From Yesterday Read Free

the wrongness of me standing in front of a mirror with a bright red NICOLE lipsticked over it and brushing my hair that is wet from a shower. It doesn't stop me from doing so. I yank the comb through my chin-length hair repeatedly and with force, ignoring the angry throb of the gash over my right eyebrow. I must have hit my forehead on the counter when I went down. Perfect. That will go really well with the scar on the same side on my lower lip.
    I place my comb on top of the sink and look in the top left drawer for a bandage. There is a box of them next to some antibiotic ointment. Setting my hands on top of the counter, I lean forward and stare at myself in a piece of the mirror that isn't marked up. The image that reflects back at me is eerily similar to the one I saw a few years ago, after that night. The only thing different is the length of my hair. I have spent a great deal of time trying to erase that girl from existence, but no matter how hard I try, the old me keeps finding her way back to trip me up.
    Reality smacks me in the face as I stand here feeling sorry for myself. Between the long shower I took and the time I spent getting dressed, I have been all alone in an apartment that someone had to have broken into. I have to get out of here.
    I hurry to finish dressing. Shorts and a bra might be acceptable in South Beach, but I'm not going to an overpriced night club that is half an hour away but takes almost double that in traffic. Plus, I'm not skanky so I'll wear a real top. Minimal make up; just some mascara and gloss over a touch of concealer for the lip scar. I don't need anyone thinking I'm some kind of battered woman and attracting unwanted attention. There is little I can do about the fresh cut above the eye, though, so the flesh-colored bandage will have to do.
    Before I'm out the door, I grab a can of pepper spray and a switchblade to keep in my purse. Just in case.
    I'm locking my door when I hear an unfamiliar voice from down the hall.
    "Hi."
    I tense up, even though the voice is female, and turn to look while keeping one hand on my pepper spray. A pretty redhead, mid to late 30s I'd guess, is standing in front of the apartment two doors down from mine. She's carrying several grocery bags. I relax. She looks non-threatening. Not like a person who just vandalized my bathroom and violated my space, but that doesn't make her a source of comfort either. I try to avoid friendly people. I don't need a friend. I smile at her and head for the elevator. Before I make it there, I hear the unmistakable sound of groceries hitting the floor, followed by a few choice expletives from the woman. I sigh. This is not my day.
    "Let me help you," I tell her as I snatch a stray orange from the floor.
    "Thank you. I shouldn't have tried to carry so much, but I just moved in and I didn't know if there was a cart or something downstairs."
    "The valet has one. Next time, just let them help you out."
    She nods. We finish gathering the stuff that fell on the floor and I place it in the bags that didn't rip as she unlocks her door. If her unit is the same layout as mine, the kitchen will be near the entrance off of the foyer. I can set her bags down quickly and leave.
    "Please come in. I really appreciate your help."
    I'm right about the layout of her place and I have the stuff on the breakfast bar in no time. Even though there are several boxes still unpacked in here, I can't help but notice that her place looks much more lived-in than mine. It's warm and inviting. "No problem."
    She extends her hand to me. "I'm Elyse. Nice to meet you."
    I shake her hand. "Paige."
    "Well, Paige. I'm about to start dinner for my fiance and myself. He should be home in an hour or so. Obviously I have plenty of food. Can I invite you to join us?"
    "I wish I could, but I'm on my way to the library to meet a classmate," I lie.
    Her face falls slightly. "That's too bad. We moved here only a few days ago from Indiana. My fiance got a great promotion,but