Page 1 of Overdose

Prologue

Blair

I wakeup on the bathroom floor of a place I don’t recognize.

My cheek sticks to the tile—cold and slick with something that smells like bleach, blood, and last night’s worst decisions. The ceiling spins above me, the edges curling in like burning paper, and for a minute, I honestly can’t tell if I’m going to vomit or just quietly cease to exist. Both options sound kind of poetic.

So I just lie there. Blinking. Breathing. Tasting ash and regret on my tongue like it’s the breakfast special. I’m alone.

Again.

I groan as I push myself upright, every joint cracking like I’ve aged a decade overnight. Nerves fire off like broken wires, my body stiff and aching like I’ve been hit by a truck and dragged through someone else’s nightmare.

The mirror across the room catches me mid-rise.Rude.

I freeze.

Hair tangled in a high ponytail, pink fading into purple like bruised cotton candy. Glitter clings to my cheeks, mascara streaked halfway to hell. My lip’s split. One earring gone. A boot print smudged on my thigh, and not in a fun way. My lilac feather bandeau is wilted, sagging pathetically over my chest, and the pastel swirl bottoms I’m wearing ride high on my hips,the attached rhinestone chains draped like a joke no one laughed at. Fishnets—ripped, obviously. The whole look screams “rave royalty with a death wish,” but all I see is a ghost. The kind that haunts herself.

There’s something wrong with the reflection. Something too smug. Too still. Like it’s seen me like this before—bent, bruised, barely a person, and it’s just waiting for the encore.

And honestly? Same.

Even I don’t know who I am in this moment. Just that I’ve been her before, and I’ll be her again. Over and over like some broken mixtape on loop.

The last thing I remember is bass, bodies, and the sound of the ocean crashing on the shore, and for one split second—the way my heart stopped when I thought I saw her.

Brynn.

My sister.

My twin.

The reason I came back months ago to this cursed, sand-choked beach town in the first place.

They say she overdosed. Wandered off high and alone. That it was an accident. No foul play suspected. Just another girl lost to her own demons.

But they’re wrong.

I know they are.

I feel it—deep in my bones, in the pit of my stomach where dread sits like lead. The air still changes when I say her name, like the world’s listening. Waiting.

Something happened to her.

Something worse than what they’re willing to believe, and I’m going to prove it.

I’m going to make sure the people responsible get theirs.

No matter what it takes.

My surroundings are still a blur of grime and chaos. Cracked tiles. Graffiti bleeding down the walls. A mattress in the next room that looks like it’s seen more trauma than therapy ever could.

One of my platform boots is missing. Probably ditched me for someone with standards.

My purse? Gone.

Phone? Deader than my will to care.