Tomorrow night finally came.
And somehow, I was still here, standing in the middle of my living room, wearing a three-piece navy suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe combined. It was sleek, sharp, and far too comfortable to be anything I could've afforded on my own. Val had picked it up last night, saying it was "for the party." I hadn't realized she meant this kind of suit — the kind that looked like it came with a manual on how to breathe properly in it.
I tugged lightly on the cufflinks, the faint silver glint catching the light. My reflection in the mirror looked like someone else, someone polished, put together, and entirely out of his depth.
Half of me was thinking of changing into something simpler — or better yet, faking a sudden illness. The other half… well, the other half was just trying to breathe.
Then the door opened, and everything — the panic, the second-guessing, the quiet dread — disappeared like mist under sunlight.
