Chapter 1
Julie
Myheadhurts.
Pain sits behind my eyes, dull and heavy, and every beat of music from somewhere beyond the walls pushes it deeper.
My tongue feels thick. My mouth tastes bitter. My stomach shifts slow and wrong.
I keep my eyes closed, trying to place the sound.
Music.
Voices.
Men laughing.
Not home.
My eyes open.
For a second, none of it makes sense. Red walls. A gold lamp in the corner. A mirror across from me. A low couch under my body, soft enough to swallow me whole. The room is dim, warm, expensive in a way that makes my skin crawl.
I blink once.
Twice.
This is not my room.
It is not my little bedroom in Swoon Peaks, with the slanted ceiling and the old window that rattles when the wind picks up.
It is nowhere I know.
I push myself up.
The room tips.
My hand shoots out and catches on the edge of the couch before I slide off. My whole body is slow and useless, like I am waking at the bottom of dark water and can’t get to the surface fast enough. My thoughts drag.
Something is wrong.
My pulse starts to climb.
I look down at myself.
I am wearing a silky chemise.
Pale. Thin straps. Bare legs. Too soft. Too little. It clings to my body in places that make heat flood my face even through the haze in my head.
No.
My fingers go to the strap on my shoulder, clutching it hard.
No.
The last thing I remember clearly is my gas station polo. My name tag pinned crooked after a long shift. My sneakers sticking on the kitchen floor when I got home.
Then my stepfather, Earl, at the table with a bottle in front of him.
