Chapter 5
Chapter Five
T he list of people I trusted was small, significantly small; Emmett, Anthony, and even though I hadn’t seen him in years, Nick. That was it. So, when Nick assured me Emmett was okay, I trusted him. If anyone knew anything about Emmett, it would be Nick.
I was only a toddler when Nick showed up for the first time with my brother, but by the time I was old enough to remember, he was part of our family.
I didn’t find out until many years later that Nick had been born a crack baby; his mother couldn't put her selfishness aside long enough to carry her child. She stayed high during the pregnancy and delivered a very sick baby boy. His mother overdosed before Nick turned one, and then he was placed in the custody of his father, who drowned all his sorrows in alcohol and then beat young Nick into submission regularly.
Once my parents found out, they confronted Nick's dad, who willingly relinquished all parental rights to them, and he'd been with my family ever since until the awful summer before he left. We'd had such a great family vacation that ended in tragedy and heartbreak. Nick left us and never came back, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d spent years trying to escape those memories. I was too young to leave, though.
Every Thursday at midnight, I'd pressed my ear against Emmett's door, straining to catch Nick's laughter through the thin walls. Sometimes, I'd hear him describe his new life—the college parties, friends, and freedom. But the way his voice brightened when he asked about home, about us, kept me coming back week after week.
Hannah leaned forward, her manicured fingers tapping against the steering wheel. "Please tell me you like to shop." She flashed a grin. "I can't even imagine having an endless budget to shop with." I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I'd forgotten I was in the girl's car.
My gaze zeroed in on her as I narrowed my eyes. I most definitely didn’t have an endless budget. I was actually sure my budget was fairly close to zero dollars. Emmett and I had struggled to survive every day since my parents died.
Hannah turned her nose up as her gaze shifted to me. She examined me for a long moment while we sat idle at a red light. "First, I think you need a shower, though."
I nodded. "Where are we going?" I glared out the foggy window.
Hannah guided the car onto a tree-lined street. "My apartment." She wrinkled her nose, but her eyes held something closer to sympathy than judgment. "You can get a shower, and we'll find you something clean to wear."
That sounded great—better than great. As I sank back into the passenger seat, the promise of a hot shower felt like salvation. Hannah's car wound through the apartment complex, each turn amplifying the smell that clung to my skin. The migraine started as a whisper behind my eyes, growing louder with each pulse of blood. Neither of us spoke.
The car hadn't fully stopped before Hannah was out, keys jingling with urgency. Second floor. Third door. Each footstep echoed in the empty breezeway. Inside, Hannah's hand found the small of my back, steering me through her apartment with a gentle force. The bathroom door opened like an escape hatch, and she shoved me in.
Hannah's bathroom was a shrine to self-care, all gleaming chrome and carefully arranged bottles that caught the light like stained glass. She moved through the space with efficiency—here, a plush towel in seafoam green; there, a washcloth still crisp with department store folds. The medicine cabinet creaked open, revealing rows of products. An unopened toothbrush emerged from beneath the sink, still wearing its drugstore packaging.
"Use anything you need." she gestured to the marble counter where lotions and potions stood in military formation. "My room's through there for clothes." A scent lingered as she closed the door—something expensive and floral.
The water hit my skin like redemption. One minute under the spray became five, became fifteen, but no matter how hard I scrubbed, that smell clung to my nose. Even when my skin was red and raw, I still caught whiffs of burned rubber, as if it had seeped into my pores.
Steam billowed around me as I finally turned off the water, my fingertips pruned and my thoughts clearer than they'd been in days. The bathroom was a tropical fog, the mirror completely obscured. I wiped a small circle clear with my palm, confronting my face for the first time since before everything happened.
Wrapping a towel around myself, I opened the bathroom door leading into a large bedroom, which I assumed was Hannah's.
Standing there, water dripping from my hair onto her carpet, I felt like an intruder in someone else's life. Each drawer I opened felt like a boundary crossed; each piece of clothing I touched, a reminder that I didn't belong here. Normal people probably didn't think twice about borrowing clothes from friends—but then again, normal people had friends to borrow from. I’d been so sheltered my entire life I’d never had a friend. The towel clung to me like a shield, and the thought of walking out to ask for help made my skin prickle.
The third drawer slid open with a whisper—lace and satin in neat rows, someone else's life organized in matching sets. I slammed it shut so fast the mirror rattled.
"This sucks," I whispered to my reflection, water dripping from my hair and sliding down my damp skin. My fingers traced the next drawer handle, hesitating.
The drawer eased open. Sweatpants. Safe, anonymous sweatpants. My breath rushed out in a laugh that sounded too loud in the steamy quiet. "Perfect." The soft gray fabric felt like armor in my hands. Now for a shirt—something dark, something that could swallow me whole. My heart didn't slow its frantic beating until I had the clothes on, a shield against whatever came next.
