"Was that supposed to be Spanish?" Lila's nose wrinkles. "Because that's not the word for penis. Just for the record."

"That's rude!" Chrissy elbows her friend. "You can't just go around telling people they have sex-glow."

"Not the point." Shelby looks undaunted, smiling over at me like we're long lost pals instead of virtual strangers. "You totally had sex with Parker."

"Can we please keep in mind that this is my brother we're talking about?" Gemma grimaces. "Seriously... there's an ick factor."

"Sorry!" Shelby throws up her hands, not sounding sorry in the least. "Screw me for being excited that someone around here is getting... well... screwed. I'm just happy to hear Zoe is getting some. Any more sex-less women in a single place, stray cats are going to start following us around."

"Uh huh, I'm going to stop you right there." Lila's perfectly-plucked eyebrows rise in graceful twin arcs. "I have many problems in my life; celibacy is not one of them."

"To be honest, I get more than I can handle." Gemma's smile is wistful. "Chase makes sure of it."

"I also get it on the regular," Chrissy adds. "Well, if you consider on the regular the rare five-minute intervals that occasionally pop up when both kids are miraculously sleeping, Mark and I are both home, and one of us isn't covered in some kind of baby spittle."

We all look at her.

"I will pray for you," Lila tells her very seriously.

I snort.

"What are we talking about?" Phoebe asks, returning to the table loaded down with three different kind of cupcakes and two iced lattes balanced in her hands.

"Getting some," Gemma informs her cheerfully, snagging a chocolate cupcake off the plate.

"Oh, Nate gives it to me on the regular," Phoebe informs us happily.

"Fine! Whatever!" Shelby crosses her arms over her chest. "So, I'm the only celibate one. Fabulous."

"Have a cupcake," Lila suggests.

Shelby looks aghast. "Oh yeah, an extra five hundred calories that'll go straight to the cellulite on my ass will certainly help matters."

"Wait..." Phoebe pauses mid-bite, her large red velvet cupcake poised in the air, and glances at me. For a second she looks elated... but then her face contorts into a nauseous twist. "That means you and Parker.... Oh. I don't know whether to be happy or grossed out."

"A little of both," Gemma says around a massive mouthful of chocolate.

"That was supposed to be for Zoe," Phoebe tells her sister.

"I can't help it." Gemma licks her lips. "I'm starving today."

There's a beat of silence before they all explode. I feel utterly confused as every other woman at the table except Gemma starts bouncing in her seat and practically squealing.

Gemma looks at me and rolls her eyes.

"Dog whistle?" I ask.

She laughs. "They do this every time I eat anything in front of them. They all think I'm pregnant." She glares at her friends. "Which I am not. For the record."

The squealing stops.

"So..." Phoebe looks at me. "Guess this means you're officially part of the fam, Tink."

I blanche. "Don't get ahead of yourself. It's just sex."

Gemma looks thoughtful. "I doubt that. If it was just sex, you wouldn't be here trying to befriend his crazy family."

My mouth opens; I search for a reasonable explanation and come up empty.

"You like him!" Phoebe starts bouncing in her seat again. "This is the best day ever." She pauses. "Well, no, best day ever included Nate taking my virginity. But this is a close second."

"Wait," I protest. "Just-"

It's no use. Phoebe is on a roll.

"This is great. Parker's finally in love." She sighs happily. "Do you realize what this means?"

"Phoebe, just-"

She cuts me off. "Parker will finally settle down and stay here! He'll actually be around! Permanently!"

"That would be pretty awesome," Gemma chimes in.

"So, Tinkerbell lands the man-child." Lila shakes her head. "Impressive. I didn't think it was possible, after the nonstop bimbo parade we've had to watch for the past two decades."

My throat feels like it's closing.

What is wrong with this family?

Why do they insist on doing everything at hyper-speed?

"It almost won't be the same, without the Victoria's Secret models to mock on a regular basis," Chrissy murmurs. "Who will make us feel bad about ourselves, without Parker's stream of skanks?"

"Should we send out a memo?" Shelby wrinkles her nose. "ATTENTION, slutty Instagram girls everywhere: Parker West is officially off the market."

I can't breathe.

"This is just so exciting!" Phoebe claps. "Parker is in love. All is right in the world."

"It's a Christmas miracle," Lila drawls.

"Do you think-"

My hands slam down on the tabletop, cutting off Gemma's statement.

"STOP!" I yell, heart pounding too fast. Everyone looks at me with alarm, including the two couples at other tables across the cafe.

