“I got to head in here and take care of the stupid scheduling for next semester.”

She’d been having a hell of a time getting classes. I’d been lucky and got into all the classes I’d wanted. “Are you going to cut a bitch?”

“Maybe.” Brit gave me a quick hug. “Thank you for walking me here.”

“No problem.” I was done for the day, so I didn’t have much else to do.

She started up the wide steps but turned around. “Think about the party. Please? You need to go, not just for me, it will be fun. You’ll get to let loose a little. Okay?”

I took a deep breath. “I’ll think about it.”

“Like really think about?” When I nodded, she said, “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Brit headed into the building and I was probably going to be heading to the store to get some Tums. I was going to need them.

#

There were times in my life when I knew what I was thinking was wrong. Knowing that didn’t make things any easier. Going to a Halloween party shouldn’t have me sitting in my moon chair with a bottle of Tums beside me and a carton of Ben & Jerry’s Rocky Road in my hands.

A half empty carton of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream.

I felt like I was well on my way to becoming the neighborhood cat lady. All I needed was the cats.

Shortly after leaving campus, I had gotten a text from Cam about the party. He wanted me to go. Brit wanted me to go. Jacob wanted me to go. I wanted to go, but….

Groaning, I put the lid on the ice cream and shoved to my feet. I was nineteen years old. Living on my own. I told my mother to suck it and I actually hugged Cam and told him that I missed him. Going to this party shouldn’t be that big of a deal. It was about time that I did something like this. If I didn’t do it now, would I ever do it?

Probably not.

I put the ice cream away and then moved onto the spray bottle stashed under the sink. Spraying the surface of everything in my kitchen, I started cleaning with a wicked vengeance.

I could do it.

My heart flopped in my chest and it felt like my stomach had dropped to my feet.

No, I couldn’t.

Scrubbing the counter by the stove, the light reflected off the silver bracelet, catching my attention. I stopped, unable to look away from something that had become a staple in my every day life. Putting the bottle down and dropping the cloth, I reached out and slid the bracelet off. Turning my arm over, I forced myself to look at the scar. I was ashamed of it, did everything in my power to hide it, but for what? Staying in my apartment, being antisocial and a general loser? Certain things were probably always going be a no go for me or insanely awkward, but going to a fucking party? Was I really that crippled by what happened, that five years later I couldn’t go to one?