"What happened to that lady?" a little girl whispers, not so quietly to her Mom. Her eyes are large and wide as she swings on the seat she's stood next to; to and fro, unhindered by the movements of the bus slowing and accelerating.

"I don't know, sweetie," her Mom replies as I shift, angling myself away towards the window. I lean my head against the cool glass, city streets passing by. I can see in the reflection she's staring as she speculates. "Sometimes people get hurt."

I kind of want to turn to her daughter and tell her life is hard sometimes, and it can hurt, and people can hurt you even when you thought they never could, in ways you didn't even think of.

I blink a tear away.

I'm so sick of crying.

It takes three buses to get to Tara's, trying desperately to hold it together, trying not to lose it completely in public. Three buses of people seeing my bruised face and busted hand and averting their eyes like I have some sort of disease. Except for the little girl, who stares brazenly until her stop, the only one who asked the question people must be thinking. Trust kids for their honesty. Adults? Fuck 'em.

I fled from the apartment a couple of the letters stuffed in my bag intending to go to the diner and confront Luke. Halfway there, I changed my mind. There's no explanation that'll be good enough. Not this time. This is just… too much.

I tried ringing Charlotte. She didn't answer, and I wasn't expecting her to, not really. Not after ignoring all my other texts and calls for the last week. It crushes me more than I want to admit. I miss her, badly. But I kind of get it.

I rang Tara instead, and she told me to come over, no hesitation, no questions asked. So with only the clothes on my back, I have. Drained and weary, climbing up the steps to her house, a light drizzle misting my face.

"Hey babe, how've you been?" she says, throwing a thin arm around me and bringing me close as soon as the door closes behind her. She's upbeat today, smelling sugary sickly sweet. She studies my puffy eyes and face for a minute with pupils too dilated to be sober. "Silly question. Fuck him, babe! Fuck all of 'em."

"Thanks for this," I say moving awkwardly into the small hall, glad to see it's not anywhere near as bad as it was a few weeks ago.

Tara's talking but I can't focus. Her mouth moving too fast. Shaking myself a little, I try to pay attention as she shows me the tiny spare room next to the kitchen. It only has a single bed in it but it's better than nothing at this point.

Anything is better than nothing at this point.

"Wanna talk about it?" she says, running a hand down my arm, consolingly.

I sit down on the bed heavily, pushing my feet into the faded pink carpet before puffing out my cheeks and staring at the ceiling, feeling strangely numb.

"I found letters today…" I swallow thickly, trying not to cry. "There were… loans, credit cards... all in my name. But I - I didn't take them out. Like thousands of dollars of debt all in my name."

"What? Are you bein' serious?" Her mouth falls open, eyebrows raised high. "Do you… was it- Luke?"

I raise my shoulders in a shrug. "Who else could it be?"

She's quiet for a minute.

"If that's true, babe, if he's done that - that's, like, fraud. He could go down for a long time for that. Are you sure you didn't—"

"There's nothing in my name. I don't even have a bank account. He literally dealt with everything."

She pauses again. "How much?"

"Like, fifty grand in total, maybe more."

She sinks down on the bed next to me. "Ho-ly shit." Then she asks what my mind has been screaming. "Where is it? What's- what's he done with it?"

"I don't know. I mean I haven't-" I pull at my hair, rubbing my face. "I haven't seen a friggin' dime of it. How the fuck could he do this to me? How could I not know?"

We're silent for ages until she slides her hand over mine and gives it a firm squeeze.

"He really is the biggest prick," she announces suddenly and then pulls me up. "You need a drink. Alcohol solves everything."

Turns out, vodka is the Band-Aid I never knew I needed. She fixes me shots, all out of mixers and too lazy to go to the local 7-Eleven for Coke. The first two are disgusting and I balk as they trail a fire down my throat and hit my empty stomach, unable to contain the shudder that rips through me.

After that first couple though, I'm a pro.

It goes down easy.

So fucking easy.

We lament our shitty choice of men in front of trash on TV until we're laughing and crying in equal measure, my phone long dead. I don't want to turn it on. Luke will know by now that I know and I don't doubt he'll be blowing it up again.

