I raised my fist, poised to pound against Molly’s door, but paused. I didn’t really want to do this. I knew she was in her room- that much was evident by the thrumming bass music that was rattling the door on its hinges. But still, I honestly didn’t want to go in there.
I’d never gone to her for help before, but this was an emergency. Molly was an expert at using makeup and even I had to admit that she was one of the prettiest people I knew. Beauty was practically her pastime. Was it really worth it, though? To look nice for my date, but have to face her and whatever wrath she decided to befall me?
I braced myself, threw back my shoulders, and knocked on the door. The music stopped almost instantly, creating an eerie silence that filled the house. Sam wasn’t back from work yet, which meant my mother wouldn’t be here either; she often went out on errands and visited him at work until he came home. She knew it had to be either me or a very polite robber, but it didn’t seem like she was taking any chances.
“Who is it?”
“Molly, just open the door. Please.” I heard the creak of her bed and footsteps- too many footsteps for it to be just her. The handle on the door twisted and she pulled the door open slightly, blocking me from looking inside her room. Still, it was no competition as I shoved it open further with my shoulder so I could see what she had been doing. It was then that I realized I hadn’t been in here in months.
She’d replaced the posters on the walls with new ones, different pop-culture icons as trends went in and out of style. Her furniture was still ornate, wood and very antique, colored a dark red cherry that dully shone. As the only redhead in the house, it was fitting that Molly was the only one with red furniture. The elegant furniture was a stark contrast to the sheets on her bed. Whenever I normally came in here, Molly’s bed was neatly made; I assumed it was made by my mother, but for all I knew, Molly’s mother, Marina, might have taught her to make her bed before she walked out on Sam and Molly. These sheets were rumpled, though, as if someone had been sleeping or rolling around in them. The window on the far side of her room was open and the light breeze was blowing her blue curtains outside. I glanced over at Molly, who had her arms folded defiantly over the wrinkled shirt she made no attempt to straighten. Her cheeks were stained with a flush that wouldn’t go away and her normally straight hair was twisted and mussed in the back. Casually, I walked over to the open window and glanced outside, to see someone running away, stumbling slightly as they attempted to dress themselves while doing so.
“You won’t say a word to Cassandra,” Molly said, cocking her hip as she leaned against a wall. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. As much as we hated to admit that we even knew each other, both of us were well versed on the habits of the other. I knew that she was a manipulative bitch and she knew that I wouldn’t stand up to my mother because I’d find myself on the street in seconds. I also knew that she wasn’t supposed to have her boyfriend, Noah, over while Sam and my mother were out and she knew that if she twisted my words in just the right way, I’d be the one ending up in trouble.