I was done dressing by the time Hannah knocked and walked into the room.
Hannah stood in the doorway, her gaze traveling from my borrowed sweats to the untouched designer clothes still hanging in her closet. "Of all the clothes I have, that's what you want to wear?"
I wrapped my arms around myself. "This is the closest to what I would normally wear."
Hannah's glossed lips twitched. "Those are my that-time-of-the-month clothes." Her voice carried a note I couldn't quite read—something caught between amusement and concern.
I offered a polite smile, a shrug, anything to keep this fragile new friendship from tipping into pity.
Her eyes narrowed, scanning me with the focused intensity of someone solving a puzzle. Each second of scrutiny made my skin prickle. Then her face lit up with the kind of revelation that makes prey animals run for cover.
Hannah tapped her chin, studying me with the focus of a sculptor eyeing raw marble. "You know what?" She stepped closer, her designer perfume wrapping around me. "I think you're in desperate need of a full makeover."
"Uh, what?" My fingers found the cloth of my shirt, clutching it tighter. "Like what exactly needs to be made over?"
"For starters, when was the last time you had your eyebrows waxed?"
I traced a finger over my untamed brow, silence answering for me. I’d never had my eyebrows done.
"That's what I thought." Hannah disappeared into her walk-in closet, emerging with a pair of white flip-flops dangling from her fingers. "Your feet are smaller than mine, so flip-flops will do for now."
Before I could fully slide on the sandals, she was ushering me back out of the apartment and down to her car.
The engine hummed to life, and my stomach twisted. Each turn took us deeper into downtown, past gleaming storefronts and crowds of lunch-hour shoppers.
"Where are we going?" The question came out smaller than I meant it to.
Hannah's smile widened, and something in it made my pulse skip. "My sister's place. She opened this salon downtown—" She paused at a red light, turning to face me. "Three floors of pure feminine transformation."
The word 'transformation' echoed in my head like a warning bell. Three floors meant three levels of exposure, three levels of strangers' hands and eyes. Three levels of no escape. My throat closed around an "awesome" that came out more like a croak. The crowds on the sidewalk seemed to press against the car windows, a preview of what waited ahead. I sank deeper into the seat, trying to disappear into the upholstery. Being alone had never felt as safe as it did right now.
"Perfect," I murmured, slightly sarcastic. I didn't enjoy being out in public or around other people.
The thought of entering that salon made my stomach twist. My solitude had been more than a habit—it was a shield, carefully constructed over years of staying safely in my own bubble. Now Hannah was asking me to step into a world of chattering voices and expectant eyes, where people actually wanted to look at you, to touch you. My hand lingered on the car door handle as memories of other times I'd tried to be "normal" flashed through my mind. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe I could pretend to be the kind of girl who belonged in places like this, even if just for a few hours. The sigh I let out wasn't so much exaggerated as it was a release of years of carefully maintained isolation.
We pulled up to a sleek storefront with "Tune-Up, Just for Woman" etched in flowing script across glass doors that reflected the midday sun. My borrowed sweatpants and flip-flops felt suddenly inadequate against the polished exterior.
"Deep breaths," Hannah said, noticing my white-knuckled grip on the door handle. "Hailey doesn't bite—at least not paying customers." Her laugh did nothing to settle the butterflies in my stomach.
Inside, the salon hummed with activity—the rhythmic snip of scissors, murmured conversations, and soft music blending into a soundtrack of normalcy I hadn't experienced in years. Women in various stages of transformation occupied chairs and stations, all of them looking like they belonged here in a way I never would.
A woman who could only be Hannah's twin glided toward us, her movements so similar to Hannah's it was unsettling. Same height, same blonde hair, same blue eyes—but where Hannah's gaze held calculation, this woman's sparkled with genuine curiosity. Hannah wore her hair in a neat bun, her dark blue business suit projecting competence and control. Her sister's blonde waves brushed her shoulders, complementing a bright pink floral sundress that seemed to capture sunlight.
"We're twins," Hannah explained unnecessarily, a note in her voice I couldn't quite place. "Hailey married rich, and her husband funded this place for her." The words were casual, but I caught the flicker in Hannah's eyes—part pride, part something sharper. Envy, maybe, though her smile remained perfectly fixed.
Hailey approached with open arms, as if we were long-lost friends instead of perfect strangers. "Hannah called ahead. I've cleared my schedule just for you." Her voice carried the same musical lilt as her sister's, but warmer somehow. She looked me up and down, not with judgment but with professional assessment. "Don't worry, honey. When we're done, you won't even recognize yourself."
As Hailey led me deeper into her domain, I caught my reflection in one of the many mirrors—pale face, borrowed clothes, eyes wide with uncertainty. Behind me, Hannah watched with that same inscrutable expression.
I followed Hailey up a spiral staircase, leaving behind the version of myself I'd been just twenty-four hours ago. Whatever happened next, there was no going back.