>Mallory
If laughter could kill, I'd already be dead by now.
And probably Mara too, because she was laughing so hard she was practically convulsing on the floor of her stupidly expensive condo. I'm talking gold-accented tables, velvet chairs that I swear were designed to remind people like me how much money exists in the world, and floor-to-ceiling windows that didn't just look out at the city—they judged me.
"W-wait! I can't breathe! Pffftttt!" she snorted.
She rolling sideways, clutching her stomach, eyes watering, and every so often she'd let out this wheeze that sounded like a dying goat mixed with a foghorn.
I sat on her couch, slumped like a melted candle, hiding behind one of her decorative pillows and silently cursing the entire human race for being in the room.
"Good. Maybe when you pass out, I can finally rest in peace."
Mara finally wheezes, "Mallory—oh my God—so you actually went through with it?" She's still laughing so hard tears spill down her cheeks. "I did agree to the plan but I didn't expect you to actually pull it off."
Yeah, I surprised myself too.
I'd barely managed to choke out the story to her — the parts I remembered anyway, which were mostly foggy flashes: my miserable state, how tequila burns my throat, the flashed of his pecs in that red room, and the unfortunate realization that I had absolutely no recollection of the man's face. Just his body. Like a pervert.
My ears flushed red.
My brain was apparently on vacation the moment alcohol entered the picture. The thought I'd "pounced" on a stranger — the random poor man who had no idea what hit him.
And that was exactly what I told Mara.
I stared at her, incredulous, as she collapsed sideways on her pristine sofa and pointed at me like I had personally committed the most hilarious crime of the century.
"And you— you seriously ran away looking like that?!" she gasped, tears streaming, fingers trembling as she jabbed the air.
Damn. I wanted to strangle her so bad.
"Yes, Mara! I did!" I shouted, rolling my eyes in exasperation. "Why did I even trust you with that information?"
Her grin only widened, her face glowing with the joy of pure chaos — the kind of gleeful, devil-may-care energy I could never muster even if my life depended on it.
"Mallory, Mallory Morrow," she said, shaking her head, "I have never met anyone so simultaneously tragic and hilarious as you."
I wanted to strangle her. Physically, emotionally, spiritually. Why did I tell her?
Why did I think spilling every humiliating detail of my life to her would make anything better? Why, God, why?!
Because now I was sitting here, hair frizzing out of my bun, eyes bloodshot from tequila tears.
Okay, Mallory. Breathe.
You don't remember his face. It doesn't matter. He's a stranger. You don't know him. He doesn't know you. You're fine. Totally fine. Nothing bad happened. Except for… oh wait, your dignity. That's gone. Gone forever. Burned to ashes. There is no recovery. No amount of therapy, or self-help books, or wine will ever bring that back.
I gotta move on.
I glanced at Mara again. She'd finally calmed down a little, leaning back against her velvet sofa, brushing imaginary dust off her designer blouse, still smirking like she'd just won a small war. Her hair somehow still looked perfect despite the laughter collapse. Meanwhile, I looked like a raccoon who had rolled down a hill.
"You—" I began, my voice trembling. I didn't even finish what I was about to say. There was no way I could reason with her.
"Anyway, stop laughing."
She leaned forward, grinning. "Honey, I'm not laughing at you. I'm celebrating you. Think about it. You—Mallory Morrow, the quiet, reclusive, socially awkward, introverted virgin—actually went to a bar and jumped a stranger. That… that is literally legendary."
I groaned, burying my face in my hands again. "Legendary? Is that what we're calling public humiliation these days?"
Mara's grin widened. "Absolutely. It's not just legendary. I will be making stories about you. You will be remembered. I'll pass this down to my grandchildren."
I rolled my eyes at her. Then suddenly she held out a brown bottle, shoving it in front of my face. I blinked.
"What is that?"
"For your hangover. What else?" she replied like it was a matter of fact. How would I know? It's not like I was a drunkard like her.
I took the bottle and shoved it down my throat, the cool, bitter liquid sliding in.
Mara plops back down beside me, crossing her legs elegantly. Her laughter fades into a smile, gentler this time. "You know," she says, "I'm proud of you."
I blink. "For what? Making a complete fool of myself?"
She just smiled and shook her head then stood up and walked over to the kitchen.
"Want me to cook you some hangover soup?" she asked over her shoulder.
I smiled and mouthed, "Make it spicy."
"Impossible. I wanted to eat too." She shook her head and walked away. I pouted, hugging the throw pillow closer.
"Don't worry — I restocked your favorite chili sauce. You can take a shower while you wait."
I was about to stand when my phone buzzed. I fished it out of my bag and my brow furrowed as I read the name flashing on the screen.
"Never mind. Mrs. Morrow was already looking for me." I scowled, holding the screen up. Mara already understood what that meant: I couldn't stay another minute or I'd get beaten half to death when I went back.
"What a way to ruin the mood," she whined. I sighed. Mara knew how I was treated at home, and I was pretty sure she hated my family more than she hated anything.
___
I groaned at the sharp ache in my head and slumped into the passenger seat of her small but absurdly expensive car, silently shutting my eyes.
The drive back is quiet except for the low hum of music. Mara drives with the kind of reckless confidence that would terrify anyone else, but somehow I trust her. She's my chaos, but she's my safe chaos.
I lean against the window, watching the city flash by — bright, alive, full of people who aren't me. My reflection looks tired, pale, but… freer, somehow.
Last night was a mistake, sure. But if I succeeded I will finally be free.
When we finally reach the mansion, we don't pull up to the main gate. We never do. Mara parks near the hedge maze, the hidden path we've been using since high school.
"Same plan?" she asks.
"Same plan," I nod.
She gives me a small smile. "You're gonna be okay, Mal."
I smile back, even though my chest feels tight. "I know."
I step out, and the car door closes softly behind me. The garden is quiet , almost too quiet. I slip off my shoes, walking barefoot along the cold path, my bag clutched tightly against me.
Every time I sneak in, I tell myself I'm used to it — the fear, the shame, the silence that feels like punishment. But it still stings.
Halfway through the hedge maze, I let out a shaky sigh. Almost there. Just a few more steps and—
A sharp pain explodes in my scalp. Someone yanks my hair, hard.
"Ah!" I cry out, dropping my bag. My head jerks back, and I spin around—
And there she is.
Eleina. My half-sister. Her expression gleams with malicious delight, her perfect lips curling into a smirk that makes my blood run cold.
"Well, well, well," she drawls, her voice like polished steel. "Look who's sneaking in. Dressed like a slut, no less."
Her fingers twist in my hair, yanking again just to make me flinch.
I grab her wrist and glare up at her, fury trembling just beneath my skin.
"Let go," I hiss.