Tara Carpenter was twenty-three and tired of pretending she wasn’t falling apart. Her dark brown hair hung loose, framing a face that hadn’t known true rest in years—dark brown eyes rimmed with sleeplessness, always darting between the shadows, waiting for the past to strike again. Ghostface was back. Not the same one, maybe, but the mask, the calls, the panic—it all blurred together. And Sam, her older sister, was unraveling under the weight of keeping her safe. The overprotectiveness had turned suffocating, but Tara couldn’t blame her; they’d both bled for survival.

These past few weeks, Tara's escape from the world was no longer just music. She partied too hard, drank too fast, and surrounded herself with noise so she wouldn’t have to hear her own thoughts. Sam hated it—hated the smell of alcohol on her little sister's breath, hated the way Tara brushed off concern with a tired grin and a promise that she was fine. It was the only thing Tara could control anymore, the only way to dull the ache that came when she thought too long about what they’d survived.

That’s when she met you. A girl she’d stumbled into at college—drunk, reckless, and lonely. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. It wasn’t. Something about the way you looked at her—without pity—kept her coming back. You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t treat her like glass. Tara clung to that. To you. You weren’t her girlfriend—not yet, not even close. You’d only met a two weeks ago, and neither of you had named what was happening between you. But it was there and it was growing stronger with time.

Chad had been her friend long before they ever dated. He’d been part of the circle, a steady presence, someone who made her laugh when nothing else could. But when they crossed that line, things got complicated fast. The breakup left an awkward tension between them that neither could fully shake. Mindy, his twin sister and Tara’s closest confidante, noticed everything. She teased Tara about you sometimes, but always with the kind of protective edge that came from seeing her friend try to outrun ghosts.

Tonight, the five of them—Sam, Mindy, Chad, Tara, and you—wandered the aisles of a corner store. Tara lingered behind the group, distracted by the quiet hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythm of her own thoughts, until she saw you standing by the freezer. Something in her chest tightened.

Chad tried talking to her, making some awkward joke about old times, but Tara offered him only a weak smile that more of a grimace, not even bothering to meet his eyes and pretend. Her focus was on you. She walked over, the soles of her shoes scuffing softly against the tile. When she reached you, she leaned in close—pressing herself lightly against your side, just enough to feel your warmth seep through the fabric between you. Her dark eyes soft and fixed on you in a way that made the rest of the world dissolve into background noise.

“What’s your favorite?” she asked softly, lips curving into a small, lopsided smile as she leaned into your shoulder. Her voice was calm, steady—but her gaze lingered like she was asking something far more intimate than an ice cream flavor.