Brooke Roberts

Every few steps, Liv turns around to look at Ethan, who’s walking behind us. She links her arm with mine and leans closer, whispering:
"What do they eat at Hades’ Men? Or is being hot a job requirement?"
I start laughing and turn to her just as a group of men exit a sporting goods store and bump into us. I barely register their polite apologies, the sound of my racing heartbeat drowning everything else out, and my breath catches in my throat. Of course the mall would be packed—every store has end-of-summer sales and people are taking advantage of the air conditioning to escape the relentless heat outside.
Maybe this wasn’t the best place to go on my first time out of the house.
Liv rubs my arm to get my attention, and I turn to her, finding her blue eyes filled with concern. She tilts her head slightly, silently asking if I’m okay.
"Brooke?" Ethan steps closer, and my friend glances at him, as if she can’t help herself.
"I’m fine," I lie, and as Ethan nods and resumes his place a step behind us, my friend raises an eyebrow, making it clear I didn’t fool her. "I just got startled. Where do you want to go first?"
"I need to buy new clothes to match my new position as a designer!"
"Are you serious? They finally hired you?" I ask as I hug her, a smile so big on my face it makes my cheeks hurt.
"No." She pulls back, twisting her lips before continuing. "They’d never hire me. That became clear when, instead of promoting me, they hired another guy fresh out of college. So I started sending out résumés, had an interview yesterday, and they called today to say I got the job."
"I’m so happy for you!" I hug her again. "I’m sure you’re going to kill it."
"Thank you. When I got the news, the first thing I wanted to do was tell you. You’ve always supported and encouraged me. That’s why I came to pick you up—I wanted you with me to celebrate!" She links her arm with mine again. "And that reminds me, we’ll get to have lunch together every day! The office is just a few blocks from school."
"I’m not working this year, Liv. I asked for a sabbatical."
"That’s a smart decision," she replies. "Have you decided about therapy?"
"Not yet. One step at a time, Liv."
Liv doesn’t know the full details of what happened, but when she visited me, my injuries and the guys’ story didn’t match up, so I told her a shortened version. That night, she sent me the contact info of a psychologist—Dr. Luana Masseria, who does remote sessions—and since then, she brings it up every now and then.
"Alright, for now, a little shopping therapy will have to do!"
We start walking again, and Liv looks back once more and sighs.
"Sometimes it’s hard being your friend, you know?" she says in an accusatory tone. "It’s unfair that now you have another hot guy all to yourself. It’s kind of selfish if you think about it!"
"But he’s not mine," I point out. "Feel free to try your luck."
"I like that plan," she says, and starts laughing. Her laughter is so contagious I join her.

Olivia Jones wastes no time putting her plan into action. In every store we enter, she picks out outfits and insists on trying them on and showing them off under the pretense of asking for my opinion, but her eyes are always locked on the security guard. He, in turn, keeps a serious expression, but I swear I catch a flicker in his eyes with some of the clothes my friend tries on. I make a point of encouraging her to buy those.

As time goes by, I realize how much I missed Liv and days like this. Her friendship lifts me, and the anxiety I felt when we entered the mall has almost completely faded—I know it’s because of her. I always wanted a sister when I was little, someone to play with, tell my secrets to, complain about school with, but my parents were happy with just one child. Still, fate brought me Olivia, the sister I never had.

We shared a dorm room at Stanford, and our friendship was instant—the kind you always read about or see on TV shows. She was the Blair to my Serena, the Brooke Davis to my Haley James.

"Ugh! I’m tired," she declares, sitting beside me on the store’s couch after paying for her latest purchases. "Let’s get coffee?"
"Has Pumpkin Spice season already started?"
"I think it started last Monday."
"And you dragged me into store after store without telling me that? I could’ve been sipping a Pumpkin Spice Frappuccino while watching you try on every outfit in the mall?" I ask, feigning indignation and standing up.
"Sorry! I forgot you’re a caffeine-addicted monster," she raises her hands in mock surrender. "Anyway, don’t you have an espresso machine at home?"
"No, Rafael does, and he still hasn’t found the right syrup."
"That sounds like a you problem. But let’s go get your coffee before you turn into a deranged gremlin." She gets up and I help her carry her bags out of the store.
"And what about you, Ethan, do you have any addictions we should know about?" my friend asks.

I don’t hear his answer because a loud bang, like a gunshot, fills the air. My body goes into high alert, I start shaking and my breath catches. The sound keeps echoing in my head, panic takes over, and I start running.

They can’t catch me again. I can’t be taken.

Tears burn my eyes and blur my vision. I push through a random door, trying to find a safe place, somewhere to hide. My chest burns as I struggle to draw enough air into my lungs. When I see several doors lined up, I realize I must’ve entered a store. I hide in one of the fitting rooms. My knees give out and I curl up on the floor, sobs shaking my body. I rub my arms, trying to chase away the cold spreading through me.

The sound of the gunshot keeps playing over and over in my mind, dragging me back to that filthy warehouse, reliving the moment I heard the iron door open. My men were there to get me, and everything that followed, right up to the final shots—the ones I fired myself. I see the bullet tearing through my torturer’s skin, his lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. Again, and again. A nightmare with no end.