𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐘 (+𝟏𝟖)

CH. 9: APOLOGY LETTER

M A L L O R Y

After three days of being in hospitalized hell, I was finally cleared to go home. My head still aches like a bitch, but the pain was manageable. And the thought of sleeping in my own bed after reading a spicy dark romance novel was a comfort I desperately needed.

Celina was adamant about driving me back to my apartment, even though I told her it was fine.

I was beyond grateful for her since she made my hospital stay tolerable. She brought books from my place, despite finding my recent obsession with stalker romances and sci-fi erotica questionable.

During her lunch break, she sneaked in fast-food like the garlic knots from Paparelli's, just so I wouldn't contract food poisoning eating shit from the cafeteria.

Ironic how a place created to restore your health shamelessly feeds you nauseating malnutritious dogshit. Though, it wouldn't surprise me if hospitals did that purposely to keep people sick for money.

When we reach my building, she pulls up to the front and parks as I grab my bag of belongings.

“I gotta take my abuelita to the doctor. I'll swing by later to check on ya. Will you be okay?” she asks.

Nope, negatory, anything but.

“I'll be fine, don't worry about me,” I dismiss with a forced smile, though by the look she's giving me, I know she could detect the bullshitery in my voice.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she says, rummaging through the glove compartment before pulling out a small wooden box. “I got you a hospital discharge present.”

A grin spreads across my face as I take the box. It's decorated with beautiful intricate carvings, like something you would find in a vintage store.

“Oh, Cee, you really didn't have to get me anythin—” My eyes widen as I open the box, and I immediately slam it shut upon catching a glimpse of what's inside.

“Mal...” she gives me a knowing look, and I meet her serious gaze, looking at her like she was insane.

What I believed was a charming jewelry box turned out to be a sleek gun case, housing two polished metal pistols nestled in foam with two spare clips.

I shake my head in refusal, handing the box back. "Are you serious, Cee? Absolutely fucking no—”

She pushes the box back in my direction in challenge. “I'm deadass serious. Don't be fucking stupid; you need to be able to defend yourself.”

“Where'd you even get these?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“They were my grandfather's, he left them to me before he died,” she explains. “Now they're yours.”

“No. Celina, I can't take this...” I try to give the box but she refuses, shoving the box back into my hands.

“The hell you can't,” she counters with conviction. “You were attacked and sexually assaulted just four days ago. Not to mention the crazy fuck that's been stalking you for damn near a month.”

The weight of her words hits hard, undeniable in their truth. She's right. I couldn't protect myself from the guys who attacked me and put me in the hospital, and now, the same man who possibly murdered my date is stalking me. I had no agency, no control.

I sigh defeatedly. “I don't know how to use a gun.”

“Me neither, that's what YouTube is for,” she deadpans and I give her a bored look.

“I don't even have a permit. What if I get arrested?” I protest, fishing for excuses to avoid taking them.

She scoffs. “Bitch, you are wonderbread white. The chances of you getting arrested are slim to none.”