Fatal Flaws

I can't move—my eyes fixed on the door. Long, thin fingers with manicured black nails clutch the edge.

The bare white walls surrounding me feel like they're closing in. Stacks of boxes and my unpacked luggage sit in the corner, a reminder of the new life I'm supposed to be building.

A giant ball in the middle of my throat is making it hard to swallow, and I want to vomit. The sickly sweet scent of sugar and cinnamon in the room—normally comforting—is suffocating.

The clock on the wall ticks by—each tick louder than the last.

There's a faint giggle before the door swings open, and a tall, thin girl floats in—acting like she owns the place—as the door clicks shut behind her.

"Oh my gosh, you're here!" she squeals, making me jump. "I've been dying to meet you!"

Before I can move, her arms wrap around me—a rib-crushing hug that leaves me breathless. My arms still pinned to my side, I can't speak.

The strong scent of vanilla and something sharper overwhelms my senses.

"I'm Skylar," she beams, as if hugging near-strangers is a totally normal thing.

Breaking apart, we stand in silence, taking each other in.

She's nothing like I pictured. Black curls frame a face so pale and perfectly sculpted it hurts to look at her. But it's her eyes I can't escape—they're ocean blue, gorgeous but dark, like there's a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

Her full lips curve into a bright—almost glowing—smile, while I stand there, mesmerized, staring at her like a fool.

"Um... hi, it's... nice... to meet you?" I stutter. "I'm... B-Bex." The words finally escape my lips.

I feel my cheeks burn; I drop my eyes to the floor, but some magnetic pull keeps dragging them back up to her.

Her curves are accentuated by a tight black miniskirt and a dark-colored halter top that barely holds her breasts in.

Long, slender legs clad in fishnets and knee-high boots with silver buckles. And a sleeker take on my own battered leather jacket rests on her shoulders.

Right away, her bold style makes me wish I could look that good.

Glancing down at my comfy clothes, I'm really regretting my choices.

"We are going to have so much fun, I just know it," she smiles before turning and strolling over to her nightstand. She pulls open the top drawer and starts rummaging around, my eyes tracking her every motion.

Supporting her chest with an arm, she riffles around, the contents of the drawer clattering. "Found it," she laughs, holding up a small tin box decorated with pink rhinestones.

"Hope you don't mind," she says, turning. "I don't do this all the time, only when I need to," Skylar admits, opening the box and producing a tightly rolled blunt, which she positions between her lips.

"You're good," I mutter, my face growing hotter, as she fishes a pink lighter from her bra—nestled in the lace—and clicks it repeatedly. After several attempts, the flame finally catches, and she holds it to the tip of the blunt, inhaling deeply.

"Want a hit?" she asks, coughing as she exhales, patting her chest.

The smell tugs at something in me—somewhere raw and ugly. For a split second, I see myself back in that dark apartment, the air muddled with smoke and regret. I nearly reach out, just to hold it.

"But you're not that girl anymore," I try to remind myself. My hands clench in my lap, nails digging half-moons into my jeans, the craving a gnaw beneath my skin.