My BFF Molly

By Mary Senter

She opened her puffy eyes to see light streaming through a dirty aluminum framed window. It took her a minute to figure out where she was. Clothes piled on brown shag carpet. Thrift store furniture. She heard his throaty breathing and remembered. She slowly slid her legs from under the sheet, dangling them over the edge of the bed and carefully contorted her torso until she was on her belly, sliding her body off the edge of the bed until her knees touched the floor. The mattress springs creaked as she removed her weight, but he didn’t stir. His open mouth let out a low growl as he exhaled. 

Her body ached everywhere, and her sour stomach burned. She thought she might throw up, but all she wanted was to get out of that guy’s bed. He’d given her Molly, and she felt fantastic in the club with the music thumping and the bodies bobbing to the beat. She left with him without even thinking. He fucked her from behind, in a way that made her want to cry, and she didn’t know why, because she was pretty sure she was smiling at the time. That was the last thing she remembered. Letting it happen.

Who knows where her friends had gone. They were supposed to be watching out for each other. They were staying at Kayla’s house because her mom was out of town.  She told her own mom she’d be home in the morning by ten because she had to work at eleven. She looked for a clock on the nightstand and next to the green glowing 11:36 she saw things she didn’t expect to see: foil, a spoon, and a piece of stretchy rubber.

Panic surged through her body. She looked down at her arm. Two angry red holes, crusted and bloody, in the crook of her otherwise perfect arm, like a snakebite.


Mary Senter writes in a cabin in the woods on the shores of Puget Sound. She has certificates in literary fiction writing and holds an M.A. in strategic communication. Her work can be found in WORK, Red Fez, Stratus:  Journal of Arts and Writing, and Heater.  Visit her at www.marysenter.com.

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