Chapter One

Amber

My windshield wipers squeak as I pull into the empty parking spot in front of Your Designs. Rain pelts my window. My heart pounds along with it.

         I can do this. I need to do this.

         A mother and her toddler dash past the car as I pull the hood of my rain jacket over my head. He stops, a mischievous smile on his face, and leaps into a puddle. His red rubber boots splash water in every direction. I can’t help but laugh at his expression. At least he’s not afraid of the weather.

         Before I can change my mind, I grab my purse from the passenger seat and make a break for the store. Once inside, I fish through my purse for the picture I found on the Internet, after hours and hours of research.

         “Hi, Amber,” Kathy says from the counter. Her long, curly blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing skintight jeans and a black T-shirt that reads Rock On.

         “You’re finally going for it?” She’s referring to the five other times I’ve been here, checking the place out, but never quite having the courage to go through with it.

         An oversized jar with a hole in the lid and a picture of a lotus flower on the side sits on the counter. Above the flower is the message: Please donate and help victims of sexual assault and abuse become survivors. I poke a five-dollar bill through the slot like I’ve done every time I’ve come here.

         “You’re the one giving me the tattoo, right?” I ask.

         “That’s right. Do you have an idea of what you want?”

         Swallowing hard, I unfold the picture of a dozen small blue flowers floating on a breeze. Forget-me-nots. I hand it to her. “I want it here.” I indicate the inside of my left forearm, which is hidden under my jacket sleeve. “And I also want it to say ‘Trent and Michael.’ ”

         Kathy pulls out a book with different fonts and I pick an elegant script. It’s perfect.

         “Just let me set up, and we’ll get started.” She heads to the back of the store and disappears down a hallway.

         I wander over to a wall of tattoos. I’ve seen them each time I’ve been here, but that doesn’t stop me from marveling over the more intricate designs. Until now, I’ve never been impressed by tattoos. It was my ex-best friend who wanted one. Funny how things change.

         I’m inspecting a delicate fairy with wings like autumn leaves when the chimes above the door ring. Two guys, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two, enter. Both are good-looking and have the tall, muscular bodies of basketball players. That’s where the similarities between them end.

         The dark-haired guy has that bad-boy vibe some girls find appealing, with his military boots, jeans, and black leather jacket. His blond-haired friend is the kind of guy most girls feel safe with. He’s wearing sneakers, jeans, and a blood-donor T-shirt. The clothes and his friendly expression make him appear trustworthy. Like he won’t break your heart or your body or your soul.

         But I’ve long since learned that appearances are never what they seem. Either man could be sweet, or he could be dangerous. The trick is to never let them get close enough for you to find out the truth the hard way.

         Blond guy walks to the counter and chats with the store owner, a man not much older than us, with tattoos covering his arms. Neither pays attention to me. I resume studying the wall.

         From the corner of my eye, I notice the black-haired guy walking toward me. Instead of checking out the designs on the wall, his gaze roams over my body, taking in the view. Jerk.

         A one-sided smile slides onto his face. He’s the kind of guy who uses his good looks to his advantage, the kind of guy whose sole mission in life is getting laid.

         My hand tap-tap-taps my right thigh, keeping pace with my heart, which has picked up speed as the jerk continues staring at me. I narrow my eyes at him, silently telling him to find another girl. He’s wasting his time with me.

         The men at the counter laugh.

         “Dude, that’s the first time I’ve seen you get shot down by a female,” blond guy says, still chuckling.

         Dark-haired guy flips him the finger and points to the fairy. “This would look hot on you right”—he strokes his finger against my lower back—“here.” His voice is low, the words slow and practiced.

         I jerk away and stride to the rear of the store. The other two men laugh even louder.

         “Give up, Marcus,” blond guy says. “She’s a lot smarter than your usual girls. I like her already.”

         Kathy reappears from the hallway as blond guy and tattoo guy high-five. Dark-haired guy shrugs with an easy grin and walks over to join them.

         “I’m ready for you now.” A reassuring smile curves on Kathy’s face.

         She leads me into another room and gestures to a padded chair with a moveable armrest. “Sit down, please, and remove your jacket.”

         Relieved to have escaped the guys, I make myself comfy on the chair.

         After gathering her supplies, Kathy sits on the chair next to me and examines my wrist. Her thumb brushes against the thick scars, as if she’s a fortune-teller reading my past, present, and future. Hope she has a strong stomach.

         “It’s horrible what he did to you.” She gives me the sad look, the one I witnessed too often last spring. A combination of horror, disbelief, sympathy.

         I nod, frantically figuring out a way to change the topic. I wasn’t prepared for this. No one on campus has recognized me yet as the girl whose tragedy was splashed across the front-page news…and I want to keep it that way.

         I focus on my breathing to keep from flashing back to that nightmare. To keep from thinking about what I’m doing. To keep from answering questions I’d rather avoid.

         Kathy wipes my forearm with a warm, disinfectant-smelling liquid. “I’ll warn ya now. It’s gonna hurt like hell.”

         Good. “I’ll be fine.”

  © Stina Lindenblatt 2014

Available in ebook and print on Amazon

Tell Me When and Let Me Know were originally published by a traditional publisher.