Clair sat at her desk, her elbow propped on its surface as she idly twisted her gun in slow circles. The metallic sheen caught the dim light, reflecting a fractured version of herself back at her. Her gaze was distant, lost in contemplation.
Russian roulette came through her mind, a brief dangerous fantasy, but she dismissed it with a snort.
" shit to do," she muttered under her breath, pushing the gun aside.
She rose, stretching slightly before wandering into the foyer, her fingers brushing the fabric of her jacket.
Kamala's slap replayed in her mind sharp, stinging, and humbling.
Clair couldn't shake the humiliation, nor could she deny the lingering want to experience it again.
"Goddamn, she's still so hot," Clair murmured to herself, her voice full of bitterness and longing.
It was maddening how, even now, Kamala could force such desire from her. Howard had been a bitter mark in her past for her emotions, every interaction with Kamala a reminder of what she couldn't have.
What someone else so easily could.
Her mind wandered to the night that changed everything between them, so close, happy, friends. Quickly swept away...the blood, the chase, Kamala's wide, horrified eyes. Clair had cornered her, backed her into a wall of choices that weren't choices at all.
"You can't tell anyone, Kamala. We'll lose everything, I had to do this, we needed this!" she had said, begging for Kamala to nod that she agreed, though her voice was firm, her hands trembled.
She hadn't stopped there.
She had dragged Kamala into her darkness, making sure her hands were just as bloodied. It was the only way to keep Kamala close, mouth shut, the only way to ensure her silence.
A humorless chuckle escaped her lips as the memory faded, and she found herself back in the present, standing in her kitchen. She stared down at the counter, muttering fragments of her ideas, her thoughts swirling like a storm.
She sighed deeply, shaking her head. "This isn't how I wanted things to go, we were supposed to be together, unstoppable..." she admitted quietly.
Clair paused, her lips curling into a wry smile. "But you give me no choice."
Her fingers traced the edge of a knife she had left on the counter, the cold steel a grounding sensation.
"This ho gotta die—" Clair started, before stopping herself.
HA!
No. She wasn't going to let it come to that.
'Kamala would meet with her' she decided.
An NDA would solve everything. Maybe even over dinner, a civilized conversation where she could control the situation.
Rolling her eyes at her own thoughts, she turned and headed upstairs, leaving the other room, and the knife on the counter. But her mind refused to rest.
Tomorrow, she'd ask her to meet.
December 25th
Kamala woke up with a start, her body heavy, weighed down by the last few days. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she hung her head low, her hands cradling her face. The memory of the other day came flooding back, and with it, the crushing realization of what she had yet to do.
"Shit," she muttered, her voice hoarse.
The paperwork. She had never filed the paperwork to drop the damn suit. And now, she'd have to explain herself to Willis, which made her stomach churn.
Rolling her eyes, Kamala stood, shaking off the lingering fatigue.
She didn't know why she was so nervous, her hand was forced here, and there was no way he didn't know she couldn't win.
She went through the motions of getting ready, each step robotic—shower, coffee, throw on her usual office wear, she wouldn't be there long though. She grabbed her keys, slamming the door behind her, and drove to the office, the familiar sights of D.C. passing in a blur.
As she entered the office building, Kamala ignored the usual greetings and headed straight to Willis' office. The door was already open, and Willis looked up as she marched in and sat down without invitation.
Willis sighed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.
"Alright, what is it now? Should I call for backup, or is this one of the calmer rants?"
Kamala didn't laugh. She didn't even smirk. Instead, she crossed her legs and arms, staring him down with an intensity that wiped the humor from his face.
"I'm dropping the suit," she said, her tone clipped.
Willis blinked, leaning back in his chair. "What? Why?"
"Did you know," Kamala began, her voice low and measured, "that the manifest you told me Clair didn't fully submit, and was meant to help the jury in the case was a copy?"
Willis bit his lip, his expression shifting from surprise to guilt. "I... I knew."
Kamala leaned forward, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "And you didn't think that was something worth mentioning? Or were you too busy throwing me under the bus?"
Willis opened his mouth to respond but faltered under her glare.
She continued, her voice rising. "Clair brought this whole thing in. And the prosecution? They knew the original manifest was missing. They replaced it with a redacted copy and let the D.A.'s office negligence bury it. And you knew this too, didn't you?"
Willis stared at her, his silence answering her question.
Kamala shifted in her seat, her anger barely contained. "What did Clair threaten you with, Willis?"
His voice was barely a whisper. "She... she didn't threaten me."
"Don't lie to me," Kamala snapped, slamming her hand on the desk. "What. Did. She. Threaten. You. With?"
Willis swallowed hard, avoiding her gaze. "Exposing the office... and me. To the public. I'd lose my job."
Kamala laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of humor. "well I got Death, that threat on you fuckers, and collateral damage if I don't give that damn witch and her coven what they want" she said sharply.
"That's what she threatened me with. So, I'm dropping the case. Effective immediately."
She grabbed the pen on the desk and scrawled her signature on the final line of the paperwork, officially closing the suit. With a flourish, she tossed the pen and the folder onto Willis' desk.
