Chapter 1 - Brittney
I don’t belong here.
I’ve fallen so far from grace that I’ve ended up on the wrong side of the tracks—the south side.
The side where people fight tooth and nail just to scrape together the next rent check. A place that’s as far removed from the golden life I once knew as hell is from heaven.
I went from being the golden girl with everything handed to me to this. An angel with her wings clipped. And it’s all because of my dad.
A criminal.
The man who buried our lives with his lies and his greed. He’s behind bars, leaving my mom and me to pay the price for his sins.
This isn’t fresh news. No. This happened in my last year of high school. I went from being Queen B to a transfer student at Crescent High. I no longer wore my crown or designer clothes or drove my Mercedes-Benz. Everything I had slipped through my fingers. And what’s left is an empty version of the girl I was.
It’s been over a year, and I still can’t let my old life go. I’m clinging to the hope that I’ll get it back. I crave it back. No, I need it back.
High school feels like forever ago, and now I’ve been reduced to a community college studying finance like that’s going to help me crawl back up to the top.
The Vault pulses with bass so low I can feel it vibrating through my chest, right down to my bones. Red and blue neon strobe lights flash across the space, casting shadows on people in masks and costumes. Everyone is hiding in plain sight, wearing the guise of something they’re not, just like me.
Bodies wiggle, shake, and slither like snakes all over each other. The stench of strong perfume, sweat, and musk mix together and suffocates me.
It’s the yearly costume party, and I’ve come as a pink angel. There’s something sickeningly ironic about it.
The dress is perfect, fitted at the waist and flowing over my thighs. Its neckline plunges far too low for anyone to consider me pure.
The wings are feathery and soft, their pink tips glimmering under the lights. They make me look like I belong in a fairy tale. Yet, no one ever tells you that it’s the darker stories that stick in your mind.
I look good. I know I do. The kind of good that gets heads to turn and eyes to linger. The type of attention I used to eat up like it was a five-star meal.
Ariella is some kind of genius with her hands and should be considering her major in fine arts. She made this entire outfit, piecing our costumes together like some art project.
The wings brush against people, which earns me a few glances. Glances that I pretend not to notice. I used to enjoy attention, but I now shy away from it.
The heat from the bodies around me presses against my skin, seeping into my veins. A crowd of people desperate to forget fills the space.
Desperate like me.
I need a drink. Maybe two. Maybe more.
I need something more than alcohol to dull my dark thoughts. Something that can take off the edge, twisting at my insides.
No. I shouldn’t be thinking about that. I promised myself I was done with it.
“I can handle it,” I whisper to myself. But I can’t shake the craving, the relentless pull to do anything, to feel nothing. I want this nightmare to end.
That’s the thing with addiction—it doesn’t care about your promises. It only cares about feeding the beast inside. Once it fades, it never lets you forget how insignificant you’ve become. So you need more. And more.
Madison and Ariella are already at the bar, perched on high stools with cocktails in their hands.
They became my friends when I was unwillingly transferred to Crescent High. Neither of them judged me like the entire school population. I resisted them at first, but I slowly came around to them. I needed someone in my corner, and I’m glad it was them.
Mads is in a devil costume. She looks seductive in a form-fitting red dress that clings to her like a second skin. Her deep brown hair falls straight down her back. The mask is deep, blood-red, a piece of art that covers her face, leaving only her piercing blue-gray eyes and bloodstained lips exposed.
If I hadn’t watched her slip into this outfit in our shared dorm room, I wouldn’t have recognized her at all. She looks like a goddess of temptation, drowning in sin.
Ariella is pure chaos. She’s dressed like a damn cat, but not the sweet kind. No, tonight she’s an apex predator, wrapped in a tight corset dress of deep violet. Her light purple hair falls in messy waves, framing her face. The sleek and glossy black cat-like mask covers the upper half of her face, leaving only her dark brown eyes visible.
