Excerpt

Amber and vanilla still haunted my dreams.

Amber and vanilla were the combined scents Chrissy always wore—still wore, no doubt, if they allow perfume in the psych ward. At first I thought they were sweet, just as I thought she was sweet, all blond and curvy and femme.

Sweet smells can't mask the underlying rot forever, though.

Now, sometimes I thought I smelled those cloying scents in the house, and my heart would race, and if my toddler daughter was home I'd run to her room to make sure she was safe.

I still woke up in a panic now, ripping the sleep mask from my face because for once I'd had a few free hours to myself, lay down and, to my surprise, actually napped. I didn't sleep well anymore, thanks to Chrissy.

The afternoon summer sun slanted through the blinds, striping the faded crazy quilt on the double bed and the wall opposite the window, where I'd hung one of my pieces of art. A photograph of Taylor, my daughter, when she was a baby, collaged with pictures of my parents and siblings as babies.

I sat up, took a deep breath. Taylor was safe at a birthday party—Shannon, the birthday girl's mom, had said they had enough adults there to cover all the 3-year-olds, so I'd come back home for a couple of hours of rare me time.

Taylor was safe, I repeated to myself. The imagined odor of amber and vanilla faded. I glanced at the clock. Crap! I'd slept longer than expected—the party was due to end in five minutes, and it was fifteen minutes across town. I threw my clothes back on—jeans and a T-shirt which, with sneakers, constituted your basic harried single mom of a toddler outfit—and dashed to the bathroom to splash water on my face.

I grabbed my phone as I slipped on my sneakers, hit Shannon's number.

"Hi, it's Melody, I'm going to be a couple minutes late picking Taylor up, I'm on my way now—"

"Sweetie, your girlfriend already picked her up."

My blood slowed as it froze in my veins, time slowing along with it. The world closed in, darkness at the edge of my vision, until all that existed was the terror.

I hadn't told anyone that Chrissy had gone crazy, had nearly killed me, had nearly killed Taylor. It was hard enough living in a small town without facing that kind of scrutiny. Most people didn't believe lesbian partner abuse existed, especially not when neither party was particularly butch. And Chrissy had been very, very good at putting on the sweet face in front of everyone. She fooled even me, at the beginning.

Which is why it had taken so long for me to convince the police that there was a problem. Why it had to escalate to a knife at Taylor's throat for them to take me seriously.

"Melody? Are you there?" Shannon asked.

I had to force words out. "Hi, sorry. You said Chrissy picked her up?" My voice wobbled, adrenaline spiking through it. "Did she say where they were going?"

"Nope." I heard a faint crash in the background, and Shannon yelled, away from the phone, "Madison! What the—" She came back. "Gotta go. Madison just decided to pull the leftover cake down on her head."

I shoved the phone in my pocket as I yanked my bedroom door open.

Then the wave of aroma hit me.

Amber and vanilla.

Jesus fucking Christ, Chrissy was here. In the house.