" don't you ever call me, text me, or involve me in any of your schemes again," she spat.
"You knew this case wasn't going anywhere. You pawned it off on me, knowing damn well it was dead from the start."
"Fucking up my afternoons n' shit" she scowled
Willis sat silently, his face pale.
Kamala turned on her heel and stormed out of the office, muttering under her breath. As she stepped into the hallway, she unbuttoned the top button of her shirt, the suffocating air of the office suddenly unbearable.
"Glad I retired from this hellhole," she hissed, pushing open the building's glass doors.
"Can't believe I actually considered going back to this."
—
Samara woke to the soft buzz of her phone on the nightstand. Blinking herself awake, she grabbed it, squinting at the screen. A text from Kamala.
Kamala
Hey. I'm sorry. I quit my job, which means your internship is terminated too. But don't worry; I already made sure you'll still get the school credit for it. After everything that went down, it's for the best. You're free now! no more office drama. Also, come by tonight around 7. Bring Tazara. Well talk properly.
Samara reread the message twice, a slow smile spreading across her face.
Kamala texting her meant she had unblocked her; somewhere between yesterday and today.
When exactly?
She didn't know.
But did it matter?
Absolutely not.
For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt a flicker of hope.
Throwing off the covers, Samara grabbed her favorite lounge set and started getting ready. Across the room, Tazara was tying her shoes and grabbing her bag for the day.
"What's got you all smiling this morning?" Tazara asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Kamala texted me," Samara replied, unable to hide her excitement. She held up her phone.
"She said she's sorry, and she quit. My internship is over, but I still get credit for it. And she wants us to come by her place tonight!"
Tazara rolled her eyes with a grin. "Lucky. You better pray she doesn't clam up again, I want all the tea. Keep your phone on, though, just in case Clair decides to kidnap you or some shit."
Samara laughed. "Noted."
After Tazara left, Samara was left alone in the dorm. She thought about calling Kamala but hesitated, her thumb hovering over the call button. Before she could decide, her phone lit up with an unknown number.
She hesitated but answered. "Hello?"
Before she could get another word out, a familiar voice cut in.
"I'm outside your dorm with some good shit you might wanna try," Siobhan said, her tone casual.
"What the—" Samara started, but Siobhan hung up before she could finish.
'I'm surprised she didn't take my dorm key too' tazara remarked under her breath
Seconds later, a knock echoed from the door. Samara opened it to find Siobhan standing there, grinning and holding a bag slung over her shoulder. Without waiting for an invitation, Siobhan brushed past her and stepped into the dorm.
"Hey cutie," Siobhan said, spinning in a circle in the middle of the room.
Samara froze, too... unsure to respond. She watched as Siobhan made herself at home, she started moving around the room picking up and putting things down. She was moving too fast for Samara to get a word out or notice her swiping the spare key in her night stand as she looked at her and Tazara's photo, her back covering her actions.
Eventually, she wandered over to Tazara's side, plopping down on Tamara's bed and rummaging through her bag.
"Uh, what are you—" Samara started, but the words died in her throat as Siobhan pulled out an enormous bong and a lighter.
"What?" Siobhan asked, her grin widening.
"You look like you've seen a ghost."
Samara felt a mix of emotions—confusion, frustration, and a twinge of fear—but mostly, she felt trapped. She couldn't decide whether to tell Siobhan to leave or to let her stay.
"Relax," Siobhan said, setting up the bong. "You're gonna thank me for this."
Samara didn't move, her mind racing. She didn't know what to say or do.
Siobhan lit the bong with a practiced ease, the flame catching as she took a long, deliberate hit. Smoke curled around her lips as she exhaled, though it didn't seem to affect her, walking over to the window and cracking it open, letting the haze escape into the cold air.
She turned back to Samara, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Slowly, she approached, the bong still in her hand. Her movements were easy, almost predatory, her gaze locked on Samara. As she tilted the bong slightly, some ash fell to the floor between them, breaking the silence.
"What are you even smoking?" Samara asked cautiously, her arms crossed.
"It's we, and we are smoking indica," Siobhan replied with a smirk.
Samara stiffened. She liked indica, loved it, even, but the idea of a full-body high while trapped in here, with her, didn't sit right with her.
"I don't think that's a good idea for me right now."
She knew she wouldn't ask Siobhan to leave. Nor did she believe she would, without what she must do, wanted to have shown up at her door.
Siobhan pouted dramatically, her eyes widening in mock hurt. "Aw, come on. Stop being such a pussy. Or is this about that Kamala lady? Still pouting over her?"
Samara flinched, Siobhan's words hitting a little too close to home. "That's not it."
"Then prove it." Siobhan grinned and brought the bong closer, teasingly holding it just out of reach.
"One hit won't kill you."
'You might'
"Think of it as paying me back for the clothes, by the way, you can keep..."
Samara hesitated. Despite her hesitation, she could feel Siobhan's persistence wearing her down. Her tone was playful but insistent, the guilt-tripping relentless. Against her better judgment, she leaned forward, taking the bong.
