Chapter 1
ARIA
NINETEEN HOURS EARLIER
I’ve often wondered how many times a person has to get burned before they finally learn to stop reaching for the flame.
Once? Twice? Three times?
Whatever part of the brain is supposed to control impulse and self-preservation must be missing in me. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been scorched by that same flame.
Hope does that to you—especially when the person you’re hoping for is your mother. It makes you ignore the pain, forget the damage, convince yourself that maybe this time will be different. That they’ll really change.
Even when her mood shifts without warning, when her presence is sporadic and her involvement unreliable, she still finds a way to burn through every part of my life without fail.
And no matter how many times I’m left to pick through the wreckage, I still hold onto hope that she’ll change.
That life might go back to how things were between us.
But this morning, that fragile bridge of hope doesn’t just burn.
It disintegrates.
I drop to my knees and yank open the last drawer in my dresser. Empty. Just like the others. My stomach twists with the sick realization that it’s happening again. That my mom chose today, of all days, to strike with her usual self-serving cruelty.
She’s left me with no clothes. Nothing but a handful of mismatched socks and a few plain panties shoved in the bottom of the drawer.
Something serrated and bitter coils beneath my ribs, crawling up my throat and stinging the back of my eyes.
I don’t get it. Why take my clothes? Whatever happened to her own?
Oh.
Wait.
Let me guess. She either pawned them off or left them behind in the last place she disappeared to, which wasn’t that long ago.
Normally, I’m quick to rein it in, to snuff out the turbulent emotions before they bury me. But not this time.
I grit my teeth, breathe through my nose, and force myself to gather my bearings as I rise, my eyes flicking to the digital clock beside my bed.
My stomach sinks.
It’s exactly 7:30, and I have no idea how I’m going to get dressed and out the door in time. My science fair presentation is today. If I miss it, I’ll be throwing away half my grade this semester.
Today really isn’t the day for her to pull something like this.
I turn to leave, but my foot catches on a bunched blanket tossed at the edge of my bed. My phone flings from my hand and hits the carpet with a dull thud. I don’t bother going to look for it. I just keep moving, chin up, heading down the hall toward my mother’s room.
The door’s wedged slightly open. I shove both hands into it, not bothering to knock. I’ve already anticipated the empty bed inside, but standing in the doorway of that vacant room hits a raw nerve, mocking me for expecting anything different.
She’s really gone. I still can’t believe it.
I know because she’s never up this early. When she disappears for the night, she always spends the next morning buried under the covers, like she doesn’t have a single responsibility in the world.
My throat swells with a knot I can’t swallow. My eyes brim, and I swipe at them with the back of my hand before the tears can fall. I don’t have time for this.
I should’ve known better than to think she changed.
She’s done plenty of crappy things, but I never imagined this kind of quiet violation—digging through my things while I slept and taking whatever she wanted without a thought for her daughter, who still has to get herself to school and hold down a job.
Two things she’s never had to worry about.
But I won’t let her pull me down with her. I head back to my room, bypassing the dresser completely, and straight for the cramped little closet at the end of the wall.
At least she didn’t take everything here.
Nothing Michigan-winter-friendly, just a few thin t-shirts.
Irritation pricks beneath my skin as I thumb through the flimsy fabric, searching for something warm enough to survive the freezing car ride to school.
In a rush of frustration, I yank the first sweater I see off the hanger, ivory knit with pilling along the sleeves.
Slipping it over my head, I dig through another pile of old jeans from freshman year, back when my curves hadn’t started filling out.
I hold a pair to my hips and scoff, knowing they’ll never fit.
They hit the floor, replaced by a black skater skirt with a much more forgiving waistband.
Not exactly warm, but it fits, so it goes on without further debate.
I pull a black jacket overtop and breeze through everything else, opting to comb my hair with my fingers instead of wasting more time looking for a brush.
Halfway out the door, I’m already forgetting the most important thing. I double back for my bag and poster, roll it up tight, and hurry down the stairs, only to abruptly halt at the narrow path leading into the garage. My gaze snaps to the key hook on the wall.
It’s empty.
