Collared(45)

Mom holds it for another second, seeing if I’ll change my mind, before stuffing it into her purse. “It will be here if you change your mind.”

Dad gives the horn a tap as he drives away, then we’re walking inside. I hear the noise coming from the reception room right away. Mom told me there’d only be a hundred people or so, but it sounds more like a thousand.

It makes me freeze in the middle of the hallway.

“Jade?” Mom stops when she realizes I’m not beside her anymore. “Is this too much too fast? You don’t have to do this. I’ll explain to everyone—I know they’ll understand.” She grabs my hand and holds it like it’s a flower that’s petals are about to fall off. “We can try this again later. You don’t have to do this.”

The doors leading to the room are closed, but the noise keeps growing.

“I want to.” I swallow. “I’ll be okay.”

“Jade . . .”

“Really, Mom, I’m good.” When I move to unfreeze my feet, they come loose.

She exhales like she doesn’t believe me, but she keeps moving with me.

“Everyone’s not going to, like, yell surprise and throw confetti, are they?”

“No, absolutely not. I asked everyone just to keep doing whatever they’re doing when you come in so you don’t feel like the center of attention.”

I catch the scent of Mom’s perfume. It’s the same one she’s worn for as long as I can remember, and for some reason, it calms me.

“Is that okay?” she asks.

A rush of air comes from my mouth. “So okay.”

The longer we walk, the longer the hallway seems to become. I feel like those double doors will always be fifty steps away no matter how long we walk.

“Have you given any more thought to the news interviews?”

My spine goes rigid. “I’m not ready.”

“The cameras, the reporters, they’re not going away until you tell your story. At least, I don’t think they will.”

“They’ll lose interest eventually.”

Mom sees right through my lie. “What some of those national networks are offering . . . it’s substantial. It could set you up for the rest of your life.”

I’ve heard the numbers. They’ve been in the seven-figure range. Instead of making the interviews more appealing, it makes them less. Almost like I’m ready to announce the exact price for whatever is left of my soul. “Mom, I don’t even know what my life is right now. I’m not exactly worried about financial planning for whatever it is.”

She wants to say more—her thoughts are that loud—but she keeps her words to herself and forces a smile. “Then let’s not worry about any of that. Let’s just enjoy tonight, okay?”

Somehow we’ve ended up in front of the ballroom doors. They’re closed still, but the noise is almost deafening. It sounds like I’ve just stuck my head into a beehive.

“Ready?” Mom’s hand drops to the handle of the door.

I take in a breath. It doesn’t reach my lungs. “Ready.”

As she opens the door, I wonder how much longer I’ll have to lie about being ready. I’m starting to believe I’ll always have to lie.

She opens the door slowly, noiselessly, like she knows I don’t want a grand entrance but a secret one. She waves me inside with a careful smile. I focus on her face as I move inside because the buzz that had been coming from in here a moment ago is fading. Fast.

The secret entrance is turning into the other kind.

This is confirmed when I make myself look around the room. It’s swollen with bodies, brimming with people dressed in nice clothes, holding their drinks as closely as they’re holding their expressions.

I feel like everyone has noticed me. Some are doing a better job of hiding it, but everyone’s stolen a glance. The noise continues to dull in volume.

Behind me, the door whispers closed as Mom steps up beside me. She waves at a few people who are motioning us over, but she stays at my side.

Smile, I tell myself. Just smile.

At least that’s a start.

I don’t recognize a single face in the sea of them rolling over me. Strangers are everywhere I look. The ones who hadn’t been outright staring are now. It isn’t my face they’re staring at though.

My fingers curl together. I wish I’d taken the scarf from Mom.

I feel it grappling at me again—that feeling of spinning out of control. The sensation of losing my grip on the weight I’m hanging onto.

This was a bad idea. The worst. If I lose it right here, all of these people won’t just have the external scars burned into their memories.

My breaths are coming harder and faster, but it isn’t oxygen I’m taking in—it’s something else. Something that cripples me instead of reviving me.

The sequins from cocktail dresses catch the overhead lights just right, bouncing lasers around the room. The smells coming from the food tables. The smells coming from the open bar. The heat pulsing over me from all of the bodies.

My vision blurs again, and just when the familiar flash of white starts to go off before I pass out, everything goes dark.

If it weren’t for the shrieks firing around the room joined with my mom’s gasp, I would assume I’d blacked out. I haven’t though. The lights have just gone off.