Hey, I do clean the bathroom. Mostly.

Right now, though, he’s a pain in the ass because he’s sprawled and snoring against my bedroom door, without any sign of waking up. The sweetly smell of pot wafts off him, so powerful it makes my eyes water.

Fucking hell.

Alex is shorter than me, but compensates for it with bulk. He’s built like a tank and is covered in tattoos. In fact, they look like the tattoos a Marine would sport, but when I asked, he never replied. Plus, he seems too young.

And right now, too heavy to dislodge.

“Damn you, Alex.” I groan as I pull on his arm. “Move your ass. Come on, buddy, work with me. Get up. Why the hell did you choose my door to fall asleep against? Why not yours, huh?”

No reply. No reaction.

Why do our room doors have to open outward, into the living room, instead of inward? Goddammit, this sucks ass. I drop down next to Alex, lean back on the door and sigh, exhausted.

See, these are my roommates, and this is how I live. Is it any wonder I am the way I am?

Don’t complain, J, I warn myself, fighting the crushing feeling in my chest. Don’t you dare fucking complain.

A year ago, you’d have killed for a roof over your head and the safety of this apartment, and yeah, even for these shitty roommates. Hell, you’d have sold your soul for it. God knows you owned nothing else when Zane found you.

Sleeping slumped against your own bedroom door is nothing compared to what you’ve had to do before.

Chapter Five

Amber

I’m in a narrow space, like the restrooms at the café where Megan and Jesse work. It’s warm inside. I place my hands on the walls, and they’re pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Embers,” a low voice whispers, and then he’s there, right behind me, his large frame covering me, pushing me into the wall. I can smell him—musk and cinnamon and salt—and feel him, feel how aroused he is pressed in the small of my back. His warm breath tickles my neck as he stars moving, sliding over my backside, a slow roll that feels like it’s been going on forever. His cock pushes into me, and I gasp, bending over more.

We’re naked. The realization is fuzzy, as if I should have noticed from the start. He’s inside me, and he feels so good, filling me up, stroking my center, building up pressure.

Then his hand snakes around my hips, finds my folds and slips between them, pressing, and—

A moan fills my ears, and I twist in my sheets, hot and out of breath. Who’s moaning? And where is Jesse?

The room is empty, light filtering through the window slats. My whole body is throbbing with pleasure, and the dream flashes through my mind like a movie. I still feel his hands on me, ghostly, their weight slowly fading.

Oh God. Oh no.

The one moaning was me. Moaning and writhing on the bed like a possessed woman. I just had a wet dream about Jesse.

Yeah, my name is Amber, and I want a boy who fucks anything that moves.

Shoot me now.

***

I’m walking down the street, returning to my apartment, a shopping bag in one hand and my cell in the other, talking to my mom, my mind a thousand miles away.

“How are you holding up, Ams?” Her voice sounds funny over the phone, small and squeaky.

“Fine, how about you?”

“We’re not the ones who moved to another town,” she singsongs, and I wince just a little. “Are you all settled in? How’s your roommate? What’s her name, Kiera, Kate?”

“Kayla.” I drew a deep breath as I cross the street. “I’m really fine, Mom, no need to worry.”

“How can I not worry?” Her voice rises an octave, and I wince again. “You’re my baby.”

Which is the reason I left and came back here… To stand on my own two feet. Now I only need to come through with my decision to beat the past.

“Your baby is all grown up now, Mom, so stop worrying so much. Was there anything else you needed to tell me?”

A pause at the other end of the line. I can imagine my mom’s face tighten, her lips flatten, and a prickle of unease touches my spine. I hate upsetting her. I hate upsetting anyone.

But before I open my mouth to apologize, she says, “I hope you’re going out more, meeting more people, honey. Be more sociable and self-assured. It’s the only way to be happy in this life.”

I say nothing as I approach the building entrance and fumble in my purse for my keys. She has told me this a thousand times, Dad, too. They both believe I need to change so that I can beat my fears.

Hasn’t worked out well so far. I’ve tried. I’ve pushed myself to go out more, to talk more, to be more confident. Feels like I’m wearing someone else’s ill-fitting shoes and trying to tap-dance across a taut wire.

But I’ve never tap-danced in my life, nor will I ever. Which is exactly the point. Or sort of. Apparently I should learn.

Crappy metaphors, I know. At least my mom has stopped talking. And here’s my cue to reply.

“Okay,” I say. Like always. “I’ll try.”

“That’s my baby,” Mom croons, and yeah, this is getting downright painful. “You can do anything you put your mind into.”

Except magically transform into a better me, obviously.

“Have you decided what to do about your studies yet? Will you transfer to the university there?”

Another sore topic with my parents. Why would I decide to leave my studies and go to the town where I was born to decide what to do with my life? The town where I was bullied?

My answer is: why not? Better figure what I want to do for a living now, rather than five years and a college degree down the line, right? And why not in Madison, where my life sort of stopped? Doesn’t it make sense to find the pause button and hit play again?

Seemingly not. Makes me wonder if I’m crazy, and not for the first time. But despite everything, putting distance between myself and the family nest makes me feel free from my parents’ expectations. From the obligation of turning into a heroine who saves her own life by overcoming her shyness.

Don’t get me wrong: my parents adore me. They took me away from here to save my sanity, and they succeeded. Sort of. They plucked me out of the school where bullying had torn my confidence to shreds and reduced my happiness to cinders, and transplanted me into a new world where I was able to move on. I owe them everything.

So I tell my mom I love her, which is the truth, tell her I have to go, which isn’t, and disconnect the call. I stare blindly at the screen of my cell before dropping it back into my purse.

How can I become who they want me to be? How can I change if I don’t find myself first?

I prepare to open the door, when I notice a guy eyeballing me from across the street. There’s something familiar about him, something that chills the blood in my veins.

Nick? The guy who bullied me at school? Who cornered me after class and took my bag, emptied it in the trash. Who made sure to pass by me at the cafeteria every day and “accidentally” push me so I’d spill my food and drink. Who made sure nobody talked to me—except Ev because she didn’t take shit and ignored Nick and his asshole buddies.

No, no way. I’m imagining things. Nick can’t be here. Don’t be paranoid.

But as I unlock the door and hurry inside, I can’t deny the relief that washes through me. Once the heavy door is shut behind me, I hurry up the stairs to the apartment, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder.

I’m fine. This is just stress. Everything’s fine.

I have to believe it.

***

Summer is definitely here. It’s warm inside the apartment, and I’ve stripped down to a pair of jean cutoffs and a loose floral blouse that’s a bit too large and hangs off my shoulders.

It’s late afternoon and Kayla is sipping at some jasmine green tea—or marijuana tea? The scent is potent, that’s for sure—while I’m trying to decide what to make with the new beads and wire I bought. One thing is certain: I need to create art and lose myself.