“Who’s your competition, Tara? You have to leave the house to meet people.”
“I have work,” I say with a smile, “and technically, Jeremy and I just broke up, so I’ve only been single for a second.”
Eliza smiles.
“That’s a good thing because I never liked that guy. Jack didn’t either. We both thought he was terrible, with his high and mighty attitude and bro-y sense of humor. It was bad.” But then her expression softens. “You okay, though? You look a little fried.”
I bite my lip, eyes flicking from the road to the tiny screen. “I’m good. I just—” I almost say, I can’t stop thinking about Hunter, or I still wake up wanting, or I keep doing things I know are wrong and I can’t make myself care.
Instead, I go, “I’m just running on caffeine and chaos, as usual. Don’t worry about me.”
Then, we spend the next five miles debating venues (“elopement or bust,” “barn weddings are cursed,” “nothing with burlap ever again”), before the conversation spirals into a mess of giggles over bachelorette themes. I get so animated picturing Eliza in a feather boa that I forget, for a hot second, that I’m supposed to be driving.
I miss the light turning yellow. There’s a flash of silver in my periphery—just a shimmer, just a warning—and then the sun jumps out from behind the buildings, sharp as a spotlight, blinding me. I squint, brake too late. Eliza’s voice is still chattering on the phone.
“Tara, are you even listening?—?”
A sound cuts her off. It takes a fraction of a second to register that it’s tires, screeching, louder than I’ve ever heard. I turn my head, but the other car is already there, already everywhere, and then it’s all crash and glass and cold exploding in through the window.
The airbag hits me before I can scream. My phone flies out of my hand, cartwheels through the air, screen shattering against the dash. I try to breathe, try to think, but it feels like my whole body is underwater, cotton-stuffed and far away.
My last thought, before the world smears into black, is that I never got to tell her congratulations.
Silence, except for the distant, tinny echo of Eliza’s voice, repeating my name.
“Tara? Tara, can you hear me?”
And then: nothing.
2
CHAPTER 2 – A STRANGER IN THE NIGHT
Tara
It’s dark. So dark even the streetlights look a bit faded, flickering on and off in some half-hearted Morse code. I stand on the cracked concrete, staring at a busted fire hydrant spewing a thin, pitiful arc of water into the gutter. My teeth are chattering, but it’s not just the cold. I can’t remember how I got here. I can’t remember much of anything.
My head throbs, a steady, bass-drum pulse behind my eyes. I reach up, fingers grazing a sticky portion of skin. It hurts, and I wince so hard my knees threaten to buckle. That’s the only thing about me that makes sense right now: I’m injured, and I’m alone.
A cop car screams past, all blue and white strobe. I duck instinctively, flattening against a brick wall. My pulse spikes, then tumbles, the way my insides do when I miss a step on a staircase. I glance down at my hands. Pale, trembling, crusted with some dark gunk. Blood? Dirt? Both? I check for a wallet, aphone, anything to tether me to the planet, but all I have are my jeans, a sweater, and a fuzzy memory. What’s going on?
I want to call someone. I want to call myself, but that doesn’t make sense. I squeeze my eyes shut, and try to remember, but all I get are scrambled images:
Bright, blooming headlights. The crunch of metal, then the taste of airbag. The sound of my own name—maybe—but it’s twisted, looped on repeat, like a radio stuck between stations.
I feel like a skipped record. My brain is all surface noise.
I stand up straighter, but the world lists left, so I shuffle along the sidewalk, holding my head low. Every time I take a step, something inside my skull sizzles. I pass a liquor store, neon sign buzzing overhead. I read the letters: LUCKY’S. For a second, the word tastes familiar, but the sensation evaporates before I can grab it. In the dirty reflection of the window, I see my own shape—a girl with mussed blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a shocked expression. A girl who looks confused. A victim. Vulnerable.
A gust of wind slices through my sweater. I wrap my arms around myself, pressing my ribs tight until my breath slows. I have to move, keep moving, or the dark will swallow me. I trip twice over uneven slabs in the sidewalk and end up clutching a parking meter, forehead pressed to cold metal, breathing in city stink.
It’s so quiet out here. The buildings are empty, the cars parked and silent, and I don’t know whether I’m on the edge of the universe or just lost in it. Everything feels wrong. My hands are too big for my body; my shoes are wrong, pinching at the toes. I want to cry, but I’m afraid if I start, I’ll never stop.
I check my pockets, but the only thing inside is a Chapstick, half-melted, and a receipt for a placed called the Daisy Cafe. My heart skids at the name. Daisy. That means something, right? Maybe. Who knows.
I set out, using the storefronts to steady myself, every step a dull throb. After three blocks, the street opens up to a main avenue: more cars, more noise, but no faces I recognize. I count the intersections: one, two, three. At the fourth, I spot the sign for a small cafe, glowing soft in the window.
I press my face to the glass. Inside, chairs are stacked, the floor freshly mopped, and the register is dark. Closed. I dig my nails into my palms until I feel pain, real pain, and lean into the door until my breath fogs it up. I peer around, desperate for a light, a human, anything, but it’s just me and my haunted reflection.