Bliss. Fear. Love. Desire. Loneliness—most of all loneliness.

Every one of my emotions is trapped in one large box.

After examining each painting, I place them back and open the second box, which holds blank canvases, paintbrushes, and wooden pieces that, once placed together, create an easel. The fleshy pads of my fingers graze along the bristles of the brushes and tingle with the desire to pick one up and start again. But I can’t. Dr. Rosario thinks I’m ready to start painting again, but there’s something within me that lurches every time I think about it. Art brings out strong feelings for me, feelings that I’m not ready to face. I decide to hold off and put the boxes away for now.

As if on autopilot, I find myself turning around and locking my bedroom door behind me.

In my room I’m safe.

With my headphones plugged into my ears and my music blasting, I’m away from everyone and everything, in a place where I can forget the world.

chapter 2

Jenna

Today is a good day.

I woke up feeling better. Days like this I feel brave. Brave enough to conquer the world—even from inside my room, which is where I spend most of my time. I’m not sure if it’s the nightmare-free sleep or the fact that I’m able to paint again that has me feeling slightly optimistic today. Paint. I’m tempted to glide a brush along canvas, but I can’t fully find the inspiration to go for it. Before, I used painting as way to cope with my feelings; now, I’m just afraid.

Fear is one of my most battled emotions. Fear of the unknown, of never knowing where each step I take will lead, terrifies me. For others it’s a rush, a thrill—the beauty of taking risks. For me, a risk can ruin me. It’s the reason why I grapple with every decision I make, constantly fearful that any and every choice will affect my life for the worse. To avoid triggers and potentially damning consequences, I keep hidden, locked behind my door.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll find some more courage. But for now, I’ll continue to sit by the window with my legs comfortably crossed, watching the pool boy snatch debris with an extended net. My eyes scan over his sweat-dripping body as he reaches his arms out and slowly sways the mesh from side-to-side, just along the top of the clear water. His biceps flex as he taps the edge of the net along the concrete, dumping the debris aside.

Swish. Tap.

Swish. Tap.

Swish. Tap.

I’m not sure why I find this to be so very entertaining, but it’s the highlight of my morning—which proves just how lame my life actually is.

The pool boy is making my life a bit more interesting by adding chemicals to the water when my phone rings.

“Hello?” I answer, not bothering to check who’s calling.

“Hey, slut. What are the plans for today?”

It’s Charlie. She’s the person most people would call my best friend. She was originally my sister’s BFF and more like a second big sister to me, but after Brooke’s death, Charlie and I bonded. She loved Brooke like a sister; no secrets were left unsaid between the two of them. At first, after Brooke was gone, I tried to keep my distance from Charlie. I didn’t want to be bothered by anyone, especially not someone who reminded me so much of Brooke. But Charlie was persistent. She constantly called me and showed up to my home uninvited. It was quite annoying at first, but eventually I gave up and allowed her in.

Charlie has some interesting traits: she’s blunt, has a great sense of humor, and uses profanity more than any other person I know. To top it off, Charlie has a very bad habit of taking any and all conversation and making it about sex. And I’m not just talking about sex in the general sense; she goes as far as making sure her hoo-ha is brought into the conversation somehow. Yep, that’s Charlie. But you learn to love her—or hate her as I do eighty percent of the time. We have a love-hate relationship.

“Hey, Charlie.” I lean my forehead against the window, and my skin cools at the contact. “I’m thinking of a lounge day. Read by the pool and relax.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll be over in a few hours,” she invites herself, as always. Charlie huffs through the speaker, adding, “I have to take Nick to the mall. You know, big sister duties and all.”

Charlie is the eldest of four. She’s always towing around her little brothers and sister. “Okay. See you later,” I respond.

“’Kay, bye!”

* * *

In my black bikini, cover-up, and flip-flops, I tread down the grand spiral staircase. The front door swings open just as I reach the bottom step. My father walks in with his cell glued to his ear. It’s pretty common to see him like this: cell in hand—usually crammed between his head and his shoulder—making deals, constantly on the go. At the edge of the staircase, I lean against the railing and study him as long as I can before he realizes I’m watching.

