I glance at my phone to check the time, the bright screen glowing in the dim room. It's past midnight. The air feels thick and heavy, like the silence is pressing against my skin.
I set the phone down and take a deep breath before standing up. A small, reckless smile creeps across my lips as I start peeling my clothes off, one layer at a time. The cold air kisses my bare skin, goosebumps following wherever it touches. I twist the knob in the shower and wait as the pipes groan to life.
Steam slowly fogs the mirror, curling up toward the ceiling in soft waves. The scent of my vanilla shampoo lingers from the last time I was here. I step in and pull the curtain closed behind me, feeling the first drops of hot water hit my shoulders.
It burns — in a good way. The kind of pain that wakes you up.
I run my fingers through my hair and watch the pink color swirl down my body with the water. The sight makes me smile. I did a great job dyeing it myself — roots still my natural color, fading into blonde, and then into soft pink at the ends.
Kind of sexy, I think, tucking a wet strand behind my ear.
I tilt my head, studying the new version of me in the foggy reflection on the shower wall — a girl who's trying hard to look like she doesn't care anymore.
When I step out, water drips from my hair onto the tiles. I grab a towel and wrap it around my body, wiping the mirror with my hand to see my face more clearly.
I grab my phone and send Bryce a quick text:
me: need cash. gonna get a piercing n a tattoo.
A second later, my screen lights up with his reply — three devil emojis.
I chuckle softly. Typical Bryce. He can be a real asshole sometimes, but when he wants to... he's actually good.
He was there for me the entire summer. When I called him crying, desperate to know where Justin was, Bryce didn't hang up. He came over. He let me cry on his shoulder, listened without judgment. He made hot chocolate when I couldn't sleep, bought me books just to make me smile.
He saw how broken I was.
And he stayed.
But he knows I know about Jessica's party. About what he did. And that knowledge sits between us like a ghost that never leaves the room.
It breaks my heart to see Jessica now — to see her pretending she's okay while carrying something so heavy.
Her only best friend — me — is friends with the guy who hurt her. She doesn't say it, but I see it in her eyes. The hatred. The disappointment. The confusion.
She knows I need him to survive.
And I know she hates that truth.
I tighten the towel around me, still staring at my reflection. My lips curl into a half-smile.
"I need this," I whisper to myself. "I need to change."
~||~
"You sure you want to put a piercing and get a tattoo?" Bryce asks, his voice echoing slightly in the tattoo studio's waiting room. The walls are lined with drawings, skulls, and framed photos of inked clients smiling through the pain.
"Yes. I need this."
I repeat my words from earlier, the same conviction in my tone. I cross my legs, fingers fidgeting on my knee.
"What tattoo are you getting?" He's flipping through a binder of designs, eyes scanning the pages like he's shopping for something to distract himself.
"I want a shooting star," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
