady myself, but the disorientation deepens.
Everything loses focus.
The room tilts and sways.
My legs threaten to buckle as Evan's voice cuts through the haze, too close.
"Hey, you don't look too good," he murmurs, his hand already gripping my elbow. "Here, let me help."
First mistake—letting him guide me through the crowd.
Where's Claire? Why isn't he with her?
The world blurs as he steers me, supposedly toward the bathroom. Realization hits as a door clicks behind us—we're in a bedroom. Panic spikes, but my screams stay trapped in my throat. My vision clears just enough to see Evan's triumphant smirk.
"Evan, I—" The words slur, foreign to my ears. The floor seems to vanish as I sink into the mattress.
His laugh chills me to the bone. "This will be more fun if you relax."
My attempts to push him away are useless, my arms refusing to respond.
"Mm, I do like a challenge. Especially when they start begging." His voice drips with dark anticipation.
Desperation claws at me, but I'm voiceless, powerless. His fingers trace my jaw with false gentleness against the backdrop of my terror.
Then his weight pins me down.
My body won't respond.
My mind races, screaming to fight, but I'm trapped in stillness. I'm powerless beneath him.
"Shh, shh. It'll be over soon," he whispers, his tongue trailing my jaw as I try to shake my head. His hand holds me still. "Don't make this harder for yourself."
My heart threatens to burst from my chest. Tears burn as I squeeze my eyes shut, praying for an end to this nightmare. His hands invade, cruel and claiming, each touch a brand of ownership that scorches through me. I'm fragmenting, a silent scream lodged in my throat as he takes pieces of my soul.
Inch by inch.
"You feel real fucking good." His words echo in the chaos of my mind. I wish I could dissolve, vanish into nothing and forget.
But you don't forget something like this. As much as your mind tries to, your body always remembers.
I try to detach, to convince myself this isn't real. Just a horror movie scene, not my life. I shut my eyes to escape, but the darkness only sharpens his presence—his hands roaming with terrible ownership, one at my neck, the other violating. His body keeps me pinned, a constant reminder of my helplessness.
"Please st—" My voice breaks, pathetically weak.
His whisper poisons the air. "Just ride it out baby, ride it out."
A bang at the door pierces my despair. "Evan!" someone shouts.
Hope flickers, fragile and brief.
"Fuck off," he snarls, hand clamping over my mouth. I can't breathe. He leans close, threat dripping from every word. "Scream and I'll fucking ruin you. Tell anyone this wasn't what you wanted, and everyone will see this." His phone flashes, capturing my humiliation.
"This is going to stay between us. You keep that pretty little mouth of yours closed,” he taunts.
I manage a weak nod, a tear escaping as reality crashes down. I tell myself if I just hold my breath, maybe this nightmare will fade to black. Maybe I can pretend none of this is real. But the darkness offers no escape; he still dominates every sense.
The door bursts open. Claire's voice cuts through everything: "Nora!?"
Evan recoils, his weight suddenly gone. Air floods my lungs as I collapse inward, shaking violently. Claire yanks at him, but her fury is aimed at me. Her words slice through the chaos, pinning me down.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Claire's rage contorts her face, veins throbbing at her temples. "I can't believe you'd do this to me. You two-faced whore."
Her accusations hit like physical blows, twisting reality into a grotesque parody where I'm the villain. In this moment, I realize I'll never be the same. Something fundamental has shattered inside me.
I stumble past Evan, his sneer following me. "Frigid bitch." Each syllable cuts deeper than the last, exposing raw wounds I didn't know existed. They've broken me completely.
Some damages are too profound to ever fully heal.
Panic seizes control. My only thought—escape.
I push through the crowd, their faces a meaningless blur.
The cold night should feel refreshing on my face but instead it slaps me as I burst outside. It does nothing to clear the chaos in my head. My steps waver, the world distorted by alcohol and trauma. Calling Mom or my brother isn't an option—I'm too far gone. I collapse on the curb, sobs wracking my body. Fumbling with my phone, I scroll past Jake's name—he's at training camp—and land on Nate.
The phone rings.
I hold my breath, desperate for his voice, but a girl answers, her words slurred and tone cruel.
"Hello?"
"Is, uh... is Nate there?" My voice breaks, tears threaten to fall but I hold them back.
Her laugh cuts like glass. "Nate's busy." Music and voices blur in the background.
The rejection stings worse than a slap. "Oh, right... well could you??—"
"I said he's busy," she snaps.
"Please, it's important. I just need to talk to him." Pride abandoned, I'm begging now.
"Don't know what to tell you, sweetheart. He couldn't talk to you even if he wanted to right now." The implication is clear—too drunk or high to function.
My composure shatters completely. "Can you please tell him to call??—"
Click.
Silence swallows me whole.
In this crushing quiet, I've never felt more alone. For the first time, I truly understand what it means to have no one.
When I get home everyone blissfully unaware of what comes back with me. Each step upstairs feels impossible, my body and spirit equally heavy. The bathroom light flickers harshly and unforgivingly. I barely reach the sink before retching violently, my body desperate to purge the night's poison. My throat burns, but the internal stain remains. The mirror shows a stranger—pale, hollow-eyed, tear-stained. There's an emptiness in those eyes now; something vital has been extinguished.
Tears fall, but I force them to stop.
I grip the sink until my knuckles turn white.
This didn't happen.
If I cry, it becomes real.
But it isn't real.
Nothing happened.
It isn't real.
I repeat the denial like a prayer, hoping to convince myself. If I believe hard enough, maybe this horror will fade like a nightmare at dawn. I stare one final time at who I used to be, reflected in the glass. That girl is gone now, buried beneath tonight's wreckage. With one last defiant swipe at my tears, I make my choice.
I choose to erase her.
I choose to deny reality.
In the stark bathroom light, I vow never to forget. I shut off the light, lock away the memories, and leave the girl in the mirror behind—forever.