A Near-Miss: Mallory
The room felt smaller with him in it. Jay was a frantic, salt-tangled disruption in my climate-controlled life. He looked smaller too, somehow, stripped of that untouchable drifter confidence. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his eyes searching mine. “I’m so sorry, Mal.” I opened my mouth to tell him that ‘sorry’ didn’t fix the chemical imbalance he’d caused in my brain. A single phone call — or even a text — the night of the bonfire could’ve saved everything. But a sharp, rhythmic sound cut through the air. Knock. Knock. Knock. The sound of my father’s knuckles against the heavy oak of my bedroom door was like gunshots echoing around my bedroom. “Mallory?” My heart didn’t just skip; it flatlined for a moment. Jay looked like he was about to bolt back out the window. If he did, t
- Writer
