I ignore her and lean against the window, pissed off and ashamed. Mom looks over her shoulder and gives me a worried smile, but otherwise, the car is silent. My parents are so awesome. Somehow they understand I don’t want to discuss anything tonight. I’m sure tomorrow my mom won’t be as understanding and will want at least a few details of how I became stranded on a deserted beach in the dark.
I laugh to myself. Maybe some good will come of this. Maybe they’ll realize what a bitch Lila Griffin is and—
* * *
I’m wet. It must be raining. Another drop hits my cheek, ro
lling up my face toward my hair.
Up? Can it rain up?
My head hurts so fucking bad it’s difficult to think. Intense throbbing clouds my mind, pounding so hard it’s as if my heart is beating inside my skull. Slowly, painfully, I reach up and wipe the dampness from my skin right as another large drop splats next to the first.
“Shit.”
I rub the moisture away and crack open my eyes. Blackness. I’m surrounded by total blackness, the only exception a gloomy blue glow a few feet away. What the fuck? I’m so confused, I can’t tell where I am or what direction is up or down.
Another drop of warm water hits my skin and I immediately swipe at it, bringing my fingers a few inches from my eyes to get a better look. Even with very little light, it’s obvious the liquid isn’t clear and much too dark and thick to be water. In fact, my hands are stained an eerie purplish-black color in the faint blue light.
When I try to move my head to see where the water—or whatever it is—is coming from, a feral scream rips from my chest and throat. Pain like nothing I’ve ever felt turns my body inside out. I’m on fire, every part of me burning white hot and searing at once.
My neck is somehow twisted at an odd angle, my skin is sizzling with the agonizing sting of a thousand tiny paper cuts, and my arm won’t respond to my brain’s instructions, instead lying limp while my shoulder shrieks in agony.
The heartbeat in my skull speeds up, hammering out a rapid, drumming beat. Using my other hand, I attempt to push my useless body off the ground, wincing when the bites of hundreds of bits of glass dig into my palm. Minutes… hours later—I’m not sure it matters how long it takes, even if I could figure it out—I finally manage to maneuver my body into a sitting position.
My chest is filled with liquid fire, heaving from the effort expended. Every square inch of my body is raw. There’s not a single part of me that doesn’t hurt. When I feel another dark droplet hit me, this time landing on the top of my head, I look up to find the source.
And promptly lose the contents of my stomach before passing out from the pain.
79
Abby
Four years later
“So I finally get to see your hot boyfriend’s band in action?”
My best friend, Kate, can’t hide her excitement. “They’re brilliant, Abby. You’ll see.”
Kate and I met in our Intro to Economics class at UCLA last semester. She’s from the UK, going to school on a soccer scholarship, and mentioned how difficult Psych 101 was for her to understand. Since my major is psychology, I offered to help her out and we’ve been friends ever since.
“They better be good. I’m missing out on a cozy Friday night snuggling up with my textbooks, the remote control, and a pint of mint chocolate chip in order to be here with you.” I smirk when her eyes widen comically.
Kate laughs, throwing back her head as she flashes her fake ID at the overweight and very hairy bouncer blocking the door of the venue. He lets us pass without comment, but I don’t miss the way his eyes run up and down both of us from head to toe. Yuck.
We ignore the lewd stare, giggling with anticipation as we head directly to the backstage area of the club. An older man with dark hair, a handsome smile, and wearing an expensive suit lights up when he spies Kate.
“Kate! Glad you could make it.” The man wraps his arms around her shoulders, briefly squeezing her to his chest in a friendly hug.
Kate smiles. “Now that footy is over for the season, I have a little more free time. Abby, this is Ross Evans. He’s the uncle to one of the guys in the band and their manager. Ross, this is my good friend, Abby. We go to university together at UCLA,” she explains. Her British accent somehow makes our lives sound much more exciting than they really are.
“Nice to meet you, Abby.” Ross extends a hand, shaking mine with a firm but gentle grip. I like him instantly.
“You too. Hawke is your nephew, right? He’s the drummer?” I ask, trying to remember the three men in the band who aren’t Kate’s massive, muscled boyfriend, Dax.
“He is. The guys are down the hall, last room on the right.” Ross points behind us. “The sound check is done, so they’re just hanging out, probably screwing around back there. You two can help me out by making sure they get on stage in time.”
“Thanks Ross,” Kate says. “You know I’m good at getting Adam to do whatever I want,” she tosses over her shoulder. Ross chuckles as he heads in the opposite direction. We walk down the hall and Kate leans in to whisper. “Adam tends to go on the piss before shows, which leads to him disappearing, which leads to finding him shagging a slut in a closet when he’s supposed to be on stage.”