If only I could.

And what difference would it make? My past is in the past, although this town is drenched in it.

“You’re making a mess. Let me.” Ev grabs my hand, and I automatically jerk it back, before I can process her words.

Oh shit. The eyeliner flies away and hits the floor. As if in slow motion, I see the black liquid spill on the beige carpet. Like blood, dark and viscous.

I’m shaking. I’m cold. In degrees, my senses return, and I realize Ev is still holding on to me.

I pull my hand again and it’s suddenly free.

“Crap,” I mutter, my pulse thundering in my ears.

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Ev whispers, dropping to her knees and gathering the small bottle, then starts blotting the ink with a tissue. “I shouldn’t have.”

Shouldn’t have grabbed me like that. Yeah, she shouldn’t have, but it’s not her fault I’m not normal, is it? I suppose I was a girl like any other once—shy, kinda chubby, and always doodling or crafting one thing or another to keep my restless hands busy.

But that’s in the past, that past in which my life is now steeped, and we’re in the now.

So I apologize, insist I’m too clumsy to live, and that Ev should help me with my make-up. Honestly, it’s not as if I have much experience with eyeliners and mascaras anyway.

Ev accepts the task with obvious relief, which makes me wonder how big of a mess I was making of it. I sit primly as she runs the brush through my long dark hair until it’s a shiny fall, paints my blue eyes with black, and dabs red on my mouth.

It’s like war paint, I think randomly, my hands clenching in my lap. I fight the itch to grab the lipstick tube and draw red lines on my cheeks and nose.

Don’t, Amber.

I can do this. Pretend to be normal. Pretend coming back to Madison isn’t killing me, bringing the past to life. Maybe, if I pretend long enough, it will come true.

***

Ev’s former room is now officially mine. I moved my stuff there this morning and spent the rest of the day helping with the cleaning and preparations for the dreaded party.

At the last moment, of course, Ev decides we need paper napkins and sends me out to get some. I’m more than happy to escape for a while, walk about on my own. I find the small grocery store she mentioned and take my sweet time returning.

To my shock, I find the party is in full swing when I arrive. Ev told me it wasn’t supposed to start until after ten, and I didn’t expect to have to wade through hordes of guests at half-past nine to get to the kitchen, the package of napkins clutched to my chest.

Should’ve known better. I mean, I did go out on occasion in Chicago. There were certain student apartments you could drop by any time of the day, any day in the week, and always find a party happening. No beginning and no end.

Fun… so not.

Loud dance music plays over the speakers, and I wonder if anyone thought to warn the neighbors sleep isn’t in the cards for them tonight.

Swallowing a sigh, I abandon the napkins, Ev nowhere in sight. Returning to the living room, I take off my coat, drape it over the back of a chair, tug on my pendant nervously, and search for familiar faces.

There has to be at least twenty people crammed inside the tiny living room, standing or sitting on the sofa and one armchair, a girl in the lap of one of the guys, sharing a bottle of beer and sloppy kisses with him. He has a hand on her ass, and I wince inwardly as I continue my search.

More people are leaning by the window, talking in loud voices and swigging beer as if it’s water. A guy with a blue Mohawk nods at me from his perch on the dining table, a wild-haired girl between his legs. A tall, muscled guy with blond hair and tattoos climbing up his neck is standing beside them. He lifts a brow at me, and I send a brittle smile their way.

A dark-haired boy and a sandy-haired girl are totally sucking face in the hallway, and I edge past them, tugging on the hem of my short dress, cursing inwardly. A hint of panic is creeping up on me.

It’s this town, I tell myself again, and push my shoulders back. But I won’t let it drag me down.

Nevertheless, I sag with relief when I finally spot Ev and Kayla talking by an open door.

Micah is with them—I’ve seen pictures of him Ev sent me. Tall and handsome, his blond hair falling in his eyes, his blue eyes following Ev’s every move. A soft smile tugs at his lips. As I watch, he wraps an arm around her and tugs her to his side. She also smiles up at him, and all that’s missing is rose petals drifting down and violins playing.

Wow, I’m nineteen and already a cynic. Great. They do look happy together. One bad apple shouldn’t spoil the bunch. Not every guy is like Nick Harris. Not every guy is a bully.

One more thing I need to keep repeating to myself.

“Hey, Amber.” Ev pushes off Micah, throws her arms around me and drags me into their little group. “I want you to meet everyone.”

So I do, nodding and smiling.

First is Micah, of course. He knows who I am and seems interested in the fact I’m into art, which reminds me he’s a tattoo artist, and how cool is that? Thumbs up for Ev.

Then, just as I start to relax into the conversation, talking about tattoos, scarification and jewelry as ways of body modification with Micah, she hauls me away to meet her other friends and Micah’s co-workers.

Now, isn’t it weird that she’s the one introducing me to them, instead of her boyfriend? Though, it seems they’ve become good buddies with her, too.

Lucky girl. Seriously.

The guy with the Mohawk is Zane, the blond guy standing next to him Dylan. Then there’s Rafe, who has rakish golden hair and eyes like a cat, his big hand wrapped securely around his girlfriend’s smaller one. The girl’s name is Megan, and after giving me a blinding smile, she gently disengages her hand from her boyfriend’s—with some difficulty, I note with amusement and a bit of unease, as he doesn’t seem inclined to let go—and wanders off in search of someone.

Next in line are some of Micah’s closest friends—the blue-haired Ocean, who’s also a tattoo artist, and Seth, who’s one of the three apprentices at the tattoo shop and works in the evenings at a nearby movie theater.

Her voice fades into background noise as I take these boys in. Jeez… Ocean’s hair is the hue of his eyes, and Seth is all dark exotic eyes and broad cheekbones, a light scruff dusting his jaw, and... holy crap. Hot boy overload. I hope I’m not drooling. I check my mouth to make sure it isn’t hanging open, and find Seth’s eyes on me.

He nods and smiles, probably trying not to laugh as he catches me in the act of discreetly wiping my chin.

Dammit!

“So you’re the friend Ev mentioned,” he says. “Any friend of Ev’s is a friend of mine, and same goes for my cranky cousin Shane, if you happen to see him hiding in some corner. He’s the long-haired, grumpy one in the family.” Seth’s eyes crinkle at the corners. His teeth are white but slightly crooked, and one of the incisors is chipped, I notice. Cute. “We both owe Ev a lot.”

Ev and Seth share a look I can’t decipher. There’s history in that look, history I don’t have a clue about—but never mind. Somehow I like this guy. His affection for Ev shines through his eyes, and his smile is kind.

The black studs and silver bars that shine in his ears are interesting, too, as are the tattoos visible on his neck and arms. One cool boy.

Then he turns to say something to Ocean, and I notice a stiffness in his movements. That reminds me of something Ev mentioned, about one of Micah’s friends getting beaten up by her crazy ex. I wonder if it was Seth. He has a pinkish scar on his jaw, now that I’m looking more closely, and his nose is slightly crooked, as if it was broken at some point in the past.

Before I can get a better look at his tats or ask Ev about him, she steers me away.