At the age of sixteen, the freezing rain chills the doorway as I track mud into Mel's living room. My once red windbreaker was torn and stained brown. I knew that Mel would demand to know what happened, but I thought I could dey it.

  "Baby? What's going on?" She wasn't asking as she stared directly into my soul from her recliner. She had fire in her eyes and every second burned into my soul.

  "It's nothing. I just need a shower." My shaggy brown hair hides my shame as I attempt to B-line for the bathroom. With unnatural speed, or maybe my ck of attention, she blocks my path and looks up to me. Despite how filthy I am, my bruises and bck eye can never escape Mel's notice.

  "No, this is not right. No one is going to beat up on my kid! Who are these boys? You have to tell me. If we don't do anything about it-"

  "They weren't boys!" I yell with flooded eyes. My chest colpses into my heart and I feel it break. I curl onto the floor and stain the carpet in front of the bathroom. Exhaustion takes hold and my body is flooded with pain. My face stings, my groin aches, my skin is bruised and cold.

  "Baby?" Mel sits with me and strokes my hair out of my face. She traces a calming pattern on my shoulders as she removes my jacket. "What happened?" She presses me into her shoulder and I feel her kindness radiate.

  After I catch my breath, I'm able to expin through sobs how a group of girls followed me on my walk home. Calling me an imposter and a pervert. I tried to ignore them but they just got louder and nastier until they worked together to knock me to the ground and kicked me over and over.

  "It's my fault. I shouldn't have said anything. Robbie can't keep his mouth fucking shut." I punch my leg in frustration and Mel grabs my wrist.

  "What did you say to him?" Mel traced circles and stars into my palm and my sobs slowly subside.

  "I told him that I didn't feel like a boy. That I wasn't a girl, but I wanted to be." I quietly cry and Mel just holds me tightly.

  "Boy, girl, whatever you are, you're my kid." She hugs me and guides a wide circle between my shoulder bdes. "Listen to me. You're mine, no matter what. No one can touch that fire in you." She rubs slow, calming circles on my back. "They can't take what's yours." My chest expands, and for a brief moment, I feel the weight of Mel's words settle deep within me.

  My breath slows, and my tears stop as I take comfort in the warmth of her presence. But just as the pain begins to recede, a quiet ache remains at the edges of my thoughts, a reminder of everything I've yet to fully understand about myself. My heart flutters with a tentative grin, and I look up at Mel, her gentle touch still lingering on my shoulder.

  "Now take your time and use up all the hot water. Tomorrow I'm calling the school and never letting this happen to you again." I hold back the return of tears.

  "Is she crying?"

  Mike's voice punches through the haze, distant and echoing. Laughter, too much noise, too much movement. My head is swimming, but my body is pnted here, legs folded in the grass.

  "She's a radiating star of stress. She probably could use a good cry." I could feel Molly's fingers making zig-zag patterns on my palm.

  "Sorry, I zoned out for a sec. I'm ok." I wipe my eyes. "How long was I out?" I stumble to my feet and my knees wobble unsteadily.

  "Just a moment. Sorry this stuff hits you hard before it mellows out." Molly expins as she pulls the vase from my p. After taking a pull for herself, she passes the water pipe around again.

  I don't have to look to know Molly's watching me. A weight pressing against my skin, prying, searching. When I finally meet her eyes, something flickers there. Not confusion. Something else. It makes my stomach twist. I take a deep breath and the brain fog waves over my body and I at st start to rex.

  I watch the group pass the vase and ugh in conversation that I hardly pay attention to. A bck haired girl in a punk's battle jacket flirts with a girl in grey tights and a hoodie from a community college in Tennessee.

  A lumberjack of a man who may be younger than his beard implies, listens intently to Mike as he rambles something about a high protein fad diet. Molly pretends to not stare, but her intense focus is tactile on my skin. The silence ages before Molly speaks another word.

  "Sooo... Who's Mel?"

  Her voice is light, but the weight of her question settles over me like a stone. My body tenses before I can stop it.

  "M-my aunt," I stammer, too fast. My tongue feels thick. "Why?"

  "You said you loved her before you woke up." She tilts her head, slow and deliberate, eyes half-lidded like she's watching something unfold. "Didn't know if I should be jealous."A joke. I think. But her fingers trace zy patterns over my palm. Zigzags and stars sting like the gentlest tattoo needle. I should pull away, but I don't.

  The group is still talking, drinking, passing the pipe. But Molly is only focused on me.

  "Don't py games with me," I murmur. The words sound steadier than I feel.She smiles, slow and knowing. "Who says I py games? I want you."Her fingers travel up my wrist, feather-light. My pulse betrays me. She takes my chin and commands my lips to her's.

  My heart is a sledgehammer and my breath is an earthquake. I return the kiss with a mix of anxious tenderness and something raw, a desperation that surprises me. My mind spins. What am I doing? Is this really me? My heart hammers in my chest, and for a moment, the world falls away. As the kiss breaks and I gasp for air, I feel a flush creep up my neck. What the hell was that? I can't tell if I want more or if I want to pull away.

  "I'm sorry. I just didn't expect that. You do that to all the girls you bum lighters off of?" I look around at the circle and feel the oppression of their attention. Their smirks and rexed posture are unreadable. How long have we been out here? How much weed have I smoked? When did the guests in the house leave? Molly coos to me and traces my hand.

  "Maybe, we can continue that ter." I notice the repetition of the pattern her fingers follow on my palm. A near perfect ten pointed star. Perhaps it's just a neurological quirk for comfort. But somehow, this feels more intentional than when my leg shakes when I'm sitting too long. Who is this girl?

  "Alice, do you have my meds?" Molly calls out to the punk in the battle jacket. Alice pulls out an unmarked pharmacy bottle full of unfamiliar white capsules. Molly catches the bottle with skill and opens the bottle to inspect the contents.

  "I usually don't share on the first date, but I think you can handle it." Date? This is moving fast but I can't help wanting this connection.The pstic pill bottle is cold in my palm.Molly passes them out like candy. Five small capsules into waiting hands, one after another. The others take them without question, heads tilting back, throats swallowing.

  My fingers hover over my dose.

  "What is it?" I ask.

  Molly doesn't answer immediately. She watches me, measuring, waiting to see what I'll do first. Then, she pops one into her own mouth and smiles. "It just helps you see things clearly."

  See things.

  My stomach knots. I don't trust her. I barely know her. But the warmth of her fingers on my wrist, the way she pulled me in, the way she said she wanted me.

  Don't do it.

  I could leave. Walk away. Go back to the van.

  And then what? Be alone again?

  My throat is dry. My fingers tighten around the pills.

  I swallow them.

  The high settles over me, warm and heavy.

  But something else stirs beneath it.

  At first, I think it's just the drugs. My vision blurs at the edges, colors deepening, the firelight stretching too long into the dark. My skin feels too tight. My breath is too loud.

  A shape shifts at the tree line.

  Death stares me down and I freeze.