Chapter 3
SHANNEN
Phoenix, Phoenix, Phoenix…
I’m scribbling his name over and over, the red ink blooming across the paper in front of me.
I think I’m in my apartment, but something’s wrong.
The ceiling feels higher, the walls are an unfamiliar shade of orange, and the air has a distinct smell.
It’s like smoke and spice, and I know I’ve smelled it before, somewhere buried in the folds of another lifetime.
I write to Phoenix the way I do every year. It’s become a ritual now—a wound I keep reopening, but tonight, the only thing that comes out is his name, again and again, as if every other word I ever knew has been erased from my mind.
A wind moves through the room, and the front door slams wide open without warning.
I clutch the letter in my trembling fingers and move toward the darkness.
Each slow step makes the scent grow stronger, more suffocating, until it’s all I can taste.
I reach out, and something brushes against my back—a warm breath that shouldn’t exist, a whisper without words.
I turn, and suddenly, something is covering my face.
My hands find nothing solid as I try to tear it away with my fingers.
I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I can’t ? —
I jolt awake, my heart hammering, the taste of smoke lingering on my tongue, and the scent of spice refusing to let me go. It takes a few seconds for my mind to catch up and remember where I am, but when it does…
Fuck me dead.
I’m going to be sick.
The minibar is completely wiped out, bottles are overturned, caps have been flung around like confetti, and half-peeled labels are stuck to the carpet. I don’t even remember doing that.
Every. Single. Bottle. Empty.
I can still taste vodka, and my head’s pulsing like my brain is slowly swelling inside my skull, but none of that compares to the gaping hole in my chest.
My sketchbook.
It’s still gone.
I push up on shaking arms, the expensive sheets clinging to my sweat-soaked skin, and I have to focus on breathing through my nose to keep from vomiting all over the hotel’s overpriced carpet.
I take a deep breath. Then another. In. Out.
Don’t puke, Shannen. Not now. Not when you’re supposed to be a fucking goddess in a few hours.
I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, grinding it in, begging the pressure to dull the pounding.
But nope.
Still hurts.
Still spiraling.
Still a fucking mess.
I peel myself out of bed on shaky legs and with a head that feels like it’s been smashed open with a crowbar.
My body is wrapped in nothing but black lace underwear, and a sleep mask is shoved halfway into my hair, and honestly, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, then backed over for good measure.
Stumbling to the bathroom, I flick the light on and instantly flinch when the white-hot glare burns my eyes. And the sight of me? Jesus.
My dark cherry hair is all matted, my skin is pale, and mascara is smeared across my cheeks. I crumble to the cold tile floor, hugging my legs tight, and bury my head into my knees.
How the hell is that mess of a woman supposed to seduce the man who destroyed her life?
No one’s going to want to rip my clothes off if I don’t pull my shit together. I look like I’ve been gangbanged in a dumpster and dragged through the fucking streets.
It’s not much different from how I looked the day I met Phoenix, minus the hangover, but the hollowed-out exhaustion is the same. Back then, I was just a kid in beat-up jeans and an old hoodie, seeing things no kid should ever have to witness.
Phoenix was a storm even then, this brooding dark cloud that hovered at the edge of every room, and I was drawn to him instantly, like pain recognizes pain. He never hid his darkness from me, and I was never afraid of it. If anything, it felt honest, matching something broken and bruised inside me.
Everyone else at school was all shiny smiles and plastic laughter, the walking embodiment of everything I hated. But Phoenix was raw and intense. He felt everything too deeply to ever fake it.
I fell in love with him so fast.
The day someone tripped me in the hallway, Phoenix didn’t just help me up—he shoved the kid so hard against the lockers that the metal dented.
When a spider bit me during biology, he didn’t hesitate to crush it under his boot and then spent the rest of class checking my arm for swelling.
And when Mr. Grady pulled me aside after English, suggesting I “diversify my social circle” because our friendship was becoming a “distraction,” Phoenix’s hands went straight to that ridiculous red tie the old bastard wore every single day.
I had to physically restrain him, my fingers wrapped around his wrist while I whispered him down from whatever dark place his mind had gone.
He was my shield against everything this shithole town threw at me. Untilhe wasn’t.
How does someone go from wanting to strangle a teacher for suggesting you spend less time together to choosing everyone else over you? How does that fierce, protective love just… disappear? What did I do that was so fundamentally wrong that he stopped seeing me as worth defending?
No.
I catch myself before I spiral down that familiar path of self-blame. It wasn’t my fault. I spent too many years asking that question until it nearly killed me. My therapist finally managed to beat it through my thick skull one day that some people are just broken in ways you can’t fix.
When Phoenix made the football team, something in him fractured.
It was like someone reached inside him and flipped a switch.
One day, he was mine—the only one who saw me as something more than a punching bag—and the next, he was surrounded by cheerleaders with dead eyes and boys whose egos barely fit in their heads.
He became just another empty, pretty face in the crowd, parroting whatever bullshit his new friends fed him.
The boy who once looked at me like I was something rare was gone, replaced by someone who looked right through me, and I hated him for it.
The only time I saw a flicker of the old Phoenix was the last day I saw him, when he kissed me like he meant it and held me like I was still his.
It lasted only a few seconds before reality hit me like a fist, and the illusion shattered. In an instant, I was reminded of who I was and what I was worth to him—or anyone—which was nothing. Less than nothing.
I lost Phoenix because I believed in him too much.
I pushed him to be great because I saw everything he could be when the rest of the world didn’t.
