Mors

1

"Oh God." I collapsed onto the sofa, a sigh of pure, unadulterated exhaustion escaping my lips. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest, but my hands, in particular, were throbbing from a long day of whipping cream and kneading dough. It felt less like I’d been creating culinary masterpieces and more like I’d been doing manual labor on a construction site.

My career as a head chef at a five-star hotel was my life’s passion, but there were days when the exhaustion was absolutely soul-crushing. Today had been one of them, largely thanks to the utterly demanding and arrogant clientele who seemed to believe their money gave them the right to walk all over me. I swore that if I ever met God, my first request would be to just wipe the existence of petty, wealthy people off the face of the Earth. It wasn't that I hated the rich as a whole, but the entitled, arrogant ones were a special kind of exhausting.

A sharp jolt of pain shot through my palm, and I winced, rubbing my hand. All I wanted was to crawl into bed and relax, but the universe, apparently, had other plans. A loud, frantic pounding started on my front door, rattling the frame.

I rolled my eyes. I knew exactly who it was. Only my best friend, Oralee, would be too impatient to use the doorbell, opting instead to bang on the door like a madwoman.

"What took you so long?" she whined the moment I opened the door, her arms overflowing with shopping bags. I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. It was obvious why she was so impatient.

I raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to explain the mountain of bags she was carrying.

"We're going out!" she cheered, brushing past me and making a beeline for the living room.

I groaned, dragging myself behind her. "I want to rest tonight, though."

She gave me a withering glare that instantly silenced my protest. I sighed, knowing there was no winning this fight. "I'm not going to let you wallow in self-pity," she said, pulling clothes from the bags and scattering them across the couch. "Girl, you need to go out and live a little."

She was right, of course. Left to my own devices, I probably would have spent the night mulling over the past and feeling sorry for myself. Oralee knew me better than I knew myself. She was a sister to me in every sense of the word, always there when I needed her most. I was still amazed at how she could see right through my facade, no matter how hard I tried to hide my feelings. I trusted her with my life.

"Fine, I'll go," I said with a heavy sigh of defeat.

She turned and gave me a wide, victorious grin before returning to her task. When she was finally done, I scanned the pile of clothes, my eyes immediately locking onto a stunning blue halter-neck dress with a high slit on the left side.

"I knew you'd like it," she said, seeing me admire the dress. I grinned, running my hand over the soft silk fabric.

"Go get ready," she ordered, disappearing into my room. I shook my head, following her.

When I emerged from the shower, she was already finished with her makeup. Wrapped in a towel, I watched her for a moment before she impatiently motioned for me to sit down.

"Hurry up," she said. I laughed, but did as I was told.

I pulled a face as she started probing my skin with brushes and blenders. She just laughed and kept working. "You know I get tickly with these," I mumbled.

"I know," she said, her tone a mix of irritation and fondness. "Don't worry, I'm just doing the bare minimum."

"Do you want to die?" she playfully growled at me when I started laughing. But I only laughed harder. Huffing in frustration, she continued on with her work, but I could see the smile playing on her lips.

"All done," she announced a few minutes later. I opened my eyes and turned to the mirror, my jaw dropping slightly. She hadn't made me look like a completely different person. She had simply contoured my face, highlighted my cheekbones, and added eye makeup that made the color of my eyes pop.

"You did a good job," I said, a genuine smile spreading across my face. She just flipped her hair and started shedding her clothes to change into her clubbing outfit.

I let my towel drop and slipped into the blue dress. I decided to let my hair stay in its natural wavy state, and I finished the look with silver ankle-strap heels. I was ready.

Turning to Oralee, I let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl. You look smoking hot." She was wearing a black bodycon dress that had a large cutout across her stomach, highlighting her soft curves. From a distance, it looked like she was wearing a tank top and a skirt.

"You're the one looking tempting," she purred, her eyes trailing over my body before she licked her lips.

Did I mention she was a lesbian? Well, if I didn't, now you know.

"You perv," I laughed, throwing my towel at her, which she expertly caught mid-air.

"What?" she huffed. "You can't blame me! You look so good I want to stay here and eat you out instead of going out."

"Okay, that's my cue to get out of here before you actually try to rape me," I teased, heading for the door.

When we stepped out of the cab, the air hummed with the bass of music. "We're going to rock tonight," Oralee said, a wide grin on her face.

"The Costa's," I read the club's name, a sense of foreboding washing over me as I followed her inside. Little did I know, this night would be the beginning of the end of my life as I knew it.

~•~