Gorgeous (Editing)

chapter 1.

“Alli, get your ass downstairs! We’re leaving in two minutes, and I’m not waiting any longer!”

Jade’s voice slices through the apartment, sharp and familiar, the kind of sound that belongs to someone who loves you enough to yell. I sit on the edge of my bed for a moment longer than necessary, staring at my hands as if they might give me permission to move.

Two minutes.

Jade hates being late. She claims it like a personality trait, even though she’s late more often than anyone I know. The difference is that when she’s late, it’s charming. When I am, it’s a flaw.

“I’m coming,” I call back, though my body doesn’t listen right away.

I’ve always been slow. Not lazy—careful. I like to take my time, to make sure everything is right before I step into it. Rushing makes my chest tighten, my thoughts blur. Jade knows this. She pretends not to.

We’ve been living together for almost a year now, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else. We’re not just roommates; we’re something closer to sisters. Chosen sisters. The kind you fight with and forgive in the same breath. The kind you’d bleed for.

Jade has been my best friend for as long as I can remember, which admittedly isn’t that long—my memory tends to blur at the edges—but long enough to know she’s permanent. She’s loud where I’m quiet, fearless where I hesitate. On my loneliest days, she feels like proof that I didn’t imagine having a life before everything fell apart.

Before him.

I pull on my shorts and smooth them down unnecessarily. My reflection in the mirror doesn’t feel like mine anymore. I used to recognize myself easily. Now I have to look harder, like she’s hiding.

There was a time when I told Jade everything. Every crush. Every fear. Every stupid thought that crossed my mind. Now there are whole pieces of me I keep locked away—not because I don’t trust her, but because I don’t know how to hand her something that sharp without cutting us both.

“Alli!” she calls again. “I swear to God—”

“I’m ready,” I say, forcing my legs to move. “I’m sorry.”

The apology slips out automatically. It always does.

Jade stands at the door, arms crossed, irritation written across her face. Then she looks at me—really looks—and something softens. She notices my hands fidgeting with the hem of my shorts, the way my shoulders are drawn too tight.

Without a word, she reaches out and grabs my hands.

There’s comfort in that. Familiarity. Jade has always known when not to push.

Tonight is a home game. She’s been excited about it all week. I promised myself I wouldn’t let my past ruin this for her—or for me. I want it to feel like the old days. Like we’re just two girls going out, not carrying ghosts with us.

Outside, the air feels heavier than it should. Leaving the apartment always does this to me—turns the world into something loud and watchful. I imagine eyes everywhere, weighing me, judging me. Before him, I loved going out. I loved being seen.

Now it feels like being exposed.

My therapist insists that being outside will help. Exposure therapy, she calls it, like naming the fear makes it smaller. She means well. She’s wrong.

The inside of our apartment is safe. Outside feels like a trap.

Jade chatters as we walk, filling the silence easily. She always does. She tells me about Matthew—the guy she’s been orbiting lately. A hockey player. Tall. Charming. Too charming.

I don’t say much. I’ve learned that warning Jade about men only makes her want them more.

Her last boyfriend, Sam, was proof of that. Another hockey player. Another mistake. He cheated—once, then again. The second time was with her friend, which somehow made it worse. Forgiving him was never an option in my book, but Jade tried anyway.

When he called me a selfish whore for telling him to stay away from her, I punched him.

No regrets.

Jade deserves better than men who treat love like a game.

The arena is loud, alive with movement and noise. We sit close to the front—Jade insists on it—and I let her pull me into the moment. The players blur together until my eyes catch on one figure in particular.

Not Matthew.

The guy standing next to him.

He looks… different. Tattooed. Dark. Out of place in a way that makes my chest tighten.

I tell myself not to stare.

I fail.

“What a hot weirdo,” Jade murmurs, eyes still on Matthew.

I don’t ask who she means. I already know.

The game ends with our team winning, and Jade loses her mind in the best way. She dances, she laughs, she drags me with her. For a moment, I forget everything else. We look like idiots, and I don’t care.

Then Matthew invites us to a party.

I already don’t like it.

But Jade does.

And that’s enough.

As we follow the noise and lights into the night, I have the strange, unmistakable feeling that something is about to shift—that whatever happens next will matter.

I don’t know yet that it will change everything.

I try to run.

Someone grabs me, pulls me into a dark room. Strong hands wrap around my waist.

I look up.

Dark green eyes.

And suddenly, I’m not sure if I’m safe—or in danger all over again.