Today is the first anniversary of Misty’s disappearance, so Kane and I have gotten drunk. I’m getting a tattoo to mark the occasion. It’s the wordMistywritten in calligraphy, with two small doves raising their wings to fly. Knox watches with his arms crossed over his chest, the same, usual worried look in his eyes.
Once we’re home, Knox helps me up the stairs and insists that I wrap up my tattoo with a bandage so it doesn’t get wet before I have a shower. Afterwards, I collapse on the bed and shut my eyes.
When I wake up, I need to go to the bathroom. Knox is asleep next to me, with one arm stretched out touching me. He looks so peaceful in his sleep. In contrast to when he’s awake and worry lines mark his forehead—all because of me. Sometimes, I feel like my pain is bleeding all over him.
Knox has been staying on and off at my house ever since Misty disappeared. At nineteen, he should be out partying and enjoying life. There’s a tightness in my chest about him spending all his time with me. Maybe he’d be better off without me? Maybe death would be preferable to enduring all this pain? I struggle to stop those dark thoughts from polluting my mind.
During the year since Misty disappeared, I’ve hated the pitying looks from everyone. It makes it so much worse. People ask how I’m doing, but I sense they’re being polite—they don’t want to know. I put up a facade, telling them I’m fine while my heart is screaming in pain.
I’m struggling to live without Misty. How do I go from one day having this perfect life to drowning in my personal hell the next? No matter how hard I try, I can’t claw my way out. Misty’s disappearance has created a wound so deep that the pain won’t go away.
There are still times when something happens and I go to call her to tell her, and it’s those few seconds of peace I revel in—when I think she’s with us, when it hasn’t registered yet that she’s gone. Every time I travel outside of the house, I search for her in the crowds.
My heart aches from missing her, and my mind tortures me with the memories. Her ghost haunts this house. It’s not much of a life I’m living, but knowing that Knox—this beautiful human next to me—has walked alongside me on this dark path makes the struggle to hold on worthwhile.
I slowly get up, trying not to wake him. When his hand falls away from my skin, his eyebrows furrow and he reaches out for me. But then he drifts back to sleep, and I tiptoe to my bathroom and close the door.
I don’t look at myself in the mirror because I know what will stare back at me in the reflection. After using the toilet and washing my hands, I open the bottom drawer of the bathroom cabinet and move my makeup bag until I see the shiny silver object. Long before I got the tattoo, I had the thought of cutting myself. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.
I lift the bottom of my nightgown before taking the cling film off my tattoo. I grab a clean washcloth and wet it under the running tap to pat the smeared ink.
Picking up the icy blade, I take a deep breath. A hiss escapes my mouth as the razor pierces my skin. My eyes water as I drag it across. There is now one cut under my tattoo, marking one year.
Weirdly, I feel temporary relief afterward. The tattoo and cut also remind me that the past was real, that she was real.
I’m so deep in thought that I don’t hear the door open. When I see Knox’s anguish as he sees what I’ve done, my high is depleted. He walks away and my body is cold. I let out a heavy breath.
He comes back with supplies from the first aid kit. His touch is delicate as he washes and cleans the wound. I watch him in awe as he treats me with care while he covers it with a dressing.
He kisses the bandage and everything lights up. As he stands, I take him in. His gray sweatpants hang low on his hips, accentuating the V of his six-pack abs. I lick my lips as my gaze continues to travel up his fine body to those whiskey-colored eyes.
He grabs my chin in his hand, his eyes boring into mine. “You bleed, I bleed.”
The intensity and devotion in his voice makes me shudder. Overwhelmed with emotion, I can’t speak, so I nod. He takes my hand and pulls me back to the bed. We lie back down on the crumpled white bedsheets, his arm around me. I rest my head on his chest and I’m immersed by his warmth. Everything fades as I listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Six
Sacrifice
Knox
Age: Nineteen
It’s beenthe longest year of my life. No one has found Misty. Not even the police or the private detectives have any leads. My mom offered a million-dollar reward for any information that leads to finding her. There have been calls, but all have led to dead ends.
This nightmare taunts and follows me everywhere I go. I’m stretched so thin, trying my best to be there for Zara and Kane. There’s pain wherever I go, and I can’t fix anything or help anyone because I can’t bring Misty back if I don’t know where she’s gone.
For so long, I’ve been through every conversation and every moment leading to her disappearance that would give me any inkling of where she might’ve gone. Kane has turned into an alcoholic and workaholic, and Zara is mostly in a zombie-like state. She might be with me, but her mind is elsewhere.
I flinch at a loud crash upstairs. Zara! I jump off the sofa and run up the stairs and into her room. The pain and anger on Zara’s face physically hurts my chest. An overturned chair lies by the wall, under damaged plaster and the smashed TV.
Her shoulders rise and fall. I slowly step toward her and reach out, but she lashes out and pushes at my chest. I let her. She pushes and slaps repeatedly, but at least she’s feeling something and she’s showing emotion.
I see Helen by the door, watching her daughter.
“Zara, stop! No more!” Helen wails as tears stream down her face.
“Don’t worry, Helen. I’ll look after her.”
