Molly and Annie "Taking Sides"

The knock comes late enough to be unusual.

When the door opens, Molly is standing in the hallway with an overnight bag hanging from one shoulder and her backpack hugged loosely against her side. She's dressed like she came straight from campus—jeans, sneakers, an oversized cardigan—and there's a tiredness behind her glasses that doesn't quite match the little smile she manages.

Molly, quietly: "Hey."

She shifts the overnight bag higher on her shoulder.

Molly: "Can I stay here tonight?"

It's casual enough that the bag almost makes the question funny.

Almost.

There's a fresh bruise along Molly's cheek, partially hidden beneath a few loose strands of brown hair.

She notices where the attention lands and immediately reaches up, her fingertips brushing near it before dropping again.

Molly: "It's not as bad as it looks."

A beat.

Molly, quickly: "Sorry. I should've texted first."

There it is. Automatic. Molly seems to realize it a second later and looks down.

Molly: "I just... didn't really want to be at the apartment tonight."

She doesn't elaborate immediately. Her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag.

Molly: "Annie and I had another thing."

Another thing.

Not the first.

Molly has mentioned her roommate before, usually in pieces. Annie taking something without asking. Annie making comments that went a little too far. Annie deciding Molly was being too sensitive when Molly finally objected. Each story had arrived already softened around the edges, Molly explaining away half of it before anyone else could react.

Tonight, she isn't doing as good a job.

Molly, softly: "I know I should've said something sooner."

Her eyes lift again through her glasses.

Molly: "I kept thinking if I stopped making a big deal out of things, she'd get bored."

A humorless little breath escapes her.

Molly: "Turns out I wasn't really making a big deal out of anything."

She adjusts the bag on her shoulder again.

Molly: "I just don't want to go back there tonight."

Before long, Molly is inside, her overnight bag abandoned near the couch. What begins as a few reluctant explanations gradually turns into months' worth of things she never quite knew how to say out loud.

Annie has been making her life hell.

The comments. The humiliation. Things taken without permission. Boundaries pushed because Annie knew Molly probably wouldn't push back. Small cruelties Molly had dismissed individually until there were too many of them to dismiss anymore.

And the bruise on her cheek isn't the first bruise she's had.

It's just the first one she couldn't hide.

Nearly an hour passes before exhaustion begins catching up with her. Molly's answers grow shorter. Her eyes drift closed between sentences. Eventually, curled into the couch in the safety of her sibling's home, she falls asleep.

The stress of the day finally seems to drain out of her once she's somewhere she doesn't have to keep looking over her shoulder.

You pull a blanket over your little sister and sit in the quiet for a while.

Months.

That's the part that sticks.

Months of Annie making Molly's life miserable while Molly explained away each individual incident as something too small to make a fuss over. Months of comments, humiliation, boundaries being pushed, belongings being taken without permission, and Molly convincing herself that ignoring it would eventually make Annie lose interest.

Then there's the bruise.

Not the first.

Just the first one Molly couldn't hide.

Whatever happened tonight, whatever Annie thinks happened tonight, there are questions that aren't going to be answered by letting Molly apologize for somebody else's behavior.

Eventually, enough is enough.

You slip quietly out the door, leaving Molly asleep beneath the blanket.

You know exactly where to go.

You know her building. You know the floor. You know the apartment number.

You helped your little sister move in.

---

The trip across town ends outside the apartment Molly shares with her roommate.

The building itself is unremarkable. Student housing. Identical doors, identical numbers, muffled televisions and conversations occasionally bleeding through the walls. Nothing about it suggests anything particularly wrong has been happening behind one of them.

You find the apartment easily.

The number matches.

The knock echoes faintly through the hallway.

Several seconds pass.

Footsteps approach from somewhere inside.

The lock turns.

The door opens.

Annabelle Moon stands on the other side.

Apparently, the knock interrupted a quiet night at home. Annie is barefoot, dressed in a fitted black tank and loose charcoal lounge pants, her long near-black hair hanging slightly messy around her shoulders. Most of her usual jewelry is absent, leaving only a few earrings and the thin black choker around her neck.

For a moment, she simply looks at the stranger standing outside her apartment.

Her dark eyes flick briefly over the unfamiliar face. One eyebrow rises.

Annie: "Hi?"

It's almost comically pleasant.

Annie keeps one hand wrapped around the inside door handle, waiting for an explanation. She doesn't seem nervous about finding someone she doesn't recognize at her door. Mostly, she looks curious.

Annie, sweetly: "Can I help you?" A faint smirk touches the corner of her mouth as her eyebrow rises a little higher.

A tiny pause.

Annie tilts her head. Her eyes travel over the unexpected visitor once more, reassessing. The pleasant confusion begins giving way to impatience.

Her eyes narrow.

Annie, sharply: "Well, you don't have a pizza, and you don't look like a student." Her fingers drum once against the edge of the door. "So, mind telling me exactly why you're bothering me?"