We Are Us

Chapter 22 New York City

Holiday Break, Sophomore Year

After Tucker heads back to his parents’ place to change, it takes forever before my heartbeat returns to normal. I’m walking the edge of something that’s either dangerous, or stupid, or both.

But it’s better than the way I’ve been living. Dismissing memories that aren’t real and yet won’t be suppressed. Ignoring emotions that don’t make sense and yet can’t be denied.

Maybe I’ve been approaching this all wrong. Maybe what I need to do is accept what happened, take control of it, and shift the narrative.

Can I bury the Tucker of the past—the Tucker who hurt me, who took something from me? Separate that guy from the Tucker who invited me into New York City to celebrate New Year’s with him.

If I allow Tucker to move on from who he was, maybe I can become a different person, too.

Stronger. Less naïve. Maybe even… brave.

Last year, I didn’t go out on New Year’s. I certainly wasn’t in the mood to celebrate.

It was a far cry from the year before. After Sadie left for a sleepover with a friend and my mom passed out on the couch, I snuck Gavin into my bedroom. We had done plenty of celebrating then.

Gavin. I rub at the familiar hollow ache in my chest that plagues me whenever I think about the beautiful, broken boy I once loved, sending up a quick prayer that he’s safe. That he’s happy. My anger at being abandoned has faded, but the hurt is still there. I will always love Gavin, probably always long for him. But I am done mourning him. I have to be, because I ca

No matter where Gavin is now, why he left, or who he’s with—I deserve to welcome this new year to come. I deserve a new begi

An old memory pops into my mind. The magazine article I’d shown Gavin all those years ago. Photographs of a beautiful couple I’d found so intriguing, their sheen of glamour and sophistication shining from the pages.

They look so perfect.

Meant to be.

Like nothing bad has ever happened to them. Like nothing bad ever will.

The woman in that photograph wouldn’t be rushed to a hospital, her blood the alcohol content of a wine cooler. She wouldn’t learn that a condom had been found beneath her clothes. She wouldn’t cry herself to sleep, night after night, for weeks and months on end.

“Imagine the person you want to be, and then be her,” I whisper feverishly, just like the child psychologists advised when I was younger. Their version of fake it till you make it, I guess.

A few hours later, when my phone lights up with a text from Tucker, I take a last look at myself in the oversized, cheval mirror tucked into a corner of the room, ru

The black material hugs my curves, but not too closely. The sweetheart neckline isn’t too low, just barely skimming the rise of my breasts. The hem is a little shorter than I’d like, a few inches above my knees, but I’d borrowed a pair of stockings from Sadie that were almost opaque, but not quite, so the effect isn’t as racy as it could have been. And my heels do nice things to the shape of my legs, even though they pinch my toes.

Simple studs adorn my ears, but my throat is bare. My arm lifts, my fingers automatically tracing the hollow of my collarbone where Gavin’s necklace should have sat. That familiar sting of loss makes me meet my own eyes in the glass. They look very green tonight, the gold flecks glinting brightly. I see sadness and fear. But also… hope.

Sadness for the man I’ve lost and the girl I used to be.

Fear that I’ll never recover. Never move on.

And hope that I will. That tonight really will be a fresh start. A new begi

I take a deep breath, pushing a smile onto my face. It trembles a bit, but it stays.

“I want to be happy,” I say to my reflection. “And I want to be whole.”

And then I grab my wrap and meet Tucker in the lobby. He’s wearing a perfectly cut black suit that accentuates his broad shoulders and slim hips. His snowy white shirt is open at the neck, unencumbered by a tie. He looks entitled and arrogant, and too handsome for his own good.

“You look fantastic,” he says, wearing a pleased expression as he takes my hand.

“Really? Are you sure?” I glance down at my dress, smoothing out the fabric as fresh needles of doubt and insecurity prick my spine. “I know it’s not all that fancy—”

“It’s perfect,” Tucker answers easily, his gaze skimming my figure before returning to my face. “When you came out of the elevator just now, you looked for me. And from the moment our eyes met, you never once looked away.”

A half-laugh makes it up my throat. “Well, I don’t—I don’t know anyone here.”

“True. But you’re different than other girls who seem to travel in packs. Always surrounded by other girls. It’s the first thing I noticed about you. Your… comfort at being alone.”

I don’t bother explaining that it’s not comfort so much as acceptance. Because being alone gets really lonely.

But Tucker takes my silence as agreement.

He shakes his head, his lips curving into a soft smile. “You’re very focused, Poppy. And I like when you focus on me.”

The first party Tucker takes me to can only be considered “small” by State Di

After an hour of pretending like I don’t feel horribly out of place, Tucker nudges me with his elbow and bends down to my ear. “Please tell me you’re as bored as I am.”

I hide my laugh with my hand, goose bumps from his breath skating over the back of my neck. “Does that mean you want to leave?”

“Ready when you are,” he says with a nod, pulling his phone out of his pocket and ushering me into the elevator. “Wren’s been texting me. I’ll tell her we’re on our way.”

Wren. My stomach immediately sours. I don’t miss my old roommate, though I’d expected to see her tonight. Anticipating it with a slow creeping dread. “Sure.”

As the doors open onto the lobby, Tucker glances up at me and scrutinizes my expression. “That sure sounded an awful lot like I’d rather shotgun a dozen oysters.”

I exhale an awkward sigh. “I’m sorry. I know she’s one of your closest friends. We should go.”

Tucker’s expression is inscrutable as he thumbs off a quick text. After he puts his phone back in his pocket, he reaches for my hand. “Come on.”

The midtown loft he brings me to isn’t far, and when we get inside, Tucker points to the windows on the far wall. “Times Square is just a few blocks away.”

I look over in that direction, though I’m just searching the crowd for Wren’s face. But the party is dark, lit mainly by strobe lights and the city skyline rising up around us. I tug on Tucker’s arm. “It feels like we’re in a club,” I shout. The music is so loud we could hear it from the hallway.