I was the one who told him to try out for football because he was good at it, but I was the idiot who lost everything in the process.
Forget the stupid crush, the late-night fantasies, and messy feelings I couldn’t name at the time.
He was my safety net in a world that never cared about me and the only one who made it all feel bearable.
Then he dropped me as if I'd never mattered at all.
With barely enough time to spare, I made a desperate last-minute call to a salon close by to get my red hair touched up. I haven’t been blonde in nearly seven years, and I’m sure as hell not showing up looking like the girl I used to be.
My hair is straight, blood-red, and glossy, falling like silk to the middle of my back. The dress I picked clings like it was stitched to my skin, black with a plunging V neckline and a thigh-high slit that leaves almost nothing to the imagination.
My nails, which Barb, my go-to technician in New York, did, are nearly the same shade as my hair: deep red and perfectly shaped.
My makeup’s flawless, a sweep of dark-red lipstick tying the whole black-and-red look together.
The feline mask is the final touch, ready to hide me in a room full of people who’d love nothing more than to tear me apart if they knew who I really was.
The mask is made of black velvet, covering everything except my mouth. Technically, you can see my eyes, but I’ve slipped in opaque black lenses to hide the giveaway gold that would out me to Phoenix in a heartbeat.
Not what I want.
There’s built-in mesh beneath the eyeholes, shadowing my gaze without blocking my vision, making it nearly impossible for anyone to really see me.
Gold detailing curls around the temples—delicate, swirling patterns that lift the eyes—and pointed cat ears arch over the top, secured at the back with a soft satin ribbon tied into a bow.
Patent black stilettos finish the look, and those iconic red soles flash with every step.
I passed a few costumes on my way to the foyer.
Harley Quinn and the Joker were practically mauling each other in the elevator like the world's ending at midnight, while across the lobby, some poor bastard dressed as a giant tomato was having a full-blown meltdown, trying to wedge his ridiculous foam ass into a chair without tipping over and rolling across the floor.
The young guy behind the front desk lets his eyes drag over me as I approach, and that look right there—the hungry, distracted kind, like he might’ve just forgotten how to breathe—is exactly how I want Phoenix to look at me.
“Can I help you?” he asks, swallowing hard. He can’t be older than twenty, and based on the way he’s blinking at me, it’s clear he has a classic case of boner brain.
“I need a car, please.”
He clears his throat. “Uh… for when?”
“As soon as possible, please.”
He grabs the phone with both hands and confirms the car more professionally than I expected before he gestures toward the double doors.
“Outside,” he says, still not quite meeting my gaze. “It’ll be right out front.”
“Thank you. ”
It's colder than I expected, and I pull my coat tighter as I slide into the back seat of the car. The second the door clicks shut, my nerves hit me. All the boldness I felt earlier starts to flicker out and die, and before I can sink into a full-blown panic, I grab my phone and FaceTime Lianna.
She answers within seconds, wearing a black satin robe that hangs off one shoulder, holding a full glass of red wine in her hand.
“I’ve been waiting for you to call!” she says, her eyes practically popping out of her face. “Holy hell, look at you. Shit, you don’t even look like you.”
“Thank God,” I say, adjusting the camera slightly. “Where are you?”
“I’m at Isaac’s.” My eyebrows shoot up, though she can’t see it under my mask.
“Yeah, I heard that silence,” she says, smirking into the camera.
“I went back to see if that night of wild sex was a one-off. And yes, I know my rule is never fuck the same guy twice, but I’m making an exception. Just once. You know, for science.”
“You mean for dick.”
“Same thing.”
“I’m literally right here,” a guy’s voice grumbles off-screen.
“Oh, stop,” Lianna fires back, waving a hand. “Like you’re not about to have the best night of your life, thanks to this little test.”
Although, let’s be honest… if a man ever spoke to a woman the way Lianna just spoke to him, he’d be burned at the stake before sunrise.
“Oh god, I miss you,” I say, a laugh slipping out despite the nerves starting to twist in my gut. “I’m seriously tempted to turn around and come home.”
“Absolutely not,” Lianna snaps, pointing her wine glass at the screen. “You’ve got this. Tonight is the night you stop thinking about that cockdongle. You move forward completely. No more looking back or rewinding your trauma. He doesn’t get that power anymore.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Break his heart.”
“First of all, he doesn’t have one. Second, I don’t think he ever actually gave a shit about me, but I can still try and tear his ego to shreds.”
“That’s my girl. Right—Isaac’s had a hard-on this entire conversation, so I need to sit on him now. Love you.”
“Really?” I hear him mutter in the background, but honestly, I’m not even surprised. Nothing Lianna does shocks me anymore. She lives on chaos and orgasms and is unapologetic as fuck about it.
“Love you too,” I say, smiling as the call ends.
Suddenly, I’m alone again, staring at my reflection in the dark window of the car.
Five minutes later, we pull up to the hotel where the reunion is being held, and as the car rolls to a stop, thunder rumbles low in the distance, followed by a sudden rush of rain slamming against the windshield.
God, I need a drink.
Even the thought of alcohol right now turns my stomach, but I need something to take the edge off.
I climb out of the car, head high, heels slipping slightly on the wet pavement as I move fast toward the entrance.
The rain’s coming down harder now, and cold needles bite against my skin.
I take one last breath before marching my feline ass up the steps, through the revolving doors, and straight to the front desk to collect my room key.
Tonight is going to be a fucking disaster, and I’m going to make it beautiful.