Where the Blame Lies

PROLOGUE

Before

The lights flashed, music pulsing as a crush of bodies twisted and gyrated on the dance floor in front of her. Josie felt both taken over by the sensory input and still oddly removed. Some innate other-ness in the mix of these carefree partiers, beautiful and exultant under the shifting strobes. Snap out of it, Josie, she demanded of herself, giving her shoulders a small shake. Have some damn fun.

What was wrong with her anyway?

“Cheers,” Reagan said as she came up on Josie’s right, thrusting a glass forward and breaking her from her moody thoughts, at least momentarily. “To living our best life.” Josie took a breath, rallied, forcing a grin as she took the gin and tonic and clinked Reagan’s glass. She sucked in a drink. “This place is packed tonight. Oh! There he is.” Reagan raised her hand and began waving wildly in the direction of the door where a tall, good-looking blond guy spotted her and waved back, making his way through the crowd to where they stood. He leaned forward and kissed Reagan’s lips. Josie looked away, giving them a moment of privacy as they greeted each other, her knee bouncing to the beat.

Reagan pulled on Josie’s sleeve. “Evan, this is my best friend, Josie. Josie, this is Evan.” Reagan practically purred as she said his name, and Josie barely refrained an eye-roll. Reagan had been crushing on the guy from her geology class for months, and he had finally asked her out two weeks before. They were already an item, though she couldn’t help wonder how long he’d last. Her best friend’s relationships with men were initially intense, but ultimately temporary.

Evan smiled. His teeth were very white and very straight, gaze sharp as he took her hand. His stare unnerved her slightly, and she wasn’t sure how to account for the strange feeling. He said something softly.

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked, leaning forward.

He leaned toward her too, and his mouth came close to her ear. “I said, we’ve met before.”

She leaned back. “Oh, I’m sorry . . .”

He shook his head. “House party on Stratford a couple months ago.”

“Oh.” She feigned sudden recognition, though she had absolutely no memory of meeting him. “Right. Nice to see you.”

He gave her a wry smile as though he knew she was lying and leaned away.

Reagan pulled him by the hand, jostling a girl next to her, who gave an annoyed look. “Let’s dance,” she singsonged loudly. “Come on, Jos.”

Josie held up her already-empty glass. No way was she going to be the third wheel in some weird three-person dance circle. “I’m gonna get another drink first. Want one?” she called as she moved away from the throng of swaying bodies. Reagan shook her head and disappeared into the revolving fray.

Ten minutes later, fresh cocktail in hand, Josie returned to the edge of the dance floor. She spotted Reagan and Evan dancing near the middle, Reagan holding her glass slightly out in front of her. Josie sipped at her drink. She hadn’t eaten much for dinner and the alcohol was acting fast, sending a pleasant buzz through her body. Her muscles relaxed. A guy in a red shirt grabbed her hand and she lurched forward, almost spilling her drink. The guy laughed, the sound swept under the loud pulse of the bass. He struck a pose meant to be funny, and Josie laughed, beginning to move with the stranger as they were pulled into the gyrating crowd. She downed the rest of her gin and tonic, closing her eyes as they danced, spinning, whirling, finally feeling a part of the people there rather than removed. Separate. She was one of them. A carefree college girl. She just needed to act like it. She needed to let go.

Bodies pressed close, and Josie could feel sweat dripping down the back of her neck. The guy in the red shirt moved directly against her and for a minute she let him. The music boomed, lyrics about a record spinning around. Josie felt like she was spinning too. The guy’s hand moved over her ass, back up her hip. Why not? He was cute and Josie smiled flirtatiously. He smelled like clean sweat and cologne and when he leaned toward her, she smelled beer on his breath. Josie closed her eyes, the vision of two little smiling faces filling her brain. Her eyes shot open, and she spun away from the guy she was dancing with, putting distance between them. He laughed, but annoyance flashed in his eyes. God, it’s hot. And that feeling of being removed settled over her once again. The need to get away. “I’m going to get a drink,” she yelled over the music, turning away from him.