Dread winds through my stomach, slow and steady, tightening with the certainty of what I already know is missing on the other side.
There’s no way she’d screw me over this bad. She doesn’t even drive.
Please don’t let me be right this time.
A tremor gathers in my hand as I wrap it around the doorknob and yank it open. Cold air brushes my ankles, and for a heartbeat, I almost see its familiar silhouette waiting there before the garage yawns back at me, hollow and still.
No car.
A stunned, breathless laugh scrapes my lips. Unbelievable. The universe really has it out for me. How else could it pack this much bad luck in one morning?
Why does it feel like the weight of the world is pressing down on me? Nobody else is getting hit like this. Not my mom. Not my dad, after he ditched us for a new family. Just me.
I’m a good kid. I don’t stir trouble. Mostly quiet, patient, doing my best to be compliant. Yet somehow, I’m the one being singled out for no reason at all.
More importantly, how the hell am I supposed to get to school like this?
I guess I can walk. Technically it’s close enough.
But I’ll still be late to first period, science class, and get slapped with a tardy slip.
All those hours hunched over my science fair poster in the break room at work would be for nothing, gone along with whatever slim chance I have at a full scholarship.
Maybe I was never destined for anything better than barista work, stuck in this house until I’m worn down, doomed to repeat the same generational curses.
I let out a slow, resigned sigh before shoving my feet into my sneakers, knotting the laces, and stepping out into the frigid, stale air of the dimly lit garage.
Punching the code into the keypad, I slip under the rising door once the gap is wide enough and shut it behind me, the motor humming and groaning as it seals the house from view.
It’s not as cold as it could be. The sun is out, offering just enough warmth to fool me into thinking I’ll be fine in my sweater and vest.
But by the time I trek along the main street sidewalk outside my neighborhood, the breeze has sharpened, slipping past my clothes and biting at my bare legs until they stiffen.
If only my crew socks reached a few more inches higher or I squeezed into my old, tight-waisted jeans.
A hat would’ve helped, too. Gloves. Anything.
A few more minutes of slogging through slush and partially melted snow, and I try to shove a hand into the pocket of my vest, only to meet the stiff barrier of fabric. The seams are stitched closed.
Stupid jacket. Stupid weather.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
This whole thing’s ridiculous. And I still have a long way to go, at least another ten or twelve minutes on foot.
I don’t think I can push through that much longer.
My teeth have already started to chatter as I try to convince myself I’m in a bubbling, hot Jacuzzi, not trudging through piles of slush and gritty meltwater that splashes up at me every time a car passes.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more jealous of strangers in my life.
In a desperate attempt to stay warm, I cross my arms over my chest, trying to shield my fingers from the wind, which is a challenge considering the poster wedged between them.
And for what? I stayed up half the night finishing it, and now I won’t even get to present.
I’m going to fail the whole damn thing anyway.
I try to quicken my pace, even as my limbs protest. Goosebumps sting along my thighs while I focus on my footing, trying to block out the restless churn of thoughts clawing their way deeper.
That’s when I notice a car slowing to my right. A black BMW, inching toward the curb, its side mirror catching my eye as it moves closer to where I’m walking.
Creep.
It’s right then that I realize I forgot my phone. Left it at home in the middle of this morning’s chaos. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
What else can go wrong? Should I even ask?
The street’s packed with cars, engines buzzing as they streak past in a blur. Even in broad daylight, you can never keep your guard down, though I doubt anyone would be bold enough to try anything harmful with this many cars around.
The car window lowers. My heart pitches. My eyes drop to the ground as I pick up speed, focusing on the rhythm of my steps sloshing through the snow. I’m good at avoiding people. He’ll back off once he sees he can’t get a reaction out of me.
“Excuse me?”
His voice is smooth. Deep.
Always a man is my first thought, but then my brain’s hijacked again when he leans out of his window.
“Hey. Hey—” He waves out at me when I don’t look.
Seriously? I bite my tongue, keeping my gaze ahead, one foot in front of the other. Just ignore him until he gives up.
“Look behind you!” he yells through the rush of passing traffic. “You've got papers flying out your bag.”
Wait, what—