Book IV of the UNC Series
Carter Blake has a bone-deep hatred for the world-and especially for the people in it. All he wants is to keep his head down, focus on school and basketball, and avoid the mess of human connection. After enduring years of...
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I must have lost my mind. There's no other explanation. I've gone mad. Staying in this city, Ricky, even Carter, has gotten to me. And I've completely lost it.
There's no other explanation for why I'm standing outside of some club.
The wind howls as it sweeps by me, fluttering through my leather jacket. I hug it closer to my body, preserving as much heat as possible. With days till the holidays, no one in their right mind would be out in the cold, waiting in line to get into a club of all places because of some guy.
Not just any guy; Carter.
All because of some concern about finding some answers. He helped me through one panic attack instead of eyeing me like I'm crazy, like Spencer or even Ricky would have, and here I am, trying to figure out what's going on.
So, I stalked the guy.
I could have confronted and asked him directly, but knowing what happened the last time I tried, I knew I wouldn't get any answers besides slammed doors in my face.
It's been a while since I dressed this fancy, not since high school. But when I followed him a few nights ago, dressed only in black leggings and a black hoodie—to be stealthy obviously—I couldn't get past the entrance because I was underdressed. But somehow, Carter got in with gym shorts, a sweatshirt, and his duffel. And the last place I expected to find Carter was at some club.
But clearly, this place wasn't just a club. I'm standing in front of some place called The Den—one I've never heard of before, out in the middle of nowhere—surrounded by a massive crowd of bustling people who are actually excited to get inside. All of them are dressed as if they are going to a nightclub.
I glance down at my block-heeled boots, scrunching against the snow. My gaze skims past my high-waisted, washed-out jeans and my dainty bralette made of lace floral fabric with underwire, spaghetti straps, and scallop-edge trim. I have makeup on—as minimal as possible, trying not to revert to who I was in high school—and my hair is curled into soft waves cascading down my back.
This outfit reminds me of who I was before Olivia's passing. I pulled it out of my old things, which were hidden away, in an attempt to forget that life.
I've felt like I've been missing my armour and disguise, feeling vulnerable and naked, like I'm baring myself to everyone. But right now, everything feels right, like it's supposed to be.
It's almost easier to breathe. It feels like I've been donning a mask this entire time, not being myself these past few years.
I let out a sigh that feels more like relief. The line to the entrance shuffles forward, and I'm eager to get inside and away from this bitter weather. I'm sure, despite my makeup, my cheeks are flushed red from the nipping winds, and the tip of my nose is numb.
Suddenly, my spine tingles, like spiders are crawling all over me. I've only had this sensation a handful of times now, and I hate what it means. Cautiously, I glance around, pretending to observe the place around me. I can never find the source whenever I try to find where this eerie feeling is coming from.