The first hit was smooth, the fruity flavor of the smoke filling her lungs. She coughed slightly as the effects hit immediately, her body beginning to feel warm and heavy.
"That's enough," Samara muttered, shaking her head to clear the haze.
But Siobhan wasn't done. She dangled the bong in front of Samara teasingly, her voice soft and coaxing.
"Don't stop now. One more for me? It'll even us out"
Samara tried to resist, but as Siobhan continued to talk, her voice dipped in a way that reminded Samara of how Kamala used to praise her. That familiar pull of authority and allure tugged at her resolve. Slowly, almost hypnotically, Samara found herself leaning in again, taking another hit.
As she exhaled, Siobhan's hands found their way around her waist, her grip tightening like a trap. Samara stiffened, the proximity unsettling.
"By the way," Siobhan said casually, her lips brushing Samara's ear. "You left your ID at my place. That's how I figured out your dorm."
She pulled the card from her pocket and handed it over, using the motion to draw Samara closer. Before Samara could react, Siobhan leaned in, stealing a kiss.
Samara jerked back, her mind reeling. "What the hell?"
"You expect me to wait until Friday to kiss you again?"
Siobhan laughed, her voice teasing. "What's the matter... Touch-me-not?"
Samara frowned. She wasn't like this with everyone. Just with Siobhan, she didn't want him touching her. "Don't start with me," she muttered, stepping back.
But Siobhan persisted, her tone light and coaxing.
"Come on. Let's make this our first date. Christmas Day; perfect start of something special. Friday, you'll take me out, like you promised, and we'll split the bill? Then I'll split you."
Samara froze, her face heating. "What was that last part?"
Siobhan smirked. "I'll only repeat it if you take another hit."
Something in Siobhan's voice, the way it dipped and softened like Kamala's used to, pulled Samara in again. Against her better judgment, she reached for the bong once more. As she inhaled deeply, her mind swimming, Siobhan's hands wrapped tighter around her, holding her in place, her eyes attempting to suffocate her.
Samara's fingers twitched around the bong, her palms slicking with sweat as she tried to pull her hands away. But Siobhan held firm, her nails digging into Samara's skin. She winced.
"Come on," Siobhan said with a saccharine smile, tilting her head. "Take another long, deep hit. Really let it sink in this time."
Samara hesitated, her voice trembling as she asked, "If I do, will you stop clawing at me?"
Siobhan's smirk widened. "Maybe."
Reluctantly, Samara took another hit, this one shallow and hesitant. But Siobhan's hand shot to the back of her head, forcing her closer to the bong.
"No," Siobhan cooed, her voice low and commanding. "Really inhale."
Samara froze, panic bubbling up in her chest. She felt trapped, Siobhan held her tighter, her breath hitching as she was forced to take a deep, strained inhale. The smoke tunneled her vision, the taste suddenly sharp and bitter, a sickly sweetness coating her tongue. She coughed violently, her chest tightening as she struggled to expel the smoke. Lips unable to move from the head of the bong.
"I'm done," Samara managed to choke out between coughs, her voice hoarse.
But Siobhan didn't let go. "One more," she urged quickly, her tone soft but insistent.
"I have plans later, I can-" Samara tried to excuse, her voice shaky, but Siobhan's grip didn't falter.
Finally, Siobhan released Samara's head, but her fingers finding purchase now clamped around her wrist, keeping her close. Samara tugged at her arm, her movements growing more desperate, increasingly disjointed.
The sound of the door creaking made both women freeze.
Tazara stood in the doorway, her expression a mix of anger and concern, she'd been standing there way longer than it seems. Her eyes flicked between the two of them, narrowing as they looked at Samara's bloodshot eyes, and Siobhan gripped her friend.
Same bruised wrist she'd been shown.
Samara's voice came hollow. "How long have you been standing there?"
Tazara's gaze sharpened, her lips pressing into a thin line. The look she gave Samara was clear—play along.
Samara swallowed hard, her mind racing as she nodded slightly. "I mean! we were just, uh... hanging out, smokin' n' stuff... heh" Samara said taking the chance to distance herself from Siobhan, still her wrist stayed in her grip
Tazara crossed her arms, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Yeah. Looks like a wonderful time."
Siobhan smirked, her grip loosening but still lingering on Samara's wrist. "Well, this is awkward," she said casually, as if nothing were wrong, she stood from the bed and sat the bong in her bag, smoke still curling from the spout.
Tazara stepped further into the room, her stance protective as she glared at Siobhan. "I think you need to go." her eyes flickering between Samara's low eyes and considering what she'd seen and heard at the door.
Siobhan raised an eyebrow, her smirk fading into a defiant pout. "What if I don't feel like it? I was just getting st-"
"Now you're done, leave, Sam, are you alr-"
"She's high." Siobhan
"I know, so leave, she doesn't need you getting her baked when we have plans later" Tazara didn't flinch, her voice firm.
"What if I don't?"
