The Inevitable: Mallory
The Machine wasn’t just a defense mechanism anymore. It had become a disguise. I stood in front of my full-length mirror, staring at the girl looking back. I had chosen a pair of dark wash jeans, a dark teal blouse, and a pair of black boots. Sophisticated enough for a steakhouse, but flexible enough for the go-kart track. My hair was down, falling in controlled waves that I’d spent forty-five minutes perfecting with a curling iron. I looked like the girl who belonged in this house, but my eyes held the frantic energy of a girl who had pulled a drifter through her bedroom window the night before. I applied a layer of tinted lip balm. No sticky lip gloss. No bright, matte liquid color. Just me. I walked out of the house with my shoulders squared, the humid evening air hitting me lik
- Writer