In her peripheral vision, she saw the guy begin to follow her and slipped between a group of girls, losing him, and walking quickly to where she was out of sight. She spotted a familiar face standing at the end of the bar and while she wove through the crowd, a smile took over her face as he saw her and grinned. “Hey you,” Cooper greeted, giving her a big hug. “I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight.”

“I’m here with Reagan. Who I think has ditched me for Evan.” She dragged out his name, giving Cooper a meaningful look. “Last time I saw them, they were on the dance floor making out.”

Cooper shot her a wry smile. “Geology Evan? The stone-cold hunk?”

Josie laughed. They’d been annoying Reagan with really bad geology puns for weeks.

“The one and only. She really digs him.” They both pretended to crack up, giving big, fake laughs, which dissolved into real ones. Josie grinned. “Reagan always gets her man.”

“I’ve noticed,” Cooper said, rolling his eyes. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure.” She was tipsy and heading toward drunk. Just where she wanted to be. She gripped the collar of her shirt and used it to fan the overheated skin beneath her clothing.

Cooper and Josie stood at the bar chatting and laughing for a little while, which helped Josie’s mood improve. Cooper attended UC too, and he worked at a local coffee shop where she and Reagan had met him over lattes and late-night studying. He was funny and sweet, always had a smile to share, and they’d gone out drinking and dancing with him a few times. He was also ridiculously good-looking, but unfortunately for her—and every other female in Cincinnati—he was not interested in the female persuasion.

She laughed as Cooper told a story about a customer he’d had earlier, her eyes meeting those of an older man sitting at a high-top table nearby, sipping a beer. He was handsome, wearing khakis and a button-down polo shirt. A young professor or a teacher’s aide. He smiled, his eyes moving down her body, and her nerves tingled. She was tempted. So tempted. He’d make her forget the melancholy that didn’t seem to want to release its hold on her tonight. He’d make her feel wanted, happy. But it’d be temporary. And temporary always ended up hurting. The thought confused her slightly. She’d never pondered that before, and definitely didn’t want to in the midst of a packed meat market. She’d come here for temporary. Hadn’t she?

She broke eye contact and took a long sip of her drink, attempting to recapture that carefree mood she’d found at the bottom of three gin and tonics and via Cooper’s charm. Cooper looked back over his shoulder where her gaze had lingered. When his eyes returned to her, his brow was raised. “Nice. Very nice.” He glanced back one more time and then leaned closer. “He’s still looking at you. Go ask him to dance.”

She shook her head, gathering her resolve. No, a one-night stand would only make her feel worse in the morning. Especially now. Don’t do it, Josie. “Nope. I’m on a hiatus from men at the moment. Especially older men.” With wives. And children. Her mood plummeted further, self-loathing rising, and suddenly her buzz soured. She felt annoyed. Sad. Lonely. The music blasted, the air felt hotter. Muggy. Everyone was too close. Jostling her, pressing, touching. She used the collar of her shirt to bring more air to her skin.

Cooper was watching her. “I think another round is called for.”

She shook her head but forced a smile. “No. And speaking of nice, there’s someone cute who’s got his eye on you.”

Cooper glanced over his shoulder at the dark-haired guy who was watching him from the other side of the bar, his head nodding slightly to the beat of the music. When Cooper caught his eye, the guy looked away bashfully and then immediately back in that age-old flirting move. “Ron. He works at the sandwich shop next to Brews. Do you mind if I go say hi and then I’ll be right back?”

“Not at all. You go. I’m good.”

“You sure?”

She pushed him. “Yes. I’m fine.”

With a smile, Cooper headed off in Ron’s direction, Ron’s face lighting up with obvious delight at Cooper’s approach. Her heart squeezed. She had a sudden desire to run for the door, to throw it open and inhale the fresh, open air. Let it cleanse her if that were possible. The crowd bore down again. Oppressive. Stifling.