"Try me." tazara said stepping closer, "I am not that woman you told off in that club"
"Oh... she told you about that" Siobhan said as she turned to Samara with a knowing smile
'We like sharing secrets, touché' Siobhan thought
For a moment, the tension in the room was suffocating. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, Siobhan let go of Samara's wrist and grabbed her bag.
"Fine," she said, brushing past Tazara on her way to the door. "But don't act like you didn't have fun, Samara. See ya soon, baby..."
As the door clicked shut behind her, Tazara turned to Samara, her eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay, your eyes, what did you smoke?"
Samara nodded weakly, rubbing her wrist. "Thanks for stepping in. She said it was indica"
Tazara's frown deepened, "Girl that was not fucking indica, you look like shit" she stepped up and hugged her friend. Pulling back and grabbing her phone from the night stand. "I have to go, i'll be back probably by noon, we'll talk about this later"
She began towards the door, but before she could open it.
Samara, voice came heavy with exhaustion, "I can't think about this today... now? okay? It's Christmas. This was just a mistake." She paused, swallowing hard, as if her words were stuck in her throat.
"I shouldn't have let her in. I mean... she kind of pushed her way in before I could even say no."
Tazara turned, her hand still on the doorknob, her expression hardening.
"Pushed her way in, huh? Sounds about right. But let's be real, Sam, she didn't just 'push her way in.' She forced you to smoke that damn bong multiple times. You didn't want to."
"I know," Samara shot back, her tone sharp but quickly faltering. "I know, Taz. But she... she does something to me. Every time she talks, it's like she's in my head. I feel..." She rubbed her temples, her voice trembling.
"I feel small. Not the good kind of small I feel around Kamala, like when she makes me feel safe. This-this is different. It's demeaning. Controlling. Manipulative. And I don't know how to get out of it. Or if I even can. I'm just letting it happen? She doesn't take hints. Or she just doesn't care... anyway, It's my-"
Tazara opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Samara slumped forward, her words trailing off into incomprehensible mumbles. Her body swayed, and before Tazara could catch her, Samara tumbled forward, landing awkwardly on the floor with a dull thud.
"Samara!" Tazara rushed over, crouching down to help her friend up. She hauled Samara back onto the bed, her concern deepening as she noticed Samara's bloodshot eyes and dazed expression.
"My head..." Samara groaned. "It's killing me. And everything looks... Not real."
Tazara leaned in closer, catching a faint but distinct smell on Samara's breath. She sniffed again, her nose wrinkling as she muttered under her breath, "Godfather OG. Hybrid. How the hell did she get that in D.C.?" Despite her concern, she let out a dry laugh, shaking her head.
"Damn, she gave you the good shit."
Samara let out a weak groan in response, barely registering Tazara's words. Her expression was more dazed than intimidating.
"Maybe I need to smoke with Siobhan," Tazara jokes, trying to lighten the mood, though her voice carried a sharp edge of frustration with her friends' situation.
Samara made a weak attempt at a glare, but her head lolled back against the pillow, too heavy to hold up.
"Okay, okay, bad joke," Tazara said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "Look, you need to sleep this off. That stuff is way too strong for your tolerance, clearly. Order some food, drink water, and don't you green out on me."
She glanced at her phone, muttering a curse under her breath. "I'm late. I have to go, but I'll be back by noon. We'll figure this out later, okay?"
Samara tried to nod but ended up collapsing back onto the bed instead. Her body felt like lead, her limbs unresponsive. With a defeated groan, she closed her eyes, hoping that sleep would dull the pounding in her head and the nausea rolling in her stomach.
—
When Samara woke, sunlight streamed through the curtains, and her head still throbbed, though not as intensely. As she shifted, she froze, a chill running down her spine. Her pants were around her ankles, and she was lying in just her underwear. Shirt halfway on. The faint scent of lavender hung in the air.
Her brows furrowed in confusion.
Did I wake up?
Take a shower?
Did I forget?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Siobhan strolled casually, holding a bag of takeout in one hand. She set it down on the desk, turning to Samara with a faint smile.
"Hey, sleepyhead," she said, her tone light and breezy, as if everything were perfectly normal.
Samara struggled to sit upright, her limbs sluggish and her head still spinning. She knew she should tell her to leave, but how the hell did she get in."What... what are you doing here?"
"I walked around campus until I came back, walked around the law building, and found that class that lady teaches. It's nice, we should try something in there some time?" she gave a soft smile before turning away again, "But... noticed a friend left, so I thought I'd come back, and we could maybe finish what we started" Siobhan explained, leaning casually against the desk, Samara shifted uncomfortably.
"BUT! I found you on the floor throwing up. You were a mess, so I cleaned you up."
Samara blinked at her, her mind clouded and uneasy. "Oh... uh, thanks."
Siobhan smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Don't mention it. I couldn't just leave you like that, cute, all... messed up, I- I had to do something we- about it."
She stepped closer, picking up Samara's pants from around her ankles and helping her pull them back on. Then, she straightened her shirt and patted her shoulder.
"I brought food. Eat. You'll feel better."
Separating the takeout, Siobhan placed Samara's share on the desk. "I'll see you Friday," she said as she headed for the door. "Hope you like the food."
