One of the last things I bought before everything went to shit.
I pull it on slowly, working the buttons closed. The mirror hanging on the back of my bedroom door wobbles slightly when I touch it.
The guy staring back at me looks… fine.
More than fine, probably.
I’m not blind. I know what I look like.
Dark hair that never quite behaves, falling across my forehead no matter how many times I push it back. Lean build. Sharp cheekbones that my mother used to say would photograph well someday.
My eyes linger on my reflection for a second longer than usual.
There’s something tired sitting behind them.
Something cracked.
I grab my only pair of decent black jeans and pull them on, followed by the leather boots I polished earlier with the edge of a paper towel and some old conditioner.
The outfit is simple.
But it works.
The kind of look that says effortless, even though I spent twenty minutes trying to make sure it didn’t screamI’m broke.
I roll my sleeves once.
Twice.
Step back.
Good enough.
Still…
My stomach twists.
I lean both hands on the dresser and stare down at the floor.
What the hell am I doing?
The question echoes around my head like a loose coin rattling in a jar.
A mysterious invitation. No name attached. No explanation. Just an address and a promise that the night could change my life.
Yeah.
Sounds totally safe.
I huff out a quiet laugh and drag a hand down my face.
“This is how people end up on those serial killer documentaries,” I mutter to myself.
But the thought doesn’t scare me enough to stop.
Because the truth is…
My life right now isn’t much of a life.
