She grabbed her wallet and her lip balm, tucking them into the large pockets at her sides. She couldn’t wait here any longer. She had to get out of here before they came in the morning. “I can’t go back,” she murmured over and over.

He was her only answer. She would go to him and kiss him until he took her back. She would have to be sneaky, her sneakiest of all time. She opened her bedroom door and stopped, her body unable to move. Jude tried to shut the door, but the men put their hands out and prevented her from closing it. “Ms. Boehler, you need to come with us.”

From their white clothes to their overly composed voices, she knew she was in trouble. Her eyes flicked to her stepfather, who looked away, and then left. “There’s been a mistake,” she cried. “I’ve been doing everything I was asked.”

“Ms. Boehler, there’s no mistake. We only want to help. Your parents only want to help you get better.”

“I’m fine!” she shouted. “Please. I’m fine.” Something flashed, the light reflecting and that’s when she saw it—the needle. “No, please,” she pleaded. “I’ll go willingly. Just please. Please don’t give me a shot.”

“It’s procedure. We’re sorry, Ms. Boehler.”

She ran for her bathroom but was caught before she could enter. Pinned to the ground, she felt the sharp needle enter her body, and screamed. But that was all she remembered…

THE SADDEST MUSIC Taylor had ever heard crooned through the speakers of his apartment. He pressed stop. Jude had an affinity for the blues and she had reprogrammed his stations when she had been there.

He took a sip of his coffee that had gone cold. Setting the mug down on the bookcase next to his drafting table, he spun around and pressed play again, willing to take the hit to his heart.

It was snowing outside again. January sixteenth. Would it ever stop or was this winter going to be as harsh as his life had become?

One project wrapped earlier in the week, but he still had three that needed updates. Every day he had meetings. It was seriously cutting into the time he wanted to be thinking about Jude, wondering if she would return to him or not. He tapped on his phone until a bazillion Boehlers popped up. While scrolling down the list for Jude or Judith for the fiftieth time, a text came through.

Katherine: The Castor’s party is tonight. Hope you haven’t forgotten. I’m all dressed and will meet you there since I’m on the other side of the park already.

Staring down at the text, he shook his head. He never agreed to go with her. As a matter of fact, he had forgotten all about her and the Castors altogether. He quickly typed out his excuse.

I won’t be able to make it. Not feeling well. Send my regards.

It wasn’t a total lie. He moved his phone off to the side and looked at the house he was designing. Right when the tip of the lead pencil touched the paper, his phone vibrated again.

I can come over and bring you something to eat. Maybe you’re hungry. I remember you always getting caught up in work and forgetting to eat.

Annoyed, he typed, No. It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m going to bed early. I’ve had a long week.

Taylor hoped that was the end of it. But he knew Katherine too well. There would be at least one more message to deal with. He waited for it. And waited. Then it came: I can join you…

He left that text unanswered. There were only so many ways he could say no. His music shuffled and Alessia Cara’s “Here” came on, changing the air in the apartment. The playlist of songs were heavy, emotional songs and he loved them because she did. These songs had played on repeat when he’d touched, tasted, and made love to Jude’s body.

His eyes closed and he could see her, almost touch her. He lay down on the leather couch, closing his eyes again and turned the music up loud enough to drown out his sadness. Above him, beneath him, behind him, in front of him—Jude surrounded him. Her scent penetrated his deepest desires. The girl he barely knew was the same woman he knew wholly—inside and out. When he reached out for her, she disappeared and his hands came down on his chest, empty.

His eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling. The music played loudly while shadows crawled across the walls as the gray of the day changed to night. Eventually it was dark inside and out. No lights were on, but enough shone through the relentless snow just beyond the glass.

He wasn’t aware of the hour. He wasn’t aware of hunger or thirst. Taylor lay there, lost in the lyrics, in the pain, in the loss of the little brunette who had stolen his daylight.

Convinced he was asleep despite his eyes being wide open, he remained laying there, empty. He remained until the phone vibrated, crashing to the floor. He remained long past the knocking became pounding. He remained until the door was opened and his building supervisor and Katherine stood over him. She was talking, but he heard nothing. He heard nothing… until the music was abruptly cut off. “Mr. Barrett, are you okay?”

Taylor blinked. Twice. And their faces came into focus. “No. I’m not.”

“Would you like me to call an ambulance, Sir?”

“Will that bring her back?”

Katherine snapped. “He’s fine, Chuck. I’ll take it from here.”

Taylor slowly sat up, placed his feet on the ground. His back was sore from being in the same position for so long. He scrubbed his face and watched Katherine shut the door after escorting Chuck out. “Leave, Katherine.”

“I’m not leaving. What’s wrong?” She scanned the place, looking for the same person he was looking for. “Is it that girl?”

“Yes.” He stood up, annoyed. “Get out.”

“Stop being rude to me. I was worried. You weren’t answering your phone or your door,” she said.

“Next time, take the hint.”

She gasped, offended. “What has gotten into you, Taylor?”

“Jellybean muffins, blues, greens, purple, red boots, and lips that can make me forget myself, forget my disease, and forget you.”

“Okay, fine. You’re in a bad mood, but you don’t have to be an asshole.”

He stood in front of the large windows, his arms crossed over his chest, his feet apart, and his eyes focused on anything but here. Not sure how long he stood there, he rolled his neck and found he was stiff.

When he finally turned around, the apartment was empty. No one was here but him and he wondered if he had been arguing with ghosts. Walking into his bedroom, he stripped, and crawled under the covers. Tonight he closed the blinds before going to sleep.

JUDITH BOEHLER WAS always surrounded by the finest money could buy—houses, vacations, clothes, schooling… always the finest, only the best would do where her family was concerned. So as she stared at the bars traveling vertically up her window, she smiled.

The bars were rusted steel. The cream paint was chipping on the inside of the windowsill, and her gown was fraying along the ties. She released a long breath, relieved. The air she was breathing was stale and she wondered if the vent was blocked. It was too high for her to reach, so she remained flat on her back on the bare mattress with the springs poking into her. Jude had a knack for lying very still for hours on end. This was how she stayed sane. This was how she survived.

Don’t give them anything.

Don’t give into them.

Fight.

Fight.

Fight.

She rolled over and looked down the space between the metal bed anchored to the floor and the dirty wall. Chewed up, dried pills were piling up. She took what she needed. She took the white one. The pink ones—she didn’t like. The recovery after the pink pills was tougher. They made the details harder to decipher. They were only about the big picture, the moments lost under the influence.