Safe with me

People rarely think about the consequences of their choices—how their actions ripple out and wound the people closest to them. Or maybe they do think about it and simply don't care. Either way, it's why I've always said it's safer to keep your circle of friends and family small. Fewer people. Fewer disappointments.

My ex–best friend proved this point every single day I had to look at her traitorous face at work. The betrayal was still fresh, a wound that refused to close, raw as a half-healed stitch that kept tearing open. It hadn't always been this way. Just a few months earlier, we'd graduated high school together and landed our first jobs at Georgio's Pizzeria in the mall. It should have been a summer to remember, the one we'd planned all year: graduate, take a year off, work side by side, apply for the same college. But the choices Jennifer made shattered that dream. If I didn't need the paycheck to help my family, I would've walked away and spared myself the daily torture of dodging the one person I'd once trusted more than anyone.

I thought back to where it had all started.

Three months ago, I was planning my nineteenth birthday and graduation party. My mom, my sister, and I are a family of witches, so celebrations in our house were never ordinary. Parties were our chance to weave magic into every detail, and I loved using mine to bring it all together. As I wandered the house, checking on decorations, I found my older sister dancing in the hallway outside her room. She had her earbuds in, hips swaying, long brown curls whipping through the air as she twirled with effortless grace.

I stopped at the top of the stairs, smiling. Dreya was a professional dancer, and watching her was like watching art in motion. It always amazed me how easily she commanded rhythm when I couldn't dance to save my life. She spun one last time, spotted me watching, and pulled out her earbuds. Her brows arched playfully as she returned my smile.

"Are you creeping on me or what, little sis?"

Rolling my eyes, I pushed past her into her room and flopped onto her bed. She followed, setting her iPod on the nightstand before crossing her arms.

"What's wrong, Greyalis?" she asked, her tone soft but knowing. Dreya and I were close—sometimes too close. She had this uncanny way of seeing straight through me, like she could pluck the thoughts right out of my head.

I let out a long sigh and let myself sink into her blanket. "Eric texted me. Said he couldn't make it to my party tonight. Something about a family emergency."

The mattress dipped as Dreya dropped onto the bed beside me. She turned to face me, her expression already skeptical.

"And you don't believe him," she said flatly, not even bothering to phrase it as a question.

I met her golden-brown eyes and shrugged. "Not really. I mean, I just saw his dad and brothers this morning at the café. Everyone seemed fine. They even greeted me like usual."

My gaze drifted to the mirror attached to Dreya's vanity. Hazel eyes stared back at me, tired and uncertain.

"He's been so distant lately," I murmured. "He didn't even notice my new hair." I reached for a lock of my curls, now dyed a soft purple, and twisted it around my finger. It had been a huge step for me—my first time putting chemicals into my virgin hair.

"I'm lonelier than I've ever been, Drey. And every time I bring it up to him, somehow I end up feeling like I'm the one making a big deal out of nothing."

Dreya sighed, her fingers closing gently around mine. I tore my eyes away from the mirror to meet her gaze again. Her expression told me everything: she already had an opinion, and she knew I wouldn't like it.

"Just say it," I told her.

"I think you should end things."

I huffed, yanking my hands from hers, only for her to catch them again before they slipped away.

"Now, wait a minute. I know this is the last thing you want to hear. But just... hear me out."

She paused, searching my face for resistance. When I didn't answer, she took my silence as permission to continue.

"You two have been together since you were ten," she began gently. "You grew up together, fell in love, and shared so many firsts. But sometimes those firsts..." She trailed off, choosing her words carefully. "...they get old. The flame that once burned so bright can fade, no matter how much you wish it wouldn't. Sometimes you still love someone, but you're no longer in love with them. And that's okay. Because life is about trying, failing, and learning to love yourself in between—until you find the person whose spark never dims, whose flame never dies."

Her voice softened. "I know it'll hurt. But promise me you'll really think about what you want—what will make you happy."

By the time she finished, my vision blurred with tears. I didn't want her words to be true. But deep down, I knew they were.

Dreya reached over and brushed a tear from my cheek. "I don't like seeing you this sad. Maybe call your best friend early. She always knows how to pull you back together."

A shaky laugh slipped out as I hugged her tight. She rubbed soothing circles on my back before playfully shoving me off her bed.

"Now go. I need to rest before your stupid party starts."

Shaking my head, I stepped into the hallway, my heart a little lighter. Just before turning the corner, I glanced back at her.

"Actually... you're the one who keeps me sane. You always have."

Then I walked to my room to change.

The walk to Jennifer's house was long and hot. She lived five blocks away, and though my mom had gifted both my sister and me cars for our last birthdays, that generosity came with a cost. The car notes and extra bills forced her into more shifts, so I gave up mine and told her to use it for work. At first she refused, insisting it wasn't fair to me, but after enough convincing, she finally accepted. That left me walking everywhere when Dreya couldn't—or sometimes wouldn't—give me a ride.

By the time I reached Jen's front door, sweat clung to my back. Her parents' cars weren't in the driveway, which wasn't surprising. They were always at work, building the kind of wealth that kept this massive manor standing but left little time for their daughter. Jen never seemed to mind their absence, though. If anything, she used the freedom to her advantage, throwing parties, sneaking out, living like the world owed her something. She didn't care much about life unless it involved our plans—or at least, what she wanted from them.

She was the complete opposite of me in every way, and maybe that's why I loved her. Jen was sharp-tongued and sarcastic, but also magnetic. She could charm anyone into anything. People bent for her without realizing it, and more than once I'd found myself swept along in her wake, cleaning up messes she left behind. But then she'd laugh, or toss some sarcastic quip my way, and I'd forgive her all over again.

