In her room, Nat stripped off her clothes and jumped into her sweats. She would not go to school today. It would be pointless. Her mind was swimming with warm thoughts of Gabe, anxious thoughts of Cole, and of the weapon now hidden in her sock drawer. Ava, Keltie, or Ivan could provide the notes she missed. She had an illustration to work on at home. And she had research to do. She needed to find out, for sure, if her ex-boyfriend was in New York City. If he was there to find her. If he was there to hurt her.

Logging on to her laptop, she opened Facebook. Her peer group was not active on the platform; posting vacation photos and memes and political articles was for old people. But Facebook was a utility, a database of everyone she knew (or had met once or twice). And while Natalie had blocked Cole from seeing her social media activity, he allowed her full access. Of course he did. He wanted to stay connected to her anyway he could.

Cole’s profile picture featured the two of them at prom, evidence of his continued obsession, his inability to move on. That was over three years ago! Nat felt like a completely different person than the girl in the royal-blue satin dress, her hair up in what she’d considered a sophisticated chignon. Was Cole still the same boy who stood, handsome but awkward, in a rented black suit and a blue bow tie? How could he not have changed? Have grown or matured?

As predicted, Cole hadn’t posted anything on his Facebook wall in over a year. There were a few outdated birthday wishes (from his aunt, a couple of their high school classmates), but nothing that provided a clue to his whereabouts. She tried Instagram. Cole hadn’t posted, but he’d been tagged in a few photos. In one, he was with a bunch of men—older, rough guys, not their high school crowd—standing in front of a bonfire. Their eyes shone in the firelight. They looked drunk. They looked mean. Is this who Cole spent time with now? Was this who he had become?

Nat’s mind drifted back to the day she’d told Cole she’d been accepted to the School of Visual Arts, the day she’d ended their relationship. She’d tried to minimize the hurt, had chosen her words carefully. “It’s not about leaving you,” she’d said, “it’s about seizing this opportunity.” But the truth was, she’d been so excited, so full of anticipation, that she’d struggled to contain it. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, Natalie was about to be reborn. She was going to live a stimulating life of creativity and adventure in New York City; it was her destiny. Cole Doberinsky was just collateral damage.

The slightest twinge of guilt, of pity pinched her chest, but she brushed it away. Cole did not deserve her sympathy. He’d tried to hold her back, to take the joy out of her success, to guilt-trip her into giving up her dreams. And then, he had broken into her house while she slept. Even before that fateful night, he’d been possessive and controlling. He’d assumed that Nat, the girl from a broken home, the girl with the absent father, would amount to nothing. That Cole was her last best hope at a decent life. But Nat had a new life now. She was attending the best art school in the country. She was riding in town cars, eating at French bistros, sleeping in an Upper East Side apartment. She would not let Cole Doberinsky take all that away from her.