Dad shuts the door with his foot as his rich, deep voice echoes through the foyer, “Stanley, I don’t care what it takes to seal the deal. We’ve been working on this account for over a year. If Mr. Whitman wants a penthouse, give him a fucking penthouse.” His face is etched with irritation as he places his suitcase on the marble floor by his office door.

I continue to admire him silently. Gregory McDaniel is a man who exudes power. His title as CEO of The McDaniel Corporation speaks for itself. The moment my father enters a room, everyone and everything in it instantly gets smaller, dwarfed by his mere presence. He may frighten others, but never have I seen my father as anything but that—my dad. With my mother or me, the tough businessman and CEO instantly turns into a big pile of mush. Just as he does right now, when his eyes scan the foyer and meet mine. His mouth twitches into a huge smile. “Stanley, just take care of it,” he says sternly as he winks and walks my way.

“Hi, Daddy.”

He leans in and presses his lips to my forehead. “Hello, beautiful. Going for a swim, I see.” His arm finds its way around my shoulder and he pulls me in close, guiding me as we walk together.

“Yes. Would you like to join me?”

“Sorry, sweetheart, I have a conference call in five minutes and then a hot date tonight.” He winks.

I smile, knowing his hot date is indeed my mother. Regardless of what others interpret my parents’ relationship to be, I’ve only ever seen one thing between them: love. That’s one of the things I love most about my father—the love he has for her. The way he looks at her and the small, intimate gestures he manages with ease, all proves how much he loves her. And as much as my mother and I can’t see eye-to-eye ninety percent of the time, I appreciate the love she has for him too. Love like theirs is rare; it happens once in a lifetime. It’s the kind of love others envy.

“Jenna, what is this?” my father asks. My gaze follows his pointed finger to the round mahogany table in the center of our foyer. Beside the large pear-shaped vase, filled with fresh long-stemmed yellow roses, is a medium-sized black toolbox with a silver inscription: Reed Construction.

“Oh, that belongs to the contractor who’s going to be working on the guesthouse. They must’ve left it behind after Mom and I met with them yesterday.”

“Very well.” He kisses me on the cheek and turns to enter his office. “Have a good swim, sweetheart.”

* * *

Two hours. That’s how long it takes for my fingertips to wrinkle like tiny prunes. I’m drained from repeatedly swimming laps. It’s time to call it quits. Although the sun has set, the air is still muggy, and I pull myself out regretfully, wishing I could stay in the cool water a little while longer. My phone blinks on top of the towel, but I ignore it after seeing that it’s a missed call from my mother, probably checking in to see if I burned the house down. I’m sure of it.

I toss my phone aside, grab the towel, and begin drying myself off. I brush the towel over my shoulder and biceps and down toward my wrist. My wrist. My naked wrist. The bracelet is gone.

Every muscle and nerve in my body grows raw as I panic. I drop the towel and search the lounge chair anxiously. Nothing. My eyes scan over the cobblestone patio around me. Nothing. I trace my steps back to the edge of the pool. Nothing. Where can it be? I need that bracelet.

I need it.

I need it.

I need it!

I’m going to cry; my vision turns hazy as my lungs tighten in anticipation.

An item glistening at the bottom of the pool catches my attention and I blink my vision clear. I can’t make out what it is, but there’s something there. Without another thought, I dive in. My hips and legs sway as I speed down to the bottom. After a few seconds, I reach it, but it’s just a damn penny. A penny. I continue to search around, but there’s nothing else down here. I want to scream.

My lungs burn, and I can’t be certain if it’s my rage or a lack of oxygen causing the pain. How could I be so damn careless? As my mind races, my legs grow increasingly numb. Terror is setting in. I’m rapidly losing the ability to swim back up to the surface. If I could breathe, I’d be hyperventilating right now. I’m having a meltdown underwater. I can feel it; I’m about to break. I pull my legs into my chest and wrap my arms around them tightly. I wish I could say this is the first time I’ve been in this situation, but it’s not. I know all too well what I need to do to calm myself down and get the hell out of here. With my eyes firmly shut, I try to focus on something blissful as I hold my breath. The silence beneath the water is soothing, peaceful even. Down here, there are no voices haunting my thoughts.