"So, she just walked into the house and attacked you?" I roll my eyes and pour myself another glass of wine.

"Kind of. But, I mean, I did tell her I don't like whores in my house, and she is clearly a whore," I say, carrying my phone to the couch and taking another deep gulp of wine.

"She was also completely high out of her mind, Brooke. Her eyes were pitch black. I don't know if she was just passing by and saw a bike in front of the house or what."

After Sarah left, I went straight to the liquor store and bought three bottles of wine. Brooke and I have been FaceTiming ever since Sarah went to her, crying about everything I supposedly did to her.

"I would have beaten her ass the second she walked in uninvited," Brooke says.

I nod in agreement and yawn. "I swear she goes out literally every night, girl. She's definitely doing coke."

I make a face that says, ya think? and we both laugh.

"I think the wine is finally kicking in," I say, setting my glass down.

"Okay, well, I'm going to bed, babe. I love you."

We both blow a kiss over the screen.

"I love you too. Goodnight."

I hang up and toss my phone onto the other couch before rubbing my eyes and grabbing my glass to take it to the sink.

"AVERY!"

A startled gasp escapes me, and the glass shatters at my feet.

"AVERY!?"

I kneel to clean up the glass, ignoring the pounding at the door. I'm too tired and too tipsy for this right now.

The banging grows louder.

"Ow!"

Blood drips from my hand as a shard of glass slices through my skin. The pounding at the door doesn't stop, and my head is spinning. My vision blurs as my blood rolls down my fingertips, staining the wooden floor.

I feel wetness on my cheek.

"RUN, AVERY!"

My father's voice.

Without hesitation, I bolt for the back door. As I reach my father's truck, a gunshot echoes behind me.

I jump into the vehicle, speeding out of the driveway, heading to the one place I know I'll be safe.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AVERY! WE LOVE YOU!"

"I love you guys so much."

"I'm guessing she's going with Everest."

That's when I snap.

I rush to the kitchen island, reaching for one of the wine bottles. This can't be happening again. Someone cannot be after me again.

A scream rips from my throat as I collapse onto the floor, sobbing.

I don't even lift my head when the front door crashes to the ground with a deafening bang. I curl into myself as black speckles dance in my vision.

This is too much.

It's too fucking much.

I should have stayed at my grandparents' house. I should have never come here.

What was I thinking? That living here alone would make things better?

"Avery."

Heavy boots stomp toward me, but I cover my face.

"Just go away," I whisper weakly.

Then everything fades into darkness.

——————————-

"I don't give a flying fuck! I'm busy right now, so go fuck off!"

I stir, slowly opening my eyes. I'm in my bed. My gaze shifts to the clock.

8 a.m.?

A pounding headache greets me as I sit up. That's when I notice—I'm only wearing an oversized T-shirt and underwear.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I make my way to the bathroom, turning on the shower. The hot water engulfs me, and I close my eyes.

I don't even remember last night—

Oh my god.

The pounding on the door. The wine. My hand.

I had a panic attack. I passed out.

After washing up, I throw on leggings and a T-shirt, tie my damp hair into a bun, and head downstairs.

The scent of bacon fills the air, making my stomach growl. I already know who's in my house—his voice woke me up earlier, yelling on the phone.

"So, can I ask why you were banging on my door last night?" I glance at the front door, now replaced with a brand-new one. The room is spotless—no trace of wine or blood.

"Sarah ran to the clubhouse crying to Austin, saying she was attacked at your house," Everest replies.

I hop onto a barstool, grabbing a piece of bacon from the pan.

"And I'm assuming you thought the worst," I sigh, glancing at my scratched-up arms.

"Of course, I fucking did, Avery."

He sets a plate in front of me, and I immediately start eating.

"I see you fixed my door," I say between bites.

He nods, grabbing his own plate. "I had the club doc check you out since you passed out, and there was blood. He said you probably had a—"

"A panic attack. Yeah, I know. And the blood was from a cut while I was picking up the glass you made me drop." I point at him before taking my empty plate to the sink.

"So, you've had them before? The panic attacks?"

I set my dish down and start walking out of the kitchen.

"Avery."

Everest grabs my arm, yanking me back.

"Yes, Everest, I've had them before. Not that it's any of your goddamn business," I snap, pulling my arm free.

I glare at him.

"Why won't you give me the answers I deserve, Avery?" He steps closer, but I stand my ground.

"The answers you deserve, Everest?" I scoff. "YOU left me! I wasn't going to sit around waiting for you to never get out! What sane person would do that?"

I shove him, but he doesn't move.

"I did what I had to do," he says.

I clench my fists so tightly my nails dig into my palms.

"And so did I."

Grabbing my bag, I slip on my Vans and head for the door.

"Where are you going?" he demands.

"The fuck away from you and this fucking house!" I slam the door behind me, jumping into my truck.

As I drive down the street, my grip tightens on the wheel. I can't stay in that house anymore.

It was never mine.

It was my parents'.

I was always going to leave. Always meant to build a home of my own.

That place in New York was never my home.

It was hell. A prison.

I was a stray.

•••••••••••••••••••••••

The next day, I focus on clearing out the house—sorting through garbage, setting aside items to donate. Brooke stops by to help, taking a break from studying, and I appreciate it. She never fails to make me forget the chaos in my life.

The house is big, and my parents had a lot of stuff. I donate most of their clothes and useless items to Goodwill, throwing out whatever is just junk.

Thankfully, they didn't keep millions of photos. Whatever they did have, I pack away to keep.

Walking into my mom's room, now nearly empty, I spot her vanity. I pick up a small pink bottle—her favorite perfume. The scent brings her back, if only for a moment.

"Bro, your aunt is here!" Brooke calls.

I quickly stash the bottle and head downstairs.

"Hello, my favorite auntie," I greet, skipping over to hug her.

"Well, aren't you in a good mood?" she chuckles.

I smile, setting the bottle aside.

"I just want to get everything together. I'm planning to sell the place—hopefully soon."

As we talk and pack, a voice outside stops me cold.

"Hello? Mrs. Jackson?"

I freeze behind the door.

Brooke looks at me. I whisper, "Please get rid of him."

She nods. My aunt steps up beside her.

"She's not here right now," they say in unison.

"Do you know when she'll be back?" the man asks.

"I don't know. Haven't seen her," Brooke lies.

"But isn't this her home?"

"Yeah, she's just been busy. We're remodeling," my aunt says smoothly.

"Oh... I have something for her. It's important."

"Great. I'll take it."

Brooke slams the door shut, holding a large brown folder.

My heart pounds.

This can't be happening again.

A sober realization

I thought it was love

And so I allowed myself

To be deceived

By all the things

You helped me feel