Fleetingly I think of Miles and the last message he sent, wondering whether he'll worry if I don't respond for a while. He's been checking in every now and then and it never fails to send a little thrill through me, even though I've had to change his name in my phone, just in case Luke decided to check. Another guy texting me? He'd flip.

Tara distracts me every time I start to go quiet and it works to a point. She's one of those people with a hundred stories to tell; always one for every situation. She chats so much garbage though sometimes I have a hard time believing her.

"My worst lap dancing experience was when I was—actually, no. The worst was the first month I started," she tells me, hands flapping as she tries to calm herself down through fits of laughter. "I was just doin' my thing, y'know, doing a little bit of heavy grindin' on this guy. One of those business types and like, he was really into it, unti—" She chokes on laughter, tears in her eyes. "Until - until I got off his lap and realised I'd started my freakin' period! The whole front of his suit pants were stained with my vaj blood, I mean… I was totally mortified."

"Oh, my God," I gasp trying to breathe, hands clutching my numb face in horror. "Oh, my God no!"

She's on her feet, jumping up and down excitedly.

"That's it! Maybe I can fix you up with a job at the club," she grabs at my arm excitedly. "It pays good, you'd have all them loans paid off in no time!"

"Uh - no way! Absolutely. No. Fucking. Way! I don't even dance," I say, reaching for the bottle and tipping it up, the fire now a dull singe. "And, like, why should I pay it off? I didn't take out any of that shit."

"No - no - no, you're wrong, " Tara insists diving for the remote, unsteady on her feet. "I've seen you dance, bitch. You got natural rhythm. Look - looook," she slurs, "I earn, like, a thousand dollars at the weekends most weekends, easy. More sometimes."

She flicks through the channels until she finds a music one, turning up the volume and taking the bottle from me.

I'm stunned, gaping at her. "A thousand dollars a weekend? Are you kidding me?"

"No, babe. And you've got that whole vibe going on." Her hands flutter in the air as she gestures at me.

"What?"

"The innocent, sexy vibe. But like, you know, underneath it all, you're a minx. Guys totally dig that."

I shake my head, smiling at her. "You're blind."

She snorts. "No, honey, I'm blonde. Trust, you're way hotter than some of those bitches I work with. Once you're, y'know not banged up, anyways. Think about it, babe. It would be so much fun workin' together!"

We end up half-clothed, dancing around her living room until stupid o'clock, screaming the lyrics to The Killers and Justin Timberlake at the top of our lungs. Cry Me a River never sounded so good.

Tara thinks it's real funny to almost kill the pizza delivery boy by answering the door topless, and I can do nothing but cackle in the background at his shock-awed face. It feels good. I feel good, and it's almost... so almost enough to make me forget everything.

Almost.

In the back of my mind, I'm worried about Luke finding me here; words whispered against my skin; words that buzz around my fuzzy brain.

Don't you ever leave me again.

It wasn't a plea.

It was a warning.

He doesn't know where Tara lives though, so I'm hoping I'll be OK. I'm hoping he won't find me here because God only knows what he'd do if he did.

Tara passes out before me, and I stay up until the birds are singing, sitting on the back step as the world slowly unhides itself, cold morning air fresh on my face. I know I'm too drunk when I light the wrong end of my cigarette, the filter melting, a harsh burning smell invading my nostrils to the point it makes me throw up into overgrown weeds by the steps.

Stumbling into the house, I flop face down onto the little single bed, the whole world spinning rapidly underneath me until I lose myself in blackness.

***

We weave in and out of people, my fingers tightly laced with Tara's. The music is loud, people shouting and laughing, drinking and doping themselves up. It's a Saturday night and we're at Jenna's. It's Tara's only Saturday off this month, and she's on a mission to find Joey and show him what he's missing.

If he's even here.

Jenna's parties are always something, she's a trust fund baby or something like that; throwing a party once or twice a month just because why the hell not?

I don't really talk to her much; she doesn't have time for me: I'm not her type of friend. Not rich, pretty, or popular enough. Not to say she doesn't acknowledge me, but it's just small talk.

It's been just over a week since I walked out of our apartment and I'd be lying if I said I was happy about being here tonight. I'm here for Tara though, after she begged me to come.

