Marcella

The music thumps in my ears, reverberating through my chest as I weave through the costumed crowd. The dim lights and swirling colors make it hard to focus on anything, and I’m not sure how many drinks I’ve had at this point. It’s my mom’s bachelorette party, for crying out loud. I never expected to be here, surrounded by people dressed in everything from Renaissance royalty to superheroes. But when she insisted, saying, "You only live once," I figured one night of letting loose wouldn’t kill me.

At least, that’s what I thought.

Now, I’m stumbling my way toward the bar, desperate for something to anchor me. I need water, or maybe just some fresh air. I’m not sure which. I reach out to steady myself against the bar’s wooden edge, but before I can flag the bartender down, a hand grabs my arm.

“Hey, you okay?”

I turn and find myself face-to-face with a boy I don’t recognize, his features half-hidden under a mask. He’s dressed like some sort of pirate, complete with a loose white shirt that’s unlaced at the top. His eyes gleam with a kind of mischief I can’t place, but there’s also something warm in his gaze—like he’s genuinely concerned.

I try to shake my head clear and nod at the same time, which only makes me dizzier. “Yeah, just… too much to drink, I guess.”

“Let me help you,” he says, his voice low but audible above the music. He slides an arm around my waist, and before I know it, he’s leading me away from the crowd, down a hallway that seems to go on forever. I don’t question it. My legs don’t seem to work properly, and having someone to lean on feels like a blessing. At some point, we turn a corner, and he’s pushing open a door.

The room is quiet—too quiet after the thumping bass outside. He guides me toward the bed, and I sit down, relieved to be off my feet. The world spins less intensely now, but my head still feels like it’s floating in a fog.

“Just rest,” he says softly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair out of my face. I blink up at him, trying to piece together where I’ve seen him before or if I’ve even seen him at all.

Then everything fades to black.

---

When I wake up, my head is throbbing. The pounding is relentless, and I can feel the beginnings of nausea twisting in my gut. My mouth tastes like I swallowed an entire bucket of sand. As I blink against the faint light spilling through the curtains, I become acutely aware of an arm draped across my waist.

I freeze.

Carefully, I turn my head and see him lying next to me. His face is relaxed in sleep, his dark hair falling across his forehead in messy strands. I stare for a long moment, my pulse quickening with a mix of dread and confusion. I don’t want him to wake up. I don’t even know what I would say. The only thought running through my mind is to get out of here—fast.

I inch my way off the bed, moving slowly to avoid waking him. My breath catches as I reach the edge, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. I spot my shoes tossed near the foot of the bed, and I crouch down to grab them, trying not to make a sound.

But as I pick one up, the other slips from my grasp and falls to the floor with a dull thud.

I freeze, holding my breath. For a moment, the room is dead silent, and I think maybe—just maybe—I’ve gotten away with it. But then he stirs, his eyes fluttering open.

“Leaving already?” His voice is rough with sleep, but there’s a hint of amusement there too, as if waking up to find a girl trying to sneak away from his bed is just another regular morning for him.

I stiffen, clutching my shoes to my chest. “I… I need to go,” I stammer, taking a step back toward the door. “I—this was a mistake.”

His brow furrows as he sits up, rubbing his eyes. “Mistake?” He repeats the word slowly, like he’s trying to piece together what I’m saying. “Look, if you’re feeling embarrassed or something, don’t. You seemed pretty into it last night.”

The casualness of his tone, the way he says it like it’s no big deal—it sparks something inside me, a sharp, hot flame that quickly becomes rage. “Are you kidding me?” I snap, the words tumbling out before I can think them through. “You took advantage of me! I didn’t even know what was happening—I was drunk!”

His eyes widen in surprise, and he raises his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, hold on,” he says, his voice hardening. “I didn’t take advantage of anyone. You were the one who came to me, okay? I wasn’t forcing anything. If you don’t remember, that’s not my fault.”

My stomach churns with a mix of anger and humiliation. I can’t tell if he’s lying or if I really did put myself in this situation, but the fact that he’s not even considering the possibility of taking responsibility makes me feel sick. I clutch the doorknob behind me, ready to bolt out of there, but I hesitate, something keeping me rooted to the spot.

He stands up, grabbing his shirt from the floor and pulling it over his head. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say,” he mutters. “But I didn’t do anything wrong.”

I narrow my eyes at him, the words I want to shout getting caught in my throat. I can’t bring myself to mention anything about the past, about who he really is. I don’t want to dredge up memories that I’ve spent years trying to bury. But standing here, facing him now, it’s like all those old wounds are being ripped open again.

“I’m leaving,” I say finally, my voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. “Not because of what happened, but because I can’t stand you.”

For a moment, his expression shifts, something like confusion passing across his features as he studies my face. It’s almost as if he’s trying to figure out why I’m so angry—why I’m reacting this way. But then he just shakes his head, as if deciding it’s not worth the effort to understand.

“Fine,” he says shortly, turning away from me. “Nobody’s stopping you.”

I don’t wait for another word. I wrench the door open and rush out into the hallway, my shoes still clutched in my hand. My heart pounds as I hurry down the corridor, not daring to look back. I don’t know if he’s watching me leave, and I don’t care. I just need to get as far away from him as possible.

As I step into the elevator and the doors slide shut, I finally let out the breath I’ve been holding. I lean back against the wall, the reality of what just happened crashing down on me like a tidal wave. I don’t know if I’m more ashamed of what I did or of the fact that I ended up in a situation where I felt powerless all over again.

But one thing is for sure: I won’t be able to shake the feeling that somehow, I’ve just made a terrible mistake.