She looks hot as hell in a way that screams trouble. She’s always trouble; It’s basically her middle name at this point. I’ve noticed how she’s often not in our dorm room late at night. I don’t know what she’s up to, but it’s not anything good.
“Here she is,” Ari cheers. “The prettiest angel in this hellhole.”
I can’t help but smirk as I slide onto the stool next to them. “And yet, I’m stuck with the devil and the troublemaker. What are we drinking tonight, girls?” I ask, raising a brow at their drinks.
Mads nudges her drink toward me. “Some fruity concoction that barely tastes like alcohol. Dangerous as hell.”
“Mine’s got tequila. Want a sip?” Ari offers, her voice sounding sultry. She’s definitely tipsy. Scratch that. She’s drunk.
Cocktails are the last thing I need. We all know the kind of trouble those drinks hide. The last thing I need is to lose control in a place like this.
“I’ll get my own in a sec. What’s the plan for tonight?”
Madison swirls the ice in her glass and takes a slow sip before the words spill out of her mouth. “I don’t know. I kind of want to... lose my virginity tonight.”
Did I just hear her right?
“Damn. Just like that?” I ask.
“Why not? I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment, but maybe that’s a myth. I just need to pick someone, get it over with, and move on.” She shrugs like she’s talking about buying a new pair of shoes, not doing something irreversible.
“That sounds… clinical. You’re supposed to want the guy,” Ari adds, throwing her hands up to get her point across.
“If you’re looking for suggestions, I’m sure I could find you a willing participant,” I offer with a grin.
I know any guy in this place would be more than eager. Finding one who would actually make it good, though? That’s a different story.
“That’s not how this works, Britt,” Mads groans.
“What’s this really about, Mads?”
“I, uh... well... I just want to be more confident. I’m sick of being... so forgettable, you know?”
“You’re not forgettable, Mads. Get that crap out of your head.”
Her eyes dart away before she releases a sigh and focuses back on me. If she needs confidence, I can teach her without her making decisions that she can’t take back. Mads just needs to come out of her shell a bit more.
“Okay, well, if Mads is out here trying to make questionable decisions, I’m going to get up to trouble.”
“Of course you are, Ari. What kind of trouble are we talking about?”
“The best kind,” she purrs. “The kind where I do whatever the hell I want, and you two try to stop me but secretly enjoy every damn second of it.”
“God, you’re impossible,” Mads says as she shakes her head.
“Thank you,” Ari winks.
“Well, I guess it’s going to be an interesting night, then.” I laugh and finally flag the bartender down.
The ice clinks softly as the bartender pours my gin and tonic. I bring it to my lips, and for a second, I lose myself in the burn as it slides its way down my throat.
When I turn my head back to Ari and Mads, they’re deep in conversation, laughing about how Mads will probably end up carrying Ari home. And she probably will. It’s not the first time, and I’m certain it won’t be the last. I shake my head, laughing under my breath.
I stop drinking when I spot three girls, all wrapped in designer outfits that practically scream North Side elite, strut over. The kind of girls I once ruled over.
The person I was is gone, except now the shadow of her still torments me, now that I know what kind of demon I was.
I used to thrive in their world, fucking command it. Now, I feel like an impostor in my own skin. Every step closer they take makes me taste the nausea that slithers down my throat and hooks into my bones. A part of me wants to curl into myself, run away, and hide. But I won’t, and I don’t.
The blonde in the middle tilts her head, studying us. “Oh my God,” she drawls, “Is that Brittney Dobsin?”
Even in this crowded place and costume, they recognize me. They know me. And I can feel their disgust seep through the air like acid that burns and destroys.
“Wow, you’ve really fallen off the map. Didn’t think we’d ever see you here, of all places.” The brunette says.
I clutch my glass tighter. It’s true. I’ve fallen. So far off the map, I can’t find where I started. And that’s the truth I can’t outrun.
The third girl twirls the straw in her cocktail. “You know,” she muses, “it’s kind of sad. First, your dad screws over half of North Side, and then you just... disappear. It must be tough, going from all that wealth and power to...” She gestures around the club. “... This.”
