She releases a grunting breath as she gets up on her hands and knees and pushes to her feet. Her legs wobble as she gets to her feet, then she limps forward, trying not to put weight on her right ankle. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Her voice is tight, and normally I’d back off from her leave-me-the-fuck-alone attitude, but she just fell out of a fucking window and a painful sense of déjà vu hits me square in the chest as I wonder if Amy fell the same way.

“Did you hurt your foot or something?” I follow after her as she limps down the sidewalk. Blondie calls out that she can’t find her shoe, but I ignore her, walking after the girl. I’m not even one-hundred-percent sure why other than I’m worried she might be hurt or that she might have been trying to hurt herself on purpose, like my sister Amy did, only she never walked away from it.

“I’m fine,” she says and then picks up her pace when a guy shouts something out the window she fell from. “Now go away.”

I look down at her ankle, hidden under her boot. It’s obvious it’s causing her pain by the way she won’t put pressure on it. “You shouldn’t be putting weight on it if it hurts. You could fuck it up more.”

At the corner of the sidewalk, she veers to the left, and steps into the light of the lampposts surrounding the parking lot. I finally get a good look at her and recognition clicks. She’s got long black hair with streaks of red in it that match the shade of her plump lips. She’s wearing a leather jacket over a tight black dress and her boots—the ones that put a lump on my head—go all the way up her long legs, stopping at her thighs.

“Hey, I know you,” I state as we step off the curb. “Don’t I?”

“How should I know?” She peers over her shoulder at me, giving me a once-over. I can tell she does know me, by the recognition in her expression, just like I’m almost certain I know her.

She continues to hobble toward a row of parked cars and I walk with her.

“Wait… I’ve seen you around at UW… We have Chemistry together.” I make the connection as she stuffs her hand into the pocket of her jacket. “And I think you’re Callie Lawrence’s roommate?” I point a finger at her. “Violet… something or other?”