It didn't hurt that she looked like something out of a dream: ocean-blue eyes framed by dark lashes, set in a perfectly symmetrical, olive-toned face. A porcelain doll come to life. Every time I told her that, though, she'd counter by calling me exotic—as if beauty were something we needed to barter back and forth.

I let myself in without knocking. After years of friendship, it had become our routine. I knew where the spare key was, though I hardly needed it—Jen had a terrible habit of leaving doors unlocked. Closing the door behind me, I paused in front of the floor-length mirror standing in the entryway.

A short girl stared back: high cheekbones, pouty lips against honey-brown skin, eyes a golden hazel with green flecks that caught the light. Freshly threaded brows arched neatly over them, and the beauty mark on my right cheek looked almost artfully placed. My long curls, streaked with black and purple, framed my indigenous features and gave me the exotic look Jen always insisted on.

You're beautiful, I told myself. Just keep saying it. You're beautiful, and you don't need anyone who makes you feel otherwise.

With that silent affirmation, I turned from the mirror and headed upstairs.

I'd always struggled to understand my worth. Maybe it started the day my father walked out before I was even born. Dreya's father—the only dad I'd ever known—had filled the role until he passed away two years ago. My mother had been on and off with him for years, before and after my real dad vanished, so in the end, I was left again. Always left. Always abandoned, as if I meant nothing.

And Eric had only made that feeling worse.

I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away as I reached Jennifer's bedroom door. Today wasn't supposed to be about him. Not about pain. Not about being unwanted. I told myself I wouldn't think of him again—at least not for the rest of the day.

But the moment my hand touched the knob, a sound from inside froze me.

There was no way.

Pressing my ear against the wood, I heard his voice. A voice I would recognize anywhere.

"Yeah... you like that, don't you?"

A feminine moan answered him. "Mmm... yes."

Then louder. "YES!"

The word hit me like a slap, and before I could stop myself, I shoved the door open.

Shock tore through me.

Eric was on top of Jennifer, her body sprawled beneath him, both of them completely naked.

For a heartbeat, the world tilted sideways. Bile rose in my throat. My vision burned as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. And still, for a few cruel seconds, they didn't notice me. He just kept moving inside her, her moans filling the room, like they weren't collectively destroying the one person they'd sworn to love and protect.

Finally, as if sensing the weight of my stare, Eric's head turned. His eyes locked with mine, wide, stricken—like a deer caught in the headlights, seconds away from impact.

Jennifer's face was still buried in the pillows, eyes closed, so she didn't understand why he froze and pulled away. When she finally lifted her head and followed his gaze, realization struck.

"Jesus!" she yelped, scrambling for the comforter and dragging it over her sweating body.

For a long, suffocating moment, silence swallowed the room. Them staring at me. Me staring at them.

Then Eric moved toward me, his voice breaking. "Baby, I—I'm so sorry. It's not what you think. It means nothing, I swear—"

I raised my hand, cutting him off cold. "Spare me the bullshit, Eric. What the fuck is going on?"

I barely looked at him. He wasn't the one who ripped me apart. Not really. My gaze fixed on Jennifer, my best friend. The one who'd known every secret, every dream.

"What. The FUCK. Is going on here?"

This time, the words carried a magical edge, raw and unrestrained. I didn't care if she felt it. I didn't care if I was caught.

Jennifer's eyes widened, fear flashing across her porcelain features. She probably thought it was just my rage pushing through.

"I—I—... fuck, Grey, I'm sorry." Her voice shook. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. I should've never let him convince me this was okay."

Eric sputtered, his panic spilling over into excuses. "Don't—don't put this on me! This wasn't my—"

But I barely heard him. My rage was a tangible thing.

I sucked in a deep breath and asked the question I knew would tear me apart.

"How long?"

Eric's mouth fell open, but no sound came out. Jennifer stared at the floor as if it could swallow her whole. The silence cut deeper than any answer.

"HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?" I screamed, my voice raw.

Jen's throat bobbed as she swallowed. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she admitted, "Two months, Grey. It's been two months."

"Are you fucking serious?" The words dripped venom, every syllable burning. "You two were—excuse me, were—the people I trusted most in this world. And this is what you do? This is how you betray me?"

I stepped forward, fists clenched so tightly my nails bit into my palms. My magic writhed inside me, restless, desperate for release. But beneath it was something else—something older and heavier. It crawled under my skin, clawed at my insides, demanding to be set free.

It terrified me.

Every cell in my body screamed for blood, screamed to tear their heads from their shoulders. And I was so consumed by it that I didn't even realize I'd crossed the room—until Jennifer's throat was in my hands.

Her eyes went wide, lips parting soundlessly as she struggled for air. Eric's shouts blurred into the background as he clawed at my wrists, failing to pry me off. Jennifer twitched beneath my grip, her movements slowing as her face reddened.

Everything around me blurred. My gums ached, my skin rippled like it didn't belong to me. The only sounds that reached me were the rush of my blood and the pounding of my heart. I wasn't myself. I was watching from somewhere far away, a stranger in my own body.

And then something broke through.

This isn't me.

I'm not a killer. Not even for liars. Not even for traitors.

With a shuddering breath, I forced myself back into my body and let go.

Sound crashed back into the room all at once. Jennifer collapsed forward, coughing violently, dragging ragged breaths into her lungs. Eric dropped beside her, frantic, his hands shaking as he tried to steady her.

I wasn't murderous anymore—but I was far from calm.

I whispered a sharp hex under my breath, letting it cling to Eric like smoke, before clearing my throat. Their heads snapped toward me.

"I never want to see either of you near me or my family again," I said, my voice steady, cold. "If I do—you'll regret it."

My gaze locked with Jennifer's tear-streaked eyes, then cut to Eric's guilty, terrified ones.

"I hope you eat shit and die," I spat. "You two deserve each other."

And with that, I walked out and never looked back.