"Sorry," I say much more softly. "But please... just stop. You don't understand." I swallow hard. "Parker and I haven't even talked about this. For all I know, he's leaving tomorrow."

Phoebe's face contorts into a concerned mask. "Oh, Zoe, I'm sure-"

"I'm sorry." I push back my seat and rise to my feet. "You all seem very nice. But don't pin all your hopes and dreams on me for keeping your brother around. As far as I know, him dating me, seeing how fucked up I am? That could be the thing that makes him leave here for good."

With that, I turn and walk out - away from the women who've offered me their friendship, away from the first real shot I've ever had at a female support system, away from something that, for all intents and purposes, would be a good thing. A great thing, even.

The saddest part is, as I let the cafe door click closed at my back, I know it's fucked up.

I know I'm fucked up.

But recognizing a problem and actually changing it are two entirely different beasts.

I wander down the street, ignoring the buzzing of my phone and feeling more alone than I have in a very long time.

See, a tiny voice whispers at the back of my mind. This is what happens when you let people in. It gives them power over you.

You're better off without them.

A lone wolf.

Retracting your claws and playing nice for a day doesn't make you one of the dogs. You're just as dangerous as you've always been.

They don't need someone like you in their lives.

No one does.

As hard as I try to drown out that voice, I can't seem to muffle it as I walk through the park toward my apartment, eyes unseeing and feet on auto-pilot.

Maybe that voice is right.

Maybe I'm better off alone.

15.

The Flashback

Sometime during my walk home, the skies open up.

It's just a drizzle, at first, but it quickly turns to a downpour and before I know it, I'm soaked through from the Toms on my feet to the heavy mane of my hair, dripping steadily down my back.

Boston isn't a big city - that's one of the things I love about it. No matter where you are or where you need to go, for the most part you can get around on foot in less than an hour.

Somehow, I turn what should be a twenty-five-minute walk through downtown into a four-hour trek.

I wander alone through the streets - cold, wet, shivering - until I've walked from the North End down through Back Bay, over the foot bridge to Seaport. By the time I finally circle back to my neighborhood, the temperature has dropped with the sunset, turning rain to sleet and sleet to snow.

I trudge through a slushy puddle, barely feeling the icy water through my thin shoes. Rounding a corner, my building comes into view, its sagging profile dimly illuminated by snow-covered street lamps.

There's an edge of panic in my thoughts.

Maybe it's the timing, maybe it's the lonely feeling inside my gut, maybe it's the damn snow falling on a street the day before the anniversary of my parents' murder. I don't know, exactly. But paranoia settles over me as flurries coat the shoulders of my jacket. Whispers from the back of my mind say I'm being followed, stalked by some unseen predator.

The thoughts are absurd - every time I glance back, I'm alone on the desolate streets. No one is out in this weather. Especially in my neighborhood.

Pull yourself together.

When I finally reach my door, I'm shaking from more than just the cold. My mind feels as numb as my frozen body. I'm reaching for the entry panel to punch in the security code, willing my blue fingers to cooperate, when something slams into me from behind.

Hard.

I'm not a big woman. Most people would call me petite, and they'd be right. It doesn't take much force to lift me or send me flying. So I know it's intentional when a palm lodges between my shoulder blades and shoves me up against the brick wall of my building like a bug against a windshield.

The impact forces all the air from my lungs. My scream comes out as a rasp, barely echoing in the snow-dampened air. Hauling in a breath, I try again but a giant hand clamps over my mouth and muffles my cries before any sound escapes.

"Shut up," a deep, unfamiliar voice growls by my ear.

I feel my eyes moving frantically inside their sockets, whites flashing with fear as his body presses into my back. I'm flattened so tight I can barely draw a breath through my nose. His grip has constricted all air flow and I feel myself starting to get light-headed, the longer I go without a proper breath.

I struggle against his hold, but it's no use. My thrashing limbs are no match for the strength in his. He's too strong.

My struggles cease completely when I feel the razor-sharp edge of a knife press into the hollow point at my throat. The blade cuts into the thin skin at my jugular, precariously close to my carotid. The slightest slip and I'll bleed out into the snow.

Just like my parents.

The pressure increases fractionally, slicing into my flesh, and I feel a stream of warmth against my chilled skin as a rivulet of blood starts to drip down my neck, into the collar of my jacket.

If I could speak, I'd tell him to take anything. Everything.

Money.

Phone.

Purse.

Laptop.

Anything.