"Ah, did you see? Joey's here," Tara whines, passing me a bottle of beer and tossing back her blonde hair. "How do I look?" She pouts slick pink lips at me.

"Gorgeous."

It's the truth.

I glance down at myself, outfit as black as my mood. I'm still amazed I've managed to fit into some of Tara's stuff; a black strappy lace bustier, delicate stitched in cups pushing my tits together, and an equally black denim skirt of hers she nagged me to try on. Granted, I had to lie down to do the skirt up but I know this means I've lost weight. That's what emotional distress does for you, I guess.

Tara watches Joey for a while from across the room. He's not noticed her, engrossed in conversation with some guys I recognize but can't put names to.

"Shall I go talk to him for you?" I say wanting to make good on my promise from weeks ago.

"Would you?" she says, wide-eyed and pleading.

"Yeah, of course. I said I would, didn't I?"

She flings her arms around my neck.

"You're the best." She kisses my cheek and I slowly edge away from her, skirting around groups of people, trying not to step on anyone's toes.

Joey thankfully looks up at me when I approach, saving me from standing awkwardly over him. A smile creeps onto his face.

"Hey, Mia, long time no see." He stands, wrapping an arm around my back and then stepping back slightly, letting out a small whistle. "Looking damn fine. Hey, fellas, this is Mia, she's Luke's girl," he introduces me to his little circle and I give a tight little wave, cheeks heating.

"Hey," I say, flashing a small smile, too tired to get into semantics. "Listen, can I talk to you for a sec?" He nods his head and we walk a little further away to jeers from his friends.

Joey looks as sheepish as I feel but shrugs it off, leaning against a wall near the door, his checked shirt open, taking a swig from a full-size bottle of SoCo.

"Tara," I say and as soon as her name is out of my mouth he's shaking his head.

"Mia."

"Joey," I reply. "Are you serious this time? About ending things for good? Because she's sorry. She's been a mess since you left."

"She cheated on me. Again." His voice is tight and he shifts his weight, pulling a foot up to rest against the white wall.

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't think she meant to get that drunk. I mean, she can't remember anything. Who sleeps with a girl that drunk, anyways? She's really messed up over it all."

His mouth is pressed into a tight line. He offers me his SoCo, so I take a gulp, watching him. His body is tense, his jaw jutted, dark brows furrowed.

"How much am I supposed to take? I'm a fuckin' fool. She knows I love her, like mad love. You know what I'm sayin'? I can't let this one go so easy though." He glances around. "She here?"

"Yeah, night off."

He laughs a little bitter. "That's the other problem. Won't quit taking her clothes off will she? That's where this whole thing comes from. I mean, I can take care of her, y'know? We could get a place together, but she won't have it. She just wants to strip for other men and it freakin' kills me." He shakes his head again and runs his hand through short black hair, blowing a breath out his nose. "Fuck."

"Would you at least talk to her?" I pass the bottle back to him and chase it down with beer.

"I'll think about it."

He taps the bottle with his fingers looking around and leans in closer, so his mouth is next to my ear. "Is Luke around? Could do with a little somethin', somethin'. You know what I'm sayin'?" He pulls back. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"We're not really, um, not really together anymore," I shrug, fiddling with the label on my bottle.

"Ah, man, that's too bad." He pauses, eyes searching mine, eyebrows raising. "Or not too bad?"

"I don't know." Actually. "Not too bad."

Strangely I feel OK about it. Not like I did a few weeks ago at Charlotte's. Tara thinks I'm repressing, but if I am, I'm glad. I'm just… done.

"Huh," he's uneasy, rocking on his feet. "Well, I'll keep it to myself," he looks towards his group of friends. "Keep the hounds at bay."

I smile weakly. "Thanks. Well, I should - I'll see you around. Hope you're doing OK, Joey, really." I give his arm a squeeze.

I turn to walk away but as I do someone moves and I have to do a slow double take.

Sitting in the open plan living area with Jenna and her friends, a blonde, tanned girl on his lap, is Miles.

I stare for a second. I've never seen him here before… my eyes linger on the girl and I turn quickly, an unexpected stab of jealousy tearing through me.

My heart thuds.

What is he doing here?

Why am I even jealous?