Relly sat on the edge of the bed, the screen of her laptop casting a sterile blue glow across her face. Her eyes burned. Her fingers hovered over the trackpad, trembling. The job listing stared back at her with sterile fonts and smiling corporate jargon — "Entry-level administrative officer. Fast-paced. Resilient. Emotionally intelligent. Must work well under pressure." 

She was all of those things. Or used to be. Maybe. Her finger hovered over the submit button.

She stared at the job listing. Her hazel eyes—dull, ringed with exhaustion—flicked over the words again, but they swam. She couldn't tell what she was reading anymore. It could've been a job, or a riddle, or a trap.

She clicked Submit.

The moment the application disappeared into the digital void, something in her chest shifted. Not relief. Not hope. Something smaller. Uglier. The kind of restlessness that chewed at your organs and told you to run even when nothing moved.

Her hands slipped off the keyboard. The oversized hoodie she wore sagged off one shoulder, swallowing her frame, hiding the sharpness of her collarbones. She folded forward, pressing her forehead to her knees, her breath rattling in her throat.

Just this past two days alone, fifty-three applications. That was the number and she'd counted it. Fifty-three ways to say I can be someone else. Just hire me, I'll disappear into your system like a good girl. Tomorrow was Friday and it was the last day of forced medical leave after she "fainted" at work. On Monday, she would walk back into Hope Haven, back into fluorescent lights and paper-stale air and coworkers whispering around corners.

They would look at her like she was glass. She didn't know what would be worse—returning or staying away.

The shame still clung like smoke. That moment she fell, it happened so quick with her eyes rolling, skin clammy, body crumpling into the table, the sharp crack of bone against fake wood and the gasps. Jerry's disbelief. The way no one moved fast enough. No one knew how to help her. Not really. 

She crossed the room, slippers slapping on the wooden floors like heartbeats and pacing toward the wardrobe she barely touched. Her things were still in cardboard boxes along the bottom. Four months in Jordan's apartment, and it still didn't feel like hers. Most of her life was still in taped-up boxes like forgotten limbs. His apartment was curated and she'd been folded into it like a guest who overstayed. The place had the cold polish of a showroom with chrome finishes, leather that never creased and glass tables that never smeared. A place that looked good in photos but had no pulse. Not even the furniture creaked. He paid three-quarters of the rent, and she paid the rest — a quarter that felt like proof that she still existed in the equation.

She squatted before the boxes, peeling back the cardboard like it might bite her.  Inside, there were mismatched keepsakes. Her fingers landed on a picture frame. 

She flipped it over.

It was her and Elle. Their arms around each other, teeth bared in laughter, the world still untouched by whatever had come since. Their smiles were frozen in some forgotten summer. Wind-blown hair. Cheap ice cream cones. Happiness that felt borrowed, like a costume she once wore. The photo had yellowed slightly. The glass had a fracture across it, a jagged tear splitting Elle's smile.

Her stomach turned.

Behind the glass, her reflection blinked back at her and then it moved. Just slightly. Just enough.

Its hand lifted to its lips. A long, thin finger pressing softly to the mouth.

Shhh.

She dropped the photo. The photo rattled as she slammed it face-down into the box. The sound echoed louder than it should have. Her breath caught in her throat. Her vision blurred. She couldn't stop the rising, a thing in her lungs, a pressure, a scream that hadn't been given permission to leave.

Her body recoiled, breath hitching so violently her chest seized. Her skin crawled from the inside. As if something was pressing outward. Stretching. Tearing her open. Her nerves shrieked under her bones, like piano wires snapping under tension.

The air tasted too thick. Her skin itched like it didn't belong to her. Like something was burrowing underneath it, pulling at her tendons.  She grabbed a sweater to fold but her hands wouldn't stop shaking. The fabric slipped. Her heart raced. She tried to breathe, to slow it, but her body was rebelling, limbs jerking like puppets with their strings cut.

And then —

A hand. On her shoulder.

She screamed.

Loud. Ugly. Shattered.

Her legs kicked backward, knocking over the box. The photo clattered. Her knees scraped the hardwood. She turned, chest heaving, face pale, and saw—

Jordan.

Wide-eyed. Coat still on and his briefcase still in hand. "Whoa, Jesus, Relly. It's just me."

Her pulse thumped like a drum inside her skull. Her skin crawled, every nerve screaming.

"I—" she swallowed, voice threadbare. "I didn't hear you come in."

He blinked at her, brushing his hair back. Golden, always too styled. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she lied quickly. "I was just lost in thought. I was unpacking and I didn't expect—"

He shook his head and chuckled, light but tinged with something she didn't like. "Finally. You moved in four months ago, and your stuff's still boxed like you're just visiting. You only ever pull out your clothes."

"Yeah," she said weakly, trying to stand. Her knees cracked. "I know."

"It's like you buried it the day you moved in."

"Guess I just forgot." She forced a weak smile. "How was work?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, tugging off his blazer. Blond hair slicked neatly back, watch catching the light. His expression gleamed with the smug contentment of a man certain the world was always adjusting to him.

He glanced at the overturned photo but didn't ask. "Well, anyway. Work was good. You know, finance stuff. Meetings. Same old. Closed a deal with that agro-tech client."

She nodded like she understood any of it.

"I ran into Donnie, by the way," he added, loosening his tie. "There's this low-key thing on Saturday. Just a few people. Donnie, Patricia, Mark... mini reunion vibes. You down?"

The smile slipped from her face.

Her body clenched. Not visibly, not entirely, but enough that her shoulders seemed to curl inward. Her heart started beating too loud.

No. No. No.

The thought of being around people and all the fake laughter, the questions, the eyes that saw too much, it coiled inside her stomach like bile. She couldn't. She wouldn't.

Her skin prickled like something was burrowing just beneath the surface. A slow pain began in her stomach. A pulse that built and built, pressing up into her chest, her throat, her skull. Her body felt hollow and heavy all at once. A wind chime full of lead.

She felt it.

In the corner of the mirror — not the one above the dresser, but the warped edge of the wardrobe door — the other her was waiting.

Smiling.

No. Grinning. 

Its grin curled upward. A snake uncoiling. Teeth too straight. Eyes blank with joy. 

Relly froze. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She wanted to say no. She wanted to say I can't.

But she couldn't speak.

Inside her skin, something twisted. Her stomach churned. Her spine felt like it was unraveling. Her reflection rippled — no longer in sync. Her hands trembled. Her vision tunneled. She felt herself slipping under — as if her soul were being folded and put away, like laundry that no longer served a purpose.

It stretched into her. Coiled into her muscles, slid down her spine, turned her eyes glassy and still. The pain was beautiful. Ugly. Blinding.

A scream inside her never left her throat.

Then....

Stillness.

Her hands folded calmly in her lap. Her lips tugged into something that looked like a smile. Her posture straightened, elegant and false.

Jordan raised a brow. "So? You down?"

A voice unfurled from her throat. But it wasn't hers. Not really.

Her lips curled, slow. Controlled.

She turned to Jordan. Tilted her head.

And said —

"Don't worry..." A pause. A breath. A grin that didn't belong. "...I'll be there."

***

Author's Note

Hiya.

Another chapter. Another round of questions. Let's unpack.

Xoxo

Jasmine Stars