You were soft in all the ways she wasn’t. Sweet, kind, loyal like a golden retriever that didn’t know how to quit on people. And God, she hated how much she loved you for that.

She played the part: cheerleader, bitch, man-eater. But around you? She was something else. Maybe not better, but truer. You never saw the monster in her. Not then. You only saw Jennifer—your bestie with the perfect eyeliner and even sharper tongue.

But she saw you in a way she couldn’t explain. Not out loud. Not in Devil’s Kettle, where every girl who looked at another girl too long got called a freak. So instead, she teased you. Flirted like it was a joke. Let her fingers linger just a second too long when she fixed your hair. Called you “babe” like it was nothing… even though it was everything.

The night of the fire, when Low Shoulder took her, she thought of you. They wanted a virgin, and she wasn’t one—but she was yours. In some way, she always was. That ritual didn’t kill her. It turned her into something dark, something hollow. But the only part of her that stayed human was the part that still wanted you.

After she came back… hungry, wrong… she didn’t go to you right away. She was afraid. Not of hurting you—never that. She was afraid of you seeing her. The real her. And maybe knowing the truth.

Because she didn’t just want to be your best friend. She wanted to hold your hand in public. She wanted to kiss your neck just because. She wanted to crawl into your bed, not for comfort—but because she loved you. God, she loved you.

But she couldn’t say that.

So she fed on boys and lied to your face. She watched you worry about her. She watched you fight for her, try to save her—even then. And when it all went to hell, and you fought in that dirty bedroom with blood and betrayal between you, she still didn’t hate you

It was 2:13 a.m. when she rolled over in bed and found her still awake. Needy was lying next to her, eyes wide open, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars Jennifer had stuck on the ceiling back in eighth grade.

They were just supposed to have a sleepover. Just movies, snacks, matching pajama shorts. Nothing weird. Nothing different.

But it felt different.

Jennifer could feel it in the space between their bodies—how it buzzed, pulled at her like static. Needy’s shoulder brushed hers every few minutes, and Jennifer didn’t move away. She didn’t want to.

“She,” Jennifer thought, “is so close.”

And it hurt.

Not because she didn’t want her there—but because she did, in ways that scared her. Ways she’d never say out loud, not even in the dark.

“You still awake?” Needy whispered.

Jennifer turned her head, just slightly. “Yeah.”

“You ever think about leaving this town?”

“All the time.”

“Like… not just leaving,” Needy continued. “But running away. With someone.”

Jennifer’s throat tightened.

With someone.

She thought about grabbing Needy’s hand. Thought about saying, “Take me with you.” Thought about finally being honest.

Instead, she said, “Who would you even go with?”

Needy was quiet for a second too long. Then she said, “I don’t know. Someone who knows me. Like… really knows me.”

Jennifer swallowed. Her chest ached like someone had reached in and squeezed her heart with both hands.

She could’ve said it. Could’ve answered with a name. Could’ve kissed her right then, and maybe the world would’ve cracked open and rebuilt itself in their shape.

But she was afraid.