The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Samara alone.
For a moment, she sat frozen, her heart pounding. Something felt... off. Her gaze shifted to her desk drawer, and with trembling hands, she opened it. Her dorm key wasn't in its usual place. But there.
"At least she returned it, I guess" she muttered to herself, though her voice was tinged with unease.
Her stomach growled, and she reached for the food, tearing into it like a starved animal. But as she ate, the nagging feeling in the back of her mind grew louder.
I don't remember her coming back. I don't remember anything she said she did.
The realization hit her like a brick, and her appetite vanished. She stared at the food, her mind racing with thoughts she didn't want to finish.
If Siobhan's behavior was anything to go by, imagining the worst wasn't difficult.
—
Noon
Kamala stood frozen at the doorstep, the cheer from her day draining away as she locked eyes with Clair. The bags in her hands grew heavier as the silence stretched between them.
"Relax," Clair said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "I'm not here to play with guns again. I'm here to apologize."
Kamala's eyebrows shot up, but she said nothing, stepping back slightly. Clair sighed, shifting her weight uncomfortably.
"Look, I may have... overreacted," Clair admitted, her tone softer than Kamala expected. "I've been on this high horse about the past, and about the case. I was out of line."
Kamala crossed her arms, still wary. "And you're here today just for that?"
Clair glanced around, almost sheepish. "Because I want this to be done. For good. No more back-and-forth, no more courtrooms, no more leverage games. Just... peace. I brought something to make sure we stay out of each other's hair permanently."
Kamala tilted her head, skeptical. "You're saying this is about making peace after what you pulled yesterday you hit somebody with a g-?"
Clair cut her off, reaching into her purse and pulling out a slim folder.
"An NDA. Simple, clean, and binding. Neither of us says a word about... anything. To anyone with authority or influence. We sign it, and we live separate lives."
Kamala stared at the folder, considering. It sounded almost too good to be true, but if it was genuine... it was a chance to put Clair behind her for good.
"Fine," Kamala said at last, stepping aside and gesturing toward the house. "Come in. Let's get this over with."
She dropped the grocery bags by the door and went to her study. Once there, Kamala grabbed her desk drawer key and pocketed it. Something about Clair's sudden appearance still felt off, and Kamala wasn't about to take chances.
When she returned to Clair she found Clair had moved the grocery bags and was casually unpacking them in her kitchen.
"Nice place," Clair remarked, glancing around. "Cozy, but with character. I always imagined you'd have a home like this one day."
Kamala set her jaw. "Let's focus on the NDA."
But Clair ignored her, placing a loaf of bread on the counter and continuing as if Kamala hadn't spoken.
"You know," Clair said, her tone distant, "I used to think about what it would've been like if we'd ended up together. You and me, side by side. I'd have loved having you on marble, K."
Kamala exhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay calm. "You'd have had me no matter what happened back then, Clair. But not in the way you wanted. I wanted you as a friend. Nothing more."
Clair's expression fell into a pout. "I know. Believe me, I know. After that night, you made it very clear. Moving out of the dorm, changing your number, swapping to early classes just to avoid me..."
"For good reason." Kamala interrupted, grabbing the pen she'd brought. She held it out to Clair, her tone firm.
Clair pulled the NDA from her purse, smoothing the papers on the counter before signing her portion. She handed it to Kamala, who scanned the short, self-made document. It was simple enough, with no hidden clauses. With a final glance at Clair, Kamala signed it.
"Done," Kamala said, pushing the papers back to Clair. "Now leave."
Clair tucked the NDA into her bag but hesitated at the door. Her voice softened, tinged with an edge Kamala couldn't place.
"Since that day, I've never been the same," Clair said quietly. "My ethics, my drive, my motivations, it all fell apart. I'm leaving law, Kamala. Retiring from everything."
Kamala folded her arms, unmoved. "Good. It's for the best, for everyone if you don't have power over anyone anymore."
Clair chuckled, but it was hollow. "You've still got that bite," she said, flashing a small, hurt smile before stepping outside.
As the door closed behind her, Kamala leaned against the counter, her mind racing. Clair's words rattled around in her head. Was it all genuine, or just another ploy?
She shook the thoughts away and turned back to the groceries. There was a dinner to prepare, and other things to focus on.
—
Clair stepped out into the chilly evening air, her heels clicking against the pavement as she walked to her car. The city lights twinkled in the distance, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling in her chest. The office wasn't far, and by the time she arrived, the party had likely held a handful of stragglers.
Parking her car, she stepped into the building, the faint hum of holiday music still playing over the speakers. The sight that greeted her was anything but festive. Half the office was slumped over each other, their desks, the chairs, hell she could smell the room temperature spiked eggnog rotting.
She stepped over a few people but found Daniel and Sophie were in her office slumped over her desks. This was a half-hearted attempt at holiday cheer, evident in the garlands hanging askew from her walls, from what she could see through the glass door. The table was a battlefield of empty pizza boxes and crumpled napkins. Tazara, cross-legged in her chair, headphones in, munching on a slice of pizza while watching Home Alone on her phone. Clair pushed the door open with more force than necessary, the loud slam startling everyone in the room.
