Kiss Me, Kill Me

That would go over so well. And Kirsten wasn’t exactly proud of what she did, though it gave her some control over her life. She finally felt as though she had power, for the first time in three years since she became a pawn in her parents’ divorce. When she first joined Party Girl, it had been so freeing and exciting she had jumped in with both feet. A part of her knew she did it to get back at her parents, but another part thrilled at being in full command. The power Kirsten had over her clients was intoxicating.

If she’d just stuck with the online sex chats she’d have been fine. But then another Party Girl, Jessie, told her about the big blowout bashes in New York, so she started coming up, and was astonished at how invigorating the raves were. Not raves as she’d imagined them, but even more intense.

Somewhere along the way, Kirsten had lost control. She was offered money to go to parties big and small. When she was high, she lost all sense of time and place. Everything began to fall apart, but she hadn’t wanted to quit because she felt more alive, more real, when she was pretending to be someone else.

But now Jessie was dead! And Jessie had tried to tell her something. She had called her Friday morning begging her to meet her at the party Saturday. And she’d said something else, but Kirsten had been too distracted. Then Jessie wanted to meet outside.

But Jessie didn’t send that text. She’d called Kirsten “Ash” instead, her party name.

If Jessie hadn’t texted her at the party, who did? Someone who knew what she looked like. Someone who had Jessie’s phone. If he had Jessie’s phone, he had her phone number, and he might be able to find out where she really lived. Kirsten could call her mother, but would she be safe even back home?

Kirsten was increasingly anxious about the arrangement. She was staying in this amazing apartment. She hadn’t left the bedroom and bathroom, but everything was expensive and classy. She’d been so out of it after finding Jessie dead, and then getting sick, she didn’t know what she’d agreed to or why the guy had let her stay here in the first place, especially since he himself didn’t live here. She couldn’t remember what he’d told her about who owned the penthouse or why the owner wasn’t here, but she would find out today. Now that she was thinking straight, she would figure out how to make it all right again.

She leaned over and locked the bathroom door, turned on the water in the tub, and pulled off the large T-shirt she wore. Her muscles were stiff from lack of use. She stretched her arms, staring in shock at her naked body, as if it were foreign.

She had small cuts all over her arms and legs, some so deep they would probably scar because they hadn’t been stitched. Bruises of all shapes and sizes and colors dotted her limbs, with one large, sickly yellow bruise covering most of her left hip. She touched it and winced. It was tender and painful. She didn’t think she’d broken any bones, a miracle considering the state of her body.

She should have gone to the hospital. What must she have looked like when that guy found her running through the parking lot?

You weren’t running. You’d fallen, remember?

She didn’t remember much, mostly only her feeling. Disconnected when the blond guy was screwing her against the wall. Cold when she was outside. Shock when she found Jessie dead. Fear as she ran because she heard something, thought she was being chased. Was she? She’d heard a voice, but she didn’t recognize it. She thought it was Jessie’s murderer, but maybe it was help. Or just another partygoer.

She’d never forget her friend’s dead eyes.

“What happened to you, Jessie?” she whispered.

Don’t you dare, bitch …

Kirsten lowered herself slowly into the water. “Ow, ow, ow!” She kept the water only a little warmer than lukewarm, but whatever the temperature, every cut and scrape on her body screamed in protest. Then the sharp pains subsided to a constant, but bearable, ache.

She wanted to believe that Jessie’s death had been an accident, but Kirsten knew it wasn’t. Someone had been lurking around Jessie’s body. It was the text message that tipped her off, that someone wanted Jessie and her dead. But why? What had she done? And if Kirsten went to the police, what would she tell them? She didn’t know anything! She didn’t know why Jessie had been scared or even why she had asked Kirsten to come to New York.

Jessie had been involved in Party Girl a lot longer than Kirsten, but they didn’t talk about their online activities when they met up at the secret parties in New York. They kept an eye out for each other. Kirsten had been thinking of going to Columbia with Jessie next year, had even sent off an application without telling her mother. But her grades had tanked last semester and she didn’t think she’d get in.

Maybe quitting softball had been a mistake. She had an amazing batting average, and last year was the third-ranked pitcher in the state and twenty-ninth in the nation. She still had two weeks before she had to commit to her final high school season.

She stared at her feet. How could she run in two weeks when she couldn’t even walk today? How could she think about college when her only true friend was dead? What if they found out about Party Girl?

Heart racing, she realized that she’d never considered what anyone would think about her online activities. She almost didn’t care if her parents found out, but it wasn’t as if she’d announced to everyone at school that she was “Ashleigh.” Maybe in the back of her mind she thought no one would recognize her, or she could say, Wow, that girl looks a lot like me. Don’t they say everyone has a double?

For the first time since she joined Party Girl, she considered her future. It looked bleak.

She washed her hair under the bathtub faucet, which was difficult and cumbersome, but it was too painful to stand in the shower. Her arms shook when she hoisted herself out of the tub. When she’d been conditioning for softball last year, she could bench-press ninety pounds. Now, she didn’t think she could lift a ten-pound weight over her head.

She rebandaged her feet and put a large Band-Aid on her knee where the scab had split.

A knock at the door provoked a scream, but she cut it off quickly.

“It’s me, Dennis,” the voice said.

Dennis? Who was Dennis? She didn’t remember the name of the guy who’d found her. It could have been Dennis. It sounded right.

“Kirsten? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice scratchy. “I’m just cleaning up.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better. I brought you some clothes. I’ll wait in the kitchen.”

He walked away. Kirsten had flashes of a boy, not much older than she, carrying her into an elevator that smelled of mint and lavender. There was something off about him, but she had been so sick she couldn’t figure it out. He’d brought her water and chicken broth, and she thought he might have even cleaned up when she got sick.

Why was he helping her? Who was he?

She tried taking a step, but the pain was too great and she wondered if there were still rocks and glass embedded in the cuts. Another flash of Dennis cleaning her feet and pulling out a long, jagged piece of glass had her wondering why he hadn’t taken her to the hospital.

Kirsten vowed never to take drugs again. She didn’t like these dark holes in her memory.

She crawled back to the bedroom and pulled herself onto the bed. Her skin was clammy, and she started to feel feverish again. She wanted to sleep. She rested for a minute, then spotted the shopping bag from Abercrombie amp; Fitch. She stared at the outrageously expensive clothing inside-all her size. Had she told him, or had he guessed?

The entire chore of bathing and dressing exhausted her and she didn’t want to go to the kitchen. She didn’t want Dennis to see her crawl, but then again, maybe he already had. All she wanted was to sleep.

Dennis knocked on the bedroom door.

“Come in,” she said, her voice raw and scratchy.

Dennis looked sweet, if that was possible for a guy. He was only a few inches taller than Kirsten, but broad- shouldered, as though he worked out. Cute, in a little-kid way, which seemed odd with his build. He looked at her