Page 1 of Find Me

PROLOGUE

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The beat of the music reverberates inside of my chest as my body moves in sync with those around me. I’m inside of a sea of people, an ocean of sweaty bodies, groping hands, and flashing lights. Smoke thickens the air around me, and the glow of blacklights adds a purple hue to my skin. I can’t help but feel a wave of excitement wash over me at the idea of melting into the crowd, swaying my hips to the beat of the music, and forgetting my problems, at least for tonight.

Clubs have never been my go-to place to let loose, and I’d much rather spend my time at home with a paintbrush in hand, working on my next piece. But even though I know I don’t fit in here, with flecks of paint still in my hair and clothes that are just old enough to be out of style, I somehow feel like I belong. I know I’m good at blending in, and even better at dancing with people I don’t even know.

Another drink is placed in my hand, and just like the four before it, it’s not long before the glass is empty and I’m on another level of tipsy. I manage to find my friend Sam, who I’m now seeing two of thanks to the last shot of tequila I did, and we dance together, letting the stress of the last two weeks melt away.

It’s not long before I’m stumbling up to the bar to get another drink, anything to help me let loose. It’s not every day that I decide to drop out of law school and give up on my father’s dreams of me becoming the next bigshot lawyer in the family. Today was the day I finally told him. Well, kind of. I sent him an email and am now waiting for all hell to break loose once he gets it. And while I wait for his response, I’m here, forgetting my problems and trying to convince myself that I made the right choice.

I turn around from the bar, my drink in hand, before colliding with a tall, dark-haired man. “Oh, sorry,” I say, my words barely audible above the blaring music. A hand with a rose tattoo grabs my wrist to steady me, and I look up at him, meeting his gaze. Suddenly, my drunken haze clears, and all I can do is stare at him. His eyes are otherworldly, and his jacket is unzipped, revealing a black T-shirt that fits him like a glove. He looks like he walked straight out of a movie, and I can’t help but feel drawn to him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and smooth. I think he has an accent, but I’m too drunk to place it on my own, and too embarrassed to ask.

I nod, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” I repeat again, not wanting to come off as rude and not sure what else to say. “I didn’t mean to bump into you.” Something tells me my words are coming across as more slurred than I intend.

He chuckles, the sound deep and rumbling. “You’re alright. It’s a crowded place.”

I smile, feeling my hand still in his grip, electricity sparking between us. “I’m Evi,” I say, wanting to somehow connect with him.

“Nice to meet you,” he responds, and I can’t help but feel sparks run down my spine at the sound of his voice.

We stand here for a moment, and even though neither of us speaks, the air between us is charged.

“I’d offer to buy you a drink, but you’re already holding one,” he says, a playful twinkle in his eyes.

I smile sheepishly and find myself trying to explain that I don’t usually drink this much, but I’m on a mission to let loose and forget everything in my life for a few hours, my words all jumbling together.

“We’ve all been there,” he says with a wink, his other hand delicately brushing a piece of my hair out of my face while his eyes seem to look inside of me. I must be more drunk than I realize because I swear I can feel the electricity between us, and I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like if his hands were touching other parts of me. I take a sip of my drink, and as the amber liquid burns my throat and causes my eyes to water, I realize how hard I’m trying to fight off the double vision and foggy head that’s enveloping me.

“I shouldn’t have had so much to drink…” I trail off, trying desperately to fight the blackout that I know is inevitable. My eyes close, and I feel him still holding my hand as I breathe in his scent, leather mixed with warm citrus. Then, my world goes black.

*

My eyes open slowly, trying to focus on the world around me. The room is spinning, my head is pounding, and with each shallow breath I take, nausea threatens to overwhelm me. I focus on steadying my breathing as I attempt to roll over, my body screaming in protest at even the smallest of movements. As hungover as I feel, relief sweeps over me as I realize I’m in my bed, but the feeling is short-lived as I realize I have no memory of how I got here. I lay in bed trying—and failing—to piece together the events of last night until the need for water overrides my desire to stay curled up, hidden beneath the sanctuary of my duvet. My body groans as I sit up, and it takes everything to calm the churning of my stomach and the throbbing in my head as I assess the damage from the night before.

I glance around my room before looking at myself, and I release a breath I didn’t even know I was holding as I realize I’m here alone and nothing seems out of place. That is until I realize what I’m wearing. Confusion sweeps over me as I realize I’m in a hideous matching flannel pajama set, a gift from my stepmother two Christmases ago that has never seen the light of day until now. I look around my room again and find my outfit from last night sitting neatly in my laundry basket. Alarm bells go off in my head as I’m not one to usually wear pajamas, preferring to sleep in my underwear or an oversized T-shirt, and I am definitely not one to wear clothes that my grandmother would consider fashionable. My heart starts to beat faster as I try to figure out what happened last night, and how exactly I ended up in these pajamas.

I make my way to the bathroom, my thoughts swirling as my feet drag on the floor beneath me. My hands are shaky as I turn on the tap, desperate for water to wash away the tacky feeling in my mouth. The cold water feels like a breath of life, the relief it brings me almost instantaneous, and I feel slightly more human again as the fogginess of my hangover starts to dissipate.

I wander aimlessly around my room as I try to piece together the events of last night. Vague images slowly creep into my head, reminding me of smoke-filled air, dancing with strangers, divine eyes, and tattooed hands holding mine. I spot a little piece of paper folded neatly on my dresser and my breath hitches as I realize I never put it there. Butterflies make their way into my chest as I tentatively pick it up and am met with a surprisingly elegant scrawl, ‘sweet dreams love’ it reads. My heart pounds in my chest as I read it over and over again, and something deep within me stirs.

I jump as a knock at my door interrupts my thoughts. My apartment is old, and the floorboards creak beneath my weight as I make my way downstairs toward the front door. It’s a loft apartment with a small kitchen and living room on the main floor, and my bedroom and bathroom upstairs. The exposed brick walls and wooden floors give the place a rustic feel, and my artwork scattered throughout makes it feel like home. I’ve been painting since I was little, and the evidence is all over my apartment. Finished paintings hang on the walls, blank canvases are stacked in every corner, multicolored speckles of paint decorate the floor, and my kitchen sink is full of dirty brushes.

I answer the front door to find Sam standing there, coffees in hand and a concerned look on her face.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice laced with worry.

I shake my head. “Last night is a bit of a blur. I remember dancing with you and then going to get drinks before talking to someone for a bit. What else happened?”

Sam’s expression softens. “Yeah, we were having a really good time… well, until you disappeared.”

I feel a knot form in my stomach. “What do you mean disappeared?”

Sam hesitates before answering. “You were dancing with some guy, and then he led you outside. I followed you, but by the time I got out there, you were gone. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. I was worried sick until you texted me that you got home okay.”

I feel a pang of guilt as I realize I abandoned her in the middle of a packed club downtown. She must have been so worried about me, not knowing where I was. I make a silent pact with myself to never drink this much again as I try to find any memory of texting her.

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