Chapter 1
Clara's POV
Ten years ago, my parents worked for the Bellamys. He was their driver. She ran the house.
Then came the crash. I watched them shove Nash Bellamy out of the wreck, and it killed them both.
That's where the claustrophobia came from.
He knew. He knew all of it.
Then at homecoming, I showed up in a dress that matched Camilla's. She was the girl he'd always wanted. So he shoved me into the abandoned supply closet backstage.
The lock turned. On the other side of the door, he and Camilla were laughing like it was nothing.
"I'm pretty sure she's claustrophobic."
"Two hours in there. She'll learn."
I clawed at my own hands until they bled, couldn't get any air, and ended up wetting myself in a closet a dog wouldn't sleep in.
When the door finally opened, he pinched his nose and laughed and said I was disgusting.
I pushed myself up the wall, inch by inch, and looked at the face I'd been looking at for ten years. And I didn't want to cry anymore. Not even a little.
"Nash. I'm done chasing you."
The dark inside the closet is thick enough to choke on. Outside, the whole school is at the homecoming dance.
I pound on the cold door with both hands.
This is the last closet at the back of the stage, so tight I can barely turn around, and the smell of mildew burns my nose.
Laughter comes through the door, loud, careless.
"Nash, isn't this a little much? I think Clara's claustrophobic." Camilla's voice goes all soft and syrupy, and she isn't hiding how much she's enjoying this.
"Too much? She's the one who wore that white dress and matched yours. Like she's on your level." Nash sounds bored, and that's the cruel part. "Two hours in there. She'll learn."
"Nash! Please! I can't breathe!"
I press my face into the crack under the door, trying to get any air at all.
"Quit the dying act. Camilla, come on, let's get back out there."
The footsteps fade and disappear under the bass thumping from the dance floor.
I slide down to the floor. I'm cold all the way through.
Dark. The dark goes on forever and it closes around my throat like a pair of hands I can't see.
I'm shaking hard, gulping air, and my lungs still feel packed with cotton.
Ten years ago comes flooding back. The same tight space. The twisted metal. The smell of blood everywhere. My father's head hanging over the wheel. My mother using her last breath to push the terrified boy in the back seat out through the window.
That boy was Nash.
Both my parents died in that crash so the Bellamys wouldn't lose their only son.
Ever since, any small dark space brings back the feeling of their blood dripping warm onto my face.
Nash knows. He has always known.
"Dad. Mom." I curl into the corner and the tears come.
Cold sweat soaks my dress. My head starts going light, white spots spreading across everything, and the fear takes over. Something warm runs down my leg.
Every second is its own kind of torture. Right as I'm about to go under for good, the door opens.
I'm flat on the floor, pulling in air like I've been drowning.
"Huh. That's all it took?" Nash stands there with a smirk.
Camilla covers her nose and backs up two big steps, making a show of it. "Oh my God, what is that smell? Nash, I think she actually peed herself. That's disgusting."
Everyone behind them laughs.
"Clara, seriously? You can only play the victim so long." Nash frowns and nudges my foot with his shoe. "Get up and go clean yourself off. You're embarrassing."
I lift my head. Through the sweat and tears blurring my eyes, I look at the face I quietly watched for ten years.
It doesn't look like anyone I know.
"What, still down there? You want me to carry you?" He makes an impatient noise.
I don't answer. I brace a hand on the wall and push myself up, straightening a little at a time with everything I have left.
My legs are still shaking. My white skirt is covered in dust and stains.
"What are you staring at?" Something about the way I'm looking at him gets under his skin. "You brought this on yourself. Stay away from Camilla from now on."
"Nash." My voice is raw, but it's steady. "I'm done chasing you."
I don't bother with the stunned look on his face. I drag myself out of the auditorium.
The night wind is cold and it cuts right through my soaked dress like a knife.
It takes me two solid hours to walk back to the cramped little rental on the edge of town, where my brother Bennett lives.
I push open the door. He's at his computer, up late working on drawings, and he turns around.
He sees the blood on me, the filth on my skirt, and the mouse drops out of his hand.
"Clara?" He's across the room and holding me before I can say anything, his voice shaking. "Who did this? Who the hell did this?"
I lean into his shoulder, and everything I've been holding in breaks open.
"Bennett." I grab a fistful of his shirt, crying too hard to get it out clean. "Take me away from here. I'm done with him. I'm never going back to him."
