Sucking in a breath, I shut off the shower then climb out.

Hunter told me there were towels in one of the cabinets, but I forgot to grab one, so I end up leaving water all over the floor as I hurry over to grab a towel.

After I dry off, I wipe up the mess from the floor then start to get dressed. I feel weird inside— lost, confused, pressurized—as I think about how, once I get dressed, I’m going to have to go out there and probably discuss how I will be moving in with the guys. Part of me doesn’t want to, not because I want to live with my aunt and uncle, but because it makes me feel like a burden. It’s something I have felt for so damn long, more than I would like to admit.

“I hate that she’s here,” I heard my aunt say the first day I moved in with them.

I was in the next room, standing there with my suitcase and a box filled with the only belongings my uncle would let me take. He had made me donate the rest of my stuff, said there wasn’t enough room in the car for it, even though he had been driving a truck.

“You know she probably killed them, right?” my aunt added, not bothering to lower her voice.

She had to have known I could hear her, and I wanted to scream at her to shut the hell up, but the words felt heavy on my tongue. Everything felt heavy.

Numb.

I had started to feel numb, as if I had bleed out with my parents in that house.

Part of me wished I had.

“No one knows what really happened,” my uncle said, and I thought he was defending me until he added, “And I have to take her in. Do I want to? No, not at all. No one wants a damaged kid like that living under their roof.”

Again, I wanted to scream, but what would be the point? It wouldn’t change anything. And, deep down, I knew he was right. I was damaged.

“Still am,” I whisper to myself as I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

I look like shit. Dark circles reside under my eyes, and my skin looks as pale as the damn snow that lined that river. And my stupid fucking chest, it won’t stop tightening. I swear the bastard is about to explode.

Just breathe, Raven.

Air in. Air out.

The more I try to will myself to breathe, the harder it becomes. I’m veering toward a panic attack—I can feel it. Usually, whenever this happens, I take a hit or do a line. Unfortunately, the water ruined what I had on me, and the rest of my stash is back at home.

I feel twitchy, like I’m about to crawl out of my skin. I need to get this panic out of me, and the only other alternative I can think of is to do something I haven’t done in a while, mostly because I turned to getting high as an easier alternative.