I wasn’t ready for this.

The lights, the noise, the music, the attention.

Everyone is looking at me. Everyone knows me. My face comes up in their newsfeeds. I’m on their television screens. My name slips from their mouths in casual conversation. My trauma is a trending story on their social media accounts.

My body freezes as I look around the crowded bar, squeezing my wrist with my opposite hand and massaging my pulse point. Hurried breaths escape my lips and I can hear my heart beating in my ears.

Lily links her elbow with mine, tugging me forward. “You okay?”

I lie with a nod. “I’m fine.”

“You seem tense.”

We approach a group of friends, and I know all of them except for one: Amy and her boyfriend, Trevor, and a nameless man with ebony eyes and long, black hair.

“Where’s Jason?” Lily wonders, leaning into Amy for a hug.

Amy is a petite tomboy, dressed in a baggy t-shirt and black leggings. She smiles bright as she embraces Lily. “He canceled last minute. I’m not sure.” She shifts her attention to me with wide, curious eyes, her smile lingering. “You look great, Cora. I’m so happy to see you.”

Amy doesn’t give me a hug, and I wonder if it’s because she thinks I’m dirty. Tainted in some way. Contagious. I force a pleasant expression and offer a wave. “Thanks. It’s definitely been a tough few months.”

I shake Trevor’s hand, having met him a few times in the past, then face the mysterious man to the right.

“That’s Lars, one of Trevor’s friends,” Lily introduces.

“Hi, I’m Cora.” I hold out my hand and he takes it, his gaze flickering to my chest, then drifting back up. “Nice to meet you.”

“Hey,” he says.

I tug my blouse up. I tried to wear something cute since I’ve been slumming it in sweatpants and pajamas for weeks on end, but I didn’t want anything too revealing. However, my sweetheart blouse is hanging low on my frame due to the weight I have yet to put back on, revealing more cleavage than I’d intended.

The evening presses on with idle conversation and a few rounds of drinks. I nurse a rum and Coke the entire time, trying to be invisible as the friends catch up and joke around. Lars is quiet, not saying much, but his stare is piercing—and often fixed on me. It makes me nervous, prompting me to start scratching my wrist again, even though I told myself I would stop.

“I like your eyes. They look like lily pads,” Lars says at one point, earning my full attention.

Lily perks up at the sound of her name. “What about my pads?”

“Not you, girl,” Amy says, swatting at her arm.

I send Lars a half smile, clearing my throat and forcing a small laugh. “Thank you. That’s sweet.”

Something tells me Lars is anything but sweet.

“Wanna dance?” he asks, not waiting for my reply and snaking his fingers around my wrist.