Daniel and Sophie jerked upright, hastily straightening their ties and rubbing their eyes. Tazara pulled her headphones out, blinking up at Clair in surprise.
"I have an announcement," Clair began, her voice sharp but steady. "I'm leaving. Effective immediately. I'm retiring."
The room went silent.
Clair turned to Tazara first, her expression softening. "I'm sorry for cutting your internship short. You've been a quick learner, and I hate to do this to you on such short notice. I hope you can forgive me."
Before Clair could say more, Tazara held up a hand to stop her. "I don't mind," she said simply. "I don't mind one bit."
Clair blinked, taken aback by the lack of resistance. But what she had expected, she threatened her. She nodded once, then turned to Daniel and Sophie, who both looked like deer caught in headlights.
"And for you two," she continued, "don't worry. You'll be reassigned to other counselors. I've already put in a good word for both of you, and if you're ready, I think you could even start taking cases yourselves."
Daniel frowned. "But... you're leaving? Just like that? What happens to everything we've worked on, have been working on together?"
Clair shrugged. "It'll carry on without me. Kaplan and Bridgette have some more than capable counselors. And you two are capable enough to see it through. For now, enjoy your Christmas, because I'm flying to Costa Rica for the month."
She turned to leave, but Tazara's voice stopped her.
"So... does this mean I can go home?"
Clair smirked. "I don't give a damn what you do," she said, her tone laced with a strange mix of finality and fondness. "You're not my intern anymore. Though I'll admit, you had potential. Still, I doubt I'd have kept you around much longer...not after what you overheard."
The room tensed. Tazara's face remained unreadable, but her grip on her phone tightened. Clair gave her one last look, then walked out without another word.
The silence she left behind was thick.
"What was that about?" Sophie finally asked, turning to Tazara.
"Yeah," Daniel added.
"What did she mean, 'what you overheard'?"
Tazara stuffed her phone and charger into her bag, refusing to look up.
"You're not getting a damn thing from me," she said firmly. "Not when I've been threatened by someone like Clair."
Her voice left no room for argument. She slung her bag over her shoulder and strode out, leaving Daniel and Sophie exchanging confused glances.
She couldn't tell if Claire was serious, but Tazara wasn't going to stick around to find out.
"BYE suckers, you all enjoy this hellhole." She said, basically running onto the elevator as it opens, grateful to be out of her orbit.
—
Room suffocating, air too thick to breath, panic roaring through her chest as she paced back and forth, her hands tugging at her hair, her shirt, her pants, anything she can hold onto. Tears streamed down her face, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.
"She took my key, Tazara," Samara cried, her voice trembling.
"What's next? My car? My laptop? She's just... she does whatever she wants, and I don't know how to stop her! I didn't even know she'd come back!"
Tazara stood frozen for a moment, her expression shifting from confusion to concern. "Wait, slow down," she said, stepping closer. "What do you mean, she came back?"
Samara grabbed Tazara's shoulders, her eyes wide and frantic.
"She was here!" Samara exclaimed. "I woke up... in just my underwear. She must've... she must've done something while I was asleep!"
Tazara's stomach sank. "Samara, are you saying she—"
"She said I was throwing up on myself!" Samara interrupted, her voice breaking. "She cleaned me up and put new clothes on me. But, Tazara... I don't remember any of it. She could've done anything!"
Tazara's jaw clenched. "Anything? She undressed you in your sleep? She basically drugged you? Took your stuff? Samara, we need to call the cops. This isn't okay!"
She reached for her phone, but Samara lunged forward, snatching it out of her hands.
"No!" Samara cried, shaking her head violently. "I can't! If we call, she'll come back. She'll do something?! I can't take that chance! Besides, we have plans! Heh, yeah, plans!" her eyes back to their impossibly red color
Tazara stared at her, horrified. "Samara, whatever she had you smoked is riding your ass hard, she's treating you like you're a doll she throws around. You can't keep letting her do this. She's gonna be dangerous if you let her!"
Samara wiped at her tears, her body trembling. "She brought me food?" Samara said as if to soften the blow
"I didn't even finish the food," she admitted. "I... I don't trust it. She probably did something to it."
Tazara eyed the untouched takeout on the desk. "Fine, if you won't, I will. Couldn't, nobody in their right mind would pass up free food, and you're still alive?"
Before Samara could protest, Tazara grabbed the container and started eating.
"See?" she said between bites. "Food's fine. She's a psycho, but she's not poisoning you. Now sit down before you pass out."
Samara glared at her, her breaths still uneven, but her spiraling began to slow as Tazara's calm demeanor chipped away at her panic. But as Tazara ate, Samara struggled to pull herself onto her bed until she gave up hanging lazily halfway on and halfway off.