She placed her empty glass on the bar and moved toward the dance floor, looking for Reagan. “You’re a bitch,” someone said from her left. She whipped her head toward the low, whispered words and saw the guy in the red shirt she’d ditched on the dance floor. He was leaning against a pillar and she blinked at him, unease skittering down her spine along with a jolt of embarrassment as she ducked into the crowd.

I am. I am a bitch, I really am.

She found Reagan a few minutes later just walking off the dance floor, her arm around Evan as they laughed. Reagan looked joyful and slightly drunk, a sheen of sweat making them both glow. “My bestie,” she said, throwing her arms around her. “You’re so pretty. Isn’t she pretty, Evan? God, you’re so pretty, I hate you.” Okay, a little more than slightly drunk. “I love this girl,” she crooned, kissing her on the cheek. Josie laughed despite her desire to get out of there.

“I love you too, Rea. I’m going to head home.”

“Home? No! We just got here.”

“I’m not feeling great.”

She gave her a disbelieving look, but before she could say anything else, Josie hugged her again. “It’s only a couple of blocks. I’ll text you when I get there.”

“I could walk you home,” Evan offered.

She met his intense gaze and shook her head. “No, seriously, you take care of this girl. I’ll text you,” she said again to Reagan, moving away from them both, Reagan’s outstretched hand dropping from hers. She blew her a kiss. “See you soon,” Josie mouthed, raising her hand and blowing a kiss back. Reagan pretended to catch it and hold it to her chest, the crowd swallowing her up as Josie turned away.

Although it was officially spring in Cincinnati, a cool night breeze washed over Josie’s heated skin and caused a chill. She wrapped her arms around her body as she began walking the short distance toward home. She and Reagan lived in an apartment in Clifton, an area of Cincinnati that rented to many of the local college students. It was close to school, and it had a decent nightlife within walking distance, one she and Reagan were enjoying thoroughly using their fake IDs. The streets were well lit and still occupied by people going to and from bars and restaurants, even though it was past midnight.

A couple laughed as they walked past, the woman’s eyes bright, arms clasped through the man’s. He looked down at her adoringly. Josie looked away, loneliness spearing through her. She should have gone over and talked to that older man. Why hadn’t she? Maybe she should go back, see if he was still there, invite him home. But then she remembered the crowd, the overwhelming feeling of being suffocated by all those people. The heat. The noise, when she’d been craving quiet.

She took her phone from her pocket as she walked, telling herself she’d regret dialing his number, but doing it anyway. She just wanted to listen to his outgoing message. Hear his voice. That was all. Maybe it would help remind her why she’d broken things off. Her stomach clenched—with excitement, dread—as the phone rang, once, twice, and then his voice picked up, clipped. “Hello?”

Heart galloping, she stayed quiet, stepping to the curb as though he might be able to tell it was her from the sound of her footsteps. She’d gotten a new number; he wouldn’t recognize it.

“Hello?” he repeated. She heard something in the background. The very low hum of traffic? Was he out too? “Josie?” At the sound of her name, her heart jumped and she hung up quickly, her self-loathing surging once more.

“Shit,” she whispered. How had he known it was her? Because you’re the only pathetic woman he knows, her mind whispered. And why had she done that? Why? Because it was that time of night when alcohol and melancholy tricked you into thinking bad ideas could end well, that was why. How many times had she given in to that feeling? Too many. She’d feel better in the morning, she knew. But for that moment, yearning tore through her, the longing for something she wasn’t even sure she could put into words. You’re drunk, Josie. Just get home and go to bed. Stop torturing yourself.

Her apartment came into sight, and she sent Reagan a quick text letting her know she’d made it home. She tripped slightly, catching herself, wobbling on her heels. “Little too much to drink?” came a voice.

She let out an alarmed squeal, bringing her hand to her chest when she saw it was just the downstairs neighbor, sitting casually in the lone chair to the right of the building’s front door. “Hi,” she greeted with a tight smile as she walked gingerly up the steps. “Kinda chilly out here, isn’t it?”

