Panic seizes control. My only thought—escape.

I push through the crowd, their faces a meaningless blur.

The cold night should feel refreshing on my face but instead it slaps me as I burst outside. It does nothing to clear the chaos in my head. My steps waver, the world distorted by alcohol and trauma. Calling Mom or my brother isn't an option—I'm too far gone. I collapse on the curb, sobs wracking my body. Fumbling with my phone, I scroll past Jake's name—he's at training camp—and land on Nate.

The phone rings.

I hold my breath, desperate for his voice, but a girl answers, her words slurred and tone cruel.

"Hello?"

"Is, uh... is Nate there?" My voice breaks, tears threaten to fall but I hold them back.

Her laugh cuts like glass. "Nate's busy." Music and voices blur in the background.

The rejection stings worse than a slap. "Oh, right... well could you⁠⁠—"

"I said he's busy," she snaps.

"Please, it's important. I just need to talk to him." Pride abandoned, I'm begging now.

"Don't know what to tell you, sweetheart. He couldn't talk to you even if he wanted to right now." The implication is clear—too drunk or high to function.

My composure shatters completely. "Can you please tell him to call⁠⁠—"

Click.

Silence swallows me whole.

In this crushing quiet, I've never felt more alone. For the first time, I truly understand what it means to have no one.

When I get home everyone blissfully unaware of what comes back with me. Each step upstairs feels impossible, my body and spirit equally heavy. The bathroom light flickers harshly and unforgivingly. I barely reach the sink before retching violently, my body desperate to purge the night's poison. My throat burns, but the internal stain remains. The mirror shows a stranger—pale, hollow-eyed, tear-stained. There's an emptiness in those eyes now; something vital has been extinguished.

Tears fall, but I force them to stop.

I grip the sink until my knuckles turn white.

This didn't happen.

If I cry, it becomes real.

But it isn't real.

Nothing happened.

It isn't real.

I repeat the denial like a prayer, hoping to convince myself. If I believe hard enough, maybe this horror will fade like a nightmare at dawn. I stare one final time at who I used to be, reflected in the glass. That girl is gone now, buried beneath tonight's wreckage. With one last defiant swipe at my tears, I make my choice.

I choose to erase her.

I choose to deny reality.

In the stark bathroom light, I vow never to forget. I shut off the light, lock away the memories, and leave the girl in the mirror behind—forever.

26. What's His Name?

CHAPTER 26

WHAT'S HIS NAME?

NORA

PRESENT DAY