Page 1 of Knot So Social

Chapter one

Willow

I should’ve died when lightning hit me the first time. When I survived only to be struck a second time, I knew for certain the universe would never allow me to be happy. Two hits; that’s enough to screw your whole life over. In three twelfths of a second, my existence burned to the ground and reformed into the grotesque thing it is now.

And those strikes still aren’t the worst thing that happened to me.

Maybe the cosmic plan to stomp me down is the very reason I’m so determined to put on a smile for the cameras and pretend I didn’t break.

To anyone who watches my omega advice channel, I’m the stunning woman living the perfect life. The Willow they see is my way of pretending I'm not bearing the brunt of some invisible universal grudge, my way of hiding the scars. Faking being okay.

Warm fur brushes against my leg, making me smile. The one spot of happiness I’m allowed exists in this bundle of golden retriever goodness. Mr Shares leans on my knee, tail slapping the doorway. He looks up at me, pink tongue rolling out between his lower teeth. Dogs are better than people.

“Go on,” I say, brushing my fingertips through his glossy coat.

He lopes out through the front door to sniff at the morning dew drops and mark his territory, brushing a trail through the damp grass.

A stone and wrought iron fence keeps him in the huge front yard, the street beyond alive with activity as people go about their normal lives. The dog walker wrangles the three poodles from Number Two Blackberry Drive along the sidewalk, a Cadillac with dark tinting rolls down the street, and two school children walk by in smart tartan uniform, adjusting their designer backpacks as blossoms from my plum trees drift over their heads.

The scene’s beautiful—but inaccessible for me.

Mr Shares turns, barking at something out of view. I hover on the threshold of my house. No matter how much I will my body forward, I can’t take a single step outside.

Although no clouds dot the blue sky, a vicious energy hovers out there, waiting for me to risk one foot out the door. I angle my toes, reaching toward the welcome mat, but hesitate, like a vampire afraid of the light crossing the porch. The invisible static prickles on my skin with a warning.

I can’t do it.

What fool would invite certain disaster a third time? I was an idiot to risk getting hit by lightning a second time. Look where that got me. They say third time’s a charm, but in my case, it would mean a funeral.

A van idles down the street, the driver tossing wrapped newspapers into yards.

I crane my head toward the gate. For once the roll flies through the bars on my gate to land inside the fence.

I whistle loudly, calling Mr Share’s attention. “Get the paper, boy.”

He bounds toward me, golden fur streaming in the wind.

“No, the paper. By the gate.” I point.

He skids to a halt, looking at me before swinging around in a half circle. Then he spies the van and runs for the fence. He probably had his head too full of scents earlier to notice.

Picking the paper up in his mouth, he returns at a steady trot.

“Aren’t you a good boy?” I praise.

He drops the newspaper just inside the doorway and licks at my hands.

Unlike the lady across the street in her dressing gown and hair rollers, I can’t even go out to retrieve my own paper.

The breeze gusts at the door as I slam it closed before limping down the hallway. Inside is the only safe place.

My fingers drift down my thigh to where the lightning left its mark, searing an unbreakable boundary into my flesh. Lichtenberg figures, they're called. Like a magic seal from some fantasy story, the scars scroll and ripple with uncanny char patterns. When the first strike caught me seven years ago, the doctors said I was both lucky and unlucky.

Unfortunate to be struck, but lucky to survive without any disfigurement.

Lucky? Ha! I’ve never been lucky in my life. And the universe proved it by coming back for round two, this time with scarring and muscle damage in my left leg that will never heal.

Perhaps I should be grateful I don’t have these ugly burns on my face.