“I d-don’t mind,” he stuttered, his eyes darting away quickly and then back to hers. His cheeks flushed. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, just awkward and sort of gawky. Strange. She felt the weight of his presence, his proximity, as she pulled her key out of her small purse. Her scalp prickled, his eyes boring into her as she stood directly next to him, unlocking the door. He’s harmless, she told herself. Creepy, but harmless. The key slipped and she fumbled, the scent of him meeting her nose—something vaguely tropical, pineapple or coconut. A mixture maybe. What was it? A hair product? An odd scent for a man. Too sweet. Unpleasant.

The lock clicked open and she turned to her neighbor—what was his name? He’d told her his name and she’d forgotten—giving him a quick smile. He startled slightly at her movement, his gaze shooting to hers. She saw desire in it. Desire and a sort of . . . indecision. Like he was contemplating saying something but wasn’t sure he should. “Well, goodnight,” she said quickly, scooting in the door and closing it behind her as she jogged up the stairs, holding her breath until she made it to the top, half expecting to hear her name called from below before she could safely enter her apartment. She unlocked the door and flipped the lock, standing on the other side for a moment, catching her breath. She let out a small laugh that ended in a groan, shaking her head at herself as she pushed away from the door. “Silly,” she muttered. “Paranoid.” The awkward man was no threat. If he asked her out—and she had a sense he would sooner rather than later—she’d simply say thanks but no thanks.

Her cell phone rang, jarring her from her thoughts and she froze as she saw whose number it was. He was calling back the number that had just hung up on him. Me.

Shit, shit, shit. She suddenly felt more sober. And smarter than she’d been five minutes ago. Sucked how her good sense could seemingly fade in and out that way. She couldn’t let her voicemail answer. She jabbed at the phone, answering it but not speaking. “Hello?” came his voice. Her stomach knotted, and she clenched her eyes shut. Despite her best efforts, longing singed her nerves. There was a pause before he said, “Josie, I know it’s you.” When she still didn’t answer, he sighed. “Meet me, Josie. Or I can come there—” She disconnected the call, hurriedly dialing her voicemail and changing it to an anonymous electronic greeting. And now she’d need to change her number again. I’m such an idiot, she thought. Such a weak, pathetic idiot.

In the bathroom, she stared at her face. Alcohol and self-recrimination mixed, and for the flash of a moment she was back there, in that small dingy bathroom in the house where she’d grown up, staring at her own stricken expression in the mirror above the sink while she listened to her parents’ angry yells, the inevitable crash of something breaking, her mother’s screams, the door slamming as her father left. She closed her eyes, remembering how it’d felt. Why was she thinking of that?

Quickly, she turned on the water and scrubbed her face free of makeup, tearing off the false lashes she’d applied a few hours before, the glue leaving angry red marks on her lids.

She climbed into bed and lay staring at the ceiling for several minutes, a lump lodged in her chest, an ache inside that she had no clue how to heal. Thankfully, sleep took hold, pulling her gently under its feathery wing.

She woke with a scream lodged in her throat, someone’s hands around her neck. Panic shot through her body—hot, immediate—bringing her quickly out of the deep sleep she’d been in. She registered a man in a black ski mask on top of her, his hands around her neck, his weight crushing her into the mattress.

Josie’s heart seized, horror spiking through her in pulsing waves. He made a movement with his hips and she felt his erection. Oh nonono. Her mind went numb. She was only fight now. She bucked upward with her body, flailing outward with her arms, attempting to kick but unable to with his weight on her hips.

He laughed, a slick, oily sound filled with glee.

OhGodohGodohGod.

She couldn’t breathe. I’m going to die, I’m going to die. Hot tears leaked from her eyes as she writhed and twisted and fought, his hands around her neck only growing tighter as her body grew weaker, sparks bursting before her eyes as her brain struggled for oxygen. Suddenly he let go and she sucked in a huge lungful of air, surging forward, his elbow connecting with her cheekbone in a jarring thud. She opened her mouth to scream just as something sharp plunged into her thigh. He held her down easily as whatever drug he’d given her shot through her veins, making her limbs too heavy to move, her brain thick, soupy. Once more, she tried to scream, but no sound came out.

The world went dark.