Why the fuck are they here if this place disgusts them so much? But then again, I used to be them. I used to walk in their designer heels and smile like everything was my fucking kingdom. And it was.
The bitter taste of karma clings to my tongue, but I swallow it down and lift my chin, forcing my expression to remain neutral. But I know it’s not working. They can see right through the mask I’ve carefully constructed. Everyone can.
“What do you even do now?” the blonde presses. “Besides slumming it…” She glances at me with a sick smirk. “... and dressing like a cheap angel?”
Before I can respond, Ari steps in. The click of her drink hitting the bar is like a declaration of war. She’s got a fire in her eyes tonight, and I know this could either end gloriously or be a complete fucking disaster.
“Wow,” she says. “You North Side girls really have nothing better to do than talk shit, huh?”
“Excuse me?” the blonde girl spits.
Ari steps closer. “You heard me.” She crosses her arms, her gaze sweeping over them as if they are nothing more than insects she could crush. “You waltz in here in your overpriced costumes, trying to tear down Brittney just because you’re insecure as hell that she doesn’t need your little clique anymore.”
“Oh, please, we’re just catching up.” The brunette scoffs.
“Yeah? Funny because it sounds a lot like you’re trying to remind her of everything she lost. News flash: Brittney doesn’t need your validation. And she sure as hell doesn’t need to listen to a bunch of bitches who think their daddy’s money makes them important.”
The blonde’s face contorts with rage. Ariella takes another step closer. “Now, I suggest you take your designer asses and get lost before I make you regret coming over here.”
They shoot us a venomous glare, and then three of them whirl around and disappear into the sea of bodies.
Well, go fucking Ari.
“God, they’re exhausting.” Ari picks up her drink again, a smirk returning to her face. “You okay?”
I swallow the sudden rotten taste and force myself to calm down. “Yeah… thanks.”
“Anytime. Now let’s get another round because I am not letting those bitches ruin our night.”
Madison laughs, raising her glass like it’s some battle trophy.
I feel a little lighter. I don’t need those bitches’ approval, do I?
My thoughts spiral, twisting and plummeting faster than I can grasp them. I’m a ghost in a world that doesn’t even care to notice that I’m already fading.
I drag in a breath, but it feels like I’m sucking in shards of glass. I don’t have my old life anymore. That world of power, of everything—it’s gone. At least now, I have real friends.
It still fucking hurts the way they talk about me. Like I’m nothing more than my dad’s scandal. Like I’m dirt on the bottom of their designer heels.
The old me would have sliced through their words without flinching. I would have laughed it off, spun the story to make me look like the fucking queen. I’d have buried them in a sea of my own venom and walked away unscathed. But I’m not that girl who breathes confidence like it’s the only air that keeps her alive.
No. I’m pathetic now. And it’s obvious. Every fucking second of it is seeping out of my skin.
I don’t want to let this get to me, but it’s clawing through me like everything I’ve tried to bury.
I feel defeated.
Crushed.
Fucking shattered.
A feeling of emptiness settles in my chest, pressing so hard it feels like my heart will explode. Only one thing can numb it. But it’s the one thing I should never touch again.
Cocaine.
It promises me the strength to ignore the fact that everything I’ve built is a fragile house of cards waiting to collapse.
It’s a lie wrapped in false euphoria. I shouldn’t be thinking about touching it again.
Shouldn’t
But I am.
The craving burns through me. My body already remembers the rush, the way everything stops hurting, even if it’s just for that moment.
I need it.
I pray to a god I don’t believe in that the man who haunts my every breath doesn’t find me doing what I shouldn’t.
I’m praying for mercy, I know will never come because he doesn’t know mercy—not when it comes to me.
He’s the monster in my bloodstream, poisoning every part of me, and no matter how far I run, I can’t cut him out.
But I still try.
Because if he finds me disappearing into oblivion, I know what will happen.
He won’t let me go.
Not this time.
