Chapter 5 #2
“Come on, follow me.” Morella grabs my wrist and tugs me along the back row of pews toward a bench beneath one of the stained glass windows.
“So?” she yells over the beat, taking a sip of her drink. “What do you think?”
I shrug. “It’s cool. I like it.”
“That’s it?” she scoffs, mock offended.
I raise a brow. “I mean… we’ve had one drink and I’ve already been harassed, soooo…”
She winces, then looks away and takes a long sip. “Okay, fair. But that’s just Silas. He’s… not always that bad. I guess.”
While she goes quiet, I take a moment to look around. Between the smoke and shadows, it's hard to see much. The place is packed. People are dancing, lounging, or making out in pews like it’s a club disguised as a haunted house. The song fades out, and a faster, bass-heavy track starts to play.
“Oooh, I love this song!” Morella jumps up, steals my cup, and stashes both of our drinks in the window sill.
Then she grabs both of my hands and pulls me toward the open space near the entrance, already swaying her hips.
I laugh, shake my head, but follow her lead.
I guess I drank more than I thought because I’m dancing and I don’t even care how ridiculous I look.
Groaning, I throw the comforter over my eyes. My head is pounding, my legs ache, and apparently I left the curtains open because the sun is bursting through the window like the damn Kool-Aid Man.
A knock sounds at my door.
“There’s coffee and croissants downstairs. I’m heading out,” my mom says through the door, her tone soft.
“Thanks,” I mutter, but I’m sure she can’t hear my groggy voice.
I fumble for my phone on the nightstand.
It’s almost 10 a.m. and my battery’s clinging to life with single digits.
Perfect. Apparently I forgot to plug it in.
Coffee sounds like a miracle. First, I need a shower…
and maybe to puke. I throw the covers off, sit up too fast, and immediately regret it.
I sprint to the bathroom and toss up whatever’s left in my stomach.
Classy.
After my obscenely long shower, I finally make it downstairs and pour myself a cup of coffee. My phone’s plugged into the charger on the counter, screen lighting up with a new notification just as I open the news app.
Morella:
Last night was fun!
Liv:
Yeah, but today? Not so much.
Morella:
Uh oh... hungover??
Liv:
More like ran over, but yeah. Let’s say hungover.
Morella:
lol sorry
guess we should’ve taken it easy
Liv:
No worries.
I set the phone down and cradle my coffee like it might bring me back to life. Texting feels like a lot of work right now. Still, after a moment, I pick it back up and swipe into our thread again.
Liv:
Wanna go shopping?
Morella:
Duh!
I smirk and lock my phone. Of course she’s down for shopping. First, Advil. Then food. Then maybe I’ll feel human again.
“I’ll be honest. I’m surprised you wanted to come shopping while nursing a wicked hangover.” Morella says.
I glance over at Morella in the driver’s seat. She’s dressed like she’s mourning someone rich and important. Oversized black sunglasses, a sheer black shawl wrapped around her head, and a short black dress with no sleeves. This girl is the queen of being dramatic.
“Well, school starts in less than two weeks, so I wanted some new stuff,” I say, pulling my seatbelt off as she parks in front of the boutique.
We head inside and the cool air hits like a blessing. The shop is small but packed. There are racks of clothes lining the walls, tables with folded sweaters, and a display of ankle boots and Mary Janes arranged beneath a softly glowing chandelier.
“I can agree with that,” Morella says, already plucking clothes off the racks. “Okay, you need this.” She holds up a sheer black top with embroidery at the collar and sleeves. “Picture this with a midi skirt and some little lace-up boots.”
I cock an eyebrow. “You sure that’s not more your vibe?”
“Oh it totally is, but I want to see you in it.” She grins and tosses it on my pile.
I wander toward the racks near the window and find a rust-colored cropped knit top. Soft, ribbed, with long sleeves that hang past the wrist. It would look perfect with one of the flowy skirts I already own, or maybe this sage green midi with the slit I just spotted on the next hanger.
I hold both up. “What do you think? Fall vibes?”
“Witchy earth goddess,” she confirms with a nod. “Add some gold jewelry and it’s over for everyone.”
I laugh and keep adding. A cream cardigan with wood buttons.
Soft and oversized, but not bulky. A slate blue hoodie that looks worn-in and perfect for late-night couch lounging.
A slate-gray skirt with a high waist and gentle pleats.
Morella picks out a dramatic velvet wrap dress in deep wine for herself, along with a pair of thick-soled black boots and a silver moon pendant.
As we head to the dressing rooms, Morella eyes my pile. “You’ve got a vibe. It’s like… quiet forest girl who could hex you at any moment.”
“Pretty sure that’s a compliment.”
“High praise,” she says solemnly. “I’m a style expert.”
After clothes shopping, we drop our bags in Morella’s trunk and head to a small corner bistro she swears has the best croissant sandwiches in the state. The place is quaint, tucked between an antique shop and a florist, with the smell of fresh bread wafting through the open doors.
We each order a buttery croissant sandwich with a side of chips and grab two sodas from the cooler. The terrace outside is dotted with wrought iron tables and striped umbrellas, and we’re lucky enough to snag one tucked in the shade.
Just as I lean back in my chair and start to enjoy the breeze, a wave of noise pulls my attention to the table next to us. Chairs scrape, laughter erupts, and the heavy scent of some overpriced cologne reaches my nose.
Silas drops into a seat, cocky smirk already locked and loaded. Archer slides into the spot beside him, earbuds in, barely acknowledging anyone. Rafe… he just stands there for a moment. His eyes meet mine before I can look away.
“Ugh.” I sigh under my breath.
“What?” Morella’s head snaps up from her plate, eyes scanning until they land on her brother and his entourage. “Oh. Hey guys.” She says it like it’s mildly inconvenient at best, then goes back to picking at her chips. Original Lays. I’m a dill pickle girl myself.
“Ladies,” Silas greets, pretending to tip an invisible hat.
I roll my eyes and focus on my food.
A hand reaches over my plate and snatches a few chips.
“Hey!” I swat at it, already knowing who it belongs to.
Silas grins.
“Get your own chips!” I snap.
“What? It’s not like you need them.” He pops the chips into his mouth eyeing me up and down.
I freeze, mouth hanging open for a beat. He did not just say that.
“I am not fat,” I fire back, voice low and sharp.
He lifts an eyebrow, gives me another slow once-over, and shrugs. Shrugs. Then turns to his friends like I’m not even there. I scoff and shoot a look at Morella, who looks completely mortified. I know I’m not fat, but that’s not the point. Who says stuff like that?
“Let’s go.” I stand abruptly, grabbing my plate. I pretend to head for the trash but instead dump the entire thing in Silas’s lap. Chips, crumbs, sandwich—everything.
“Oops.” I press my fingers to my lips, wide-eyed.
Then I drop my hand and let my expression go flat. RBF mode: activated. I stare him down, daring him to say something. He just smirks while popping another chip into his mouth and winks.