His words made me sad because I knew they were his truth.

My best friend would leave Ocean Bay.

And once he got a taste of freedom, away from his douchebag father, he would never come back.

I blew out a pained breath. "Don’t leave without me, 'kay?"

"Huh?"

"When you leave?" I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "Promise you'll take me with you."

His feet faltered and he turned to look down at me. "You wanna come with me, Molly-Dolly?"

I nodded honestly.

"Okay." A small smile traced his lips. "It's a promise."

Little did I know it was a promise that, only a few short hours later, would be crushed and broken.

1 Present Day

Molly

Lana Del Rey's Blue Jeans pumped from my headphones, drowning out the sound of my thunderous heartbeat, as I stared into my open locker after last period on Thursday afternoon and tried to get a grip.

You've been home two freaking years, Molls.

Today is just another mundane day in the snake-pit they call high school.

Nobody remembers you.

They don’t see you anymore.

Everything's fine.

Except that wasn’t true.

Because I was no longer invisible.

Because today, like every other day this week, he looked at me.

Spoke to me.

Acknowledged me.

Sat with me at lunch.

Smiled at me.

Ugh! Get a grip, dammit!

I could feel their eyes on my back, making my blood heat and my skin itch.

Shy, but determined not to let their curiosity unnerve me, I continued to gaze into my locker and pretend not to notice the stares.

I knew what my peers were all thinking, though.

I knew all about the horrible names they called me behind my back.

Just like that, the anxiety that gnawed at me daily quickly set in.

Dragging in a sharp breath, I forced myself to look at the girl staring back at me. The moment my gaze drifted over my reflection in the small mirror attached to my locker door, I recoiled with a pained flinch.

Stranger.

Foreign.

Monster.

Not me.

My breathing escalated to the point where I could feel a full-blown panic attack coming on.

Refusing to give in to the emotions or insecurities that were battering me from the inside out, I quickly grabbed a long-sleeved, oversized cardigan from my locker and draped it over my shoulders, concealing the purplish, crinkled flesh on my arms and chest from view.

From my view.

Because after eight years of looking at my disfigured reflection, I still couldn't make peace with the girl staring back at me.

Be grateful, I mentally chastised myself, you're still here.

Mama and Bobby hadn't been so lucky.

A freak housefire the night before my tenth birthday had robbed my father of his wife and son, robbed me of my mother and baby brother, and left me significantly disfigured.

Neither one of us had been the same afterwards.

Especially not my father.

He'd lost everything eight years ago and was left with a patched-up and less than perfect version of the daughter he'd had such high hopes for.