"Get some sleep," She stood, nudging Samara onto the bed fully. "I'm setting an alarm. We're going to Kamala's place later, don't throw up again, or first the time, I don't fucking know... "
Samara blinked up at her, confused. "Kamala? You don't even know where she lives." said, slightly appalled. Samara just curled up on the bed. As Tazara settled into her own bed, phone in hand, she glanced at her friend, silently vowing to do whatever it took to protect her.
Whatever Siobhan's game was, tazara wanted it to end. Now.
A few hours later, Tazara stirred awake to the sharp blare of her alarm. Groaning, she slapped her phone to silence it and rolled out of bed. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced over at Samara, who was sprawled haphazardly across the bed.
"Samara, get up. Shoes on, now," Tazara said, nudging her shoulder.
Samara mumbled incoherently, burying her face deeper into the pillow.
"Come on, girl," Tazara said with a sigh, gently pulling her up to sit. "We gotta go. And please, don't throw up again—or for the first time. I don't even know anymore."
Samara blinked up at her, her eyes glassy, still dazed. Tazara's stomach twisted with unease. Whatever Siobhan had given her seemed to have hit harder than just weed.
"Put your damn shoes on," Tazara said firmly, steadying her as Samara struggled to comply. Tazara prayed Kamala wouldn't notice how out of it Samara was.
Once they were both ready, Tazara helped her friend to the car, buckled her in, and climbed into the driver's seat. "Okay, where am I going?" she asked, starting the engine.
Samara muttered directions, her words slurring slightly. Tazara followed them without question, but after a few wrong turns, she realized they were heading nowhere fast.
—
Kamala stood by the living room window, her arms crossed as she stared out into the street. The Christmas dinner was finished, the table cleared, and yet there was no sign of Tazara or Samara.
The clock read 7:15. A knot tightened in her stomach as worry began to creep in.
Her phone buzzed, startling her. She grabbed it quickly, her heart lifting when she saw Samara's name on the screen.
"Samara? Where are you?" Kamala asked.
"It's not Samara—it's Tazara," came the voice on the other end, laced with frustration. "How do we get to your place? Because Samara's... uh..."
Kamala frowned. In the background, she could hear faint crying or groaning?
"Is everything alright?"
Tazara let out a heavy sigh. "Not really. I might need help getting Samara inside."
"Why? What's wrong with her?" Kamala's voice sharpened with concern.
"Her crazy one-night stand forced her to hit a bong full of some really strong stuff," Tazara said bluntly. "She's freaking out, wallowing in self-pity, and panicking because—"
"Because what?" Kamala pressed, her tone low.
"Because she doesn't want to admit the girl assaulted her, and she knows she looks blasted and is scared you'd find out" Tazara said, her voice dropping as if she didn't want Samara to overhear.
Kamala froze. "Assaulted her... sexually?" she asked, the question hanging in the air like a weight.
In the background, Samara's voice shot out. "No! Bye!"
The line went dead, leaving Kamala staring at her phone, her stomach twisting into knots. Anger began to rise but dulled as guilt crept up, the memory of the girl at the club flashing through her mind. She knew Samara was drunk, she knew she wasn't thinking straight, she knew it, she should have gone after her, but she was smiling ear to ear?
Now, that smile haunted her.
Kamala set her phone down, her hands shaking. She couldn't shake the image of Samara, drunk and angry at her, running straight into that girl's arms to spite her. Guilt stabbed at her as she realized how her own fears had driven Samara away, to someone who had clearly, from what tazara told her, taken advantage of her.
The oven timer went off, pulling her from her thoughts. She took a deep breath, wiped her hands on her apron, and went to the kitchen. Pulling the ham from the oven, she set it on the counter.
The sound of the car door closing pulled Kamala's attention to the window. She saw Tazara helping Samara out of the car, her friend swaying slightly but managing to stay on her feet. Eyes fixed on the distance, watching something....
They made their way up the steps, and Kamala opened the door before they could knock.
"Hey," Tazara said, her tone weary
Samara stumbled past her without a word, though Kamala didn't mind, she could tell Samara had been biding her time to fall over. She headed straight for the dining table. She sat down heavily, leaning on the edge as if the weight of her body was too much to carry.
Kamala stepped aside, letting Tazara in. "You can make yourself a plate, I'll handle Samara?" she said softly, already heading to fill one for Samara.
Tazara nodded, moving toward the spread on the table. Meanwhile, Kamala filled Samara's plate with care, her eyes darting toward her friend. The faint smell of weed lingered in the air, mingled with something different.
Earthy or forestry.
Samara's eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, and her movements were slow and detached.
"How long has she been like this?" Kamala whispered
"Since this morning?" Tazara said, making Kamala's head spin.
Kamala placed the plate in front of her, sighing. "Eat something, Samara. You're probably starving."
Samara barely moved, her voice weak. "No."
Tazara looked over, her tone teasing but firm. "Girl, eat. You know your stomach is hollering. Siobhan isn't here, and she didn't touch the food."
Samara's eyes widened, her paranoia bubbling to the surface. Her gaze darted around the room, her hands pressing flat against the table as her breathing quickened.
" Don't fucking play with me right now."
Tazara chuckled, leaning toward Kamala and whispering, "She thinks Siobhan's gonna show up out of nowhere again."
Kamala frowned. "What do you mean, 'again'? What happened?"
Tazara hesitated but eventually answered. "Siobhan took her ID and dorm key, she found our dorm from her campus ID, and showed up out of nowhere this morning, did the thing with the weed, I told her to leave, but she came back and got in with the key she'd stolen. She gave them back, but still..."
Kamala turned to Samara, her expression softening. "Is that true?"
Samara didn't respond. Her dazed eyes remained fixed on the table. Kamala sighed, sliding the plate closer to her.
Dinner was quiet. Tazara and Kamala ate while Samara picked at her food, giggling at it to herself, occasionally needing a nudge when she started to drift off.
When they were done, Kamala wiped her mouth and stood. "Dessert?" she offered, heading to the counter. "I made a pound cake."
Tazara's chair screeched as she shot up. "Say less!"
Samara groaned, leaning back in her chair and reaching out dramatically, as if to summon the cake. She was full from her two plates, but clearly not satisfied.
Kamala chuckled, cutting generous slices and passing them around.
"Let's move to the living room. We'll be more comfortable there."
Tazara helped Samara up, steadying her as they made their way to the couch, though Samara stumbled, she never let that plate slip once. Kamala followed with the whole cake in hand, her mind already churning on how to ask about what had happened with this Siobhan girl.
The evening seemed to settle in the living room as Kamala balanced a plate in her hands, her face carefully composed despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. She sat the plates on the coffee table, taking a seat on the armchair across from the couch, where Tazara had planted herself in the seat. Samara sank onto the couch beside her, leaning heavily against the armrest, her exhaustion evident in the way her body sagged. She was fixated on the fireplace.
Kamala cleared her throat, glancing between them. Samara looked up at her for a moment, her weary eyes doing little to sooth Kamala's growing worry.
Maybe she'd pushed Samara too far away, "Alright, let's get comfortable. You two look like you've been through it."
Tazara snorted, grabbing her plate and digging into the pound cake. "You don't know half of it."
Kamala watched as Samara stared blankly at her own slice, her fingers grazing the fork but never quite gripping it. Kamala's eyes softened, her worry intensifying as she studied her friend's distant expression.
"Samara," she said gently. "You don't have to eat it if you're not hungry, but you need to talk to me. What happened? What's going on, can you tell me, can I get you help? I-i could walk you through what would happen if she did, you know... Samara, are you listening?" she asked as tazara nudged her friend
Samara flinched at the sound of her name but didn't respond. Her eyes flickered toward Tazara, as if silently begging her to answer for her.
Tazara set her plate down with a clatter, leaning forward. "Okay, look," she began.
"Siobhan's been messing with her. Like, seriously messing with her. She took her ID and dorm key, gave 'em back, simple. But this morning I leave and come back and Siobhan's holding Samara's face to a bong, I told her to leave, and then I helped her get herself together and get to bed. I leave. Samara tells she wakes up in her underwear and Siobhan's coming back with food, but —"
"Stop," Samara interrupted, her voice shaky but firm. She looked at Tazara, her eyes pleading. "Don't... don't say it like that."
Tazara raised her hands in mock surrender. "Fine, I won't say it like that. But the facts don't change, Samara. She broke into your room. She did... whatever she wanted while you were unconscious. That's not okay, and you know it."
Kamala's stomach twisted. "She was unconscious?"
Tazara nodded grimly. "Yeah. Siobhan came back to the dorm while I wasn't there. She said Samara was throwing up on herself and that she cleaned her up, changed her clothes, and all that. But I don't know what else she might've done. And Samara... she doesn't either."
Kamala's hands tightened around the armrest of her chair. Her heart pounded as she processed the words, an icy dread creeping into her chest.
"Samara," she said, her tone measured.
"Did she... Did Siobhan touch you in any way? Did she give you anything other than weed?"
Samara's head snapped up, her eyes wide and filled with panic. "No! No, she didn't—she didn't do anything like that. I mean..." She trailed off, her voice faltering.
"I don't think she did. I don't know!"
Kamala leaned forward, her voice softer now. "It's okay. But you need to tell me if you think she crossed a line."
Samara shook her head violently, her hands gripping her knees as if to steady herself. "I can't. I can't talk about it. I didn't exactly tell her no, so?"
Tazara groaned, throwing her hands up. "This is exactly why I said we should've called the cops. She's stealing from you, breaking into our room, and who knows what else. She needs to be stopped before she does it again."
Samara let out a shaky breath, her voice trembling. Samara's lip quivered, and tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm scared," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"I think this is what mushrooms feel like."
"Oh my god! That's why you've been tweaking out all day, you're on shrooms and you greener ou! If she has to get her ass beat now" tazara declared, Kamala held up a hand, telling her to calm down, noticing that tears were now streaming down Samara's face.
Maybe she pried just a little too hard this time.
"Okay, um, how about we all talk in the morning? Let focus on Clair, I did promise you both an explanation so here it goes" Kamala spoke as she adjusts herself to get comfortable