THE LIVING ROOM WAS COZY, WITH BLANKETS DRAPED OVER THE COACH AND PLUSHIES scattered around, giving off the perfect atmosphere for a night of movie watching. Jessica had been busy setting everything up while Rosemarie took charge of the snacks. The scent of freshly popped popcorn filled the air as Rosemarie poured the kernels into a bowl, her thoughts wandering to the evening ahead.

"I just don't get it," Rosemarie said, raising an eyebrow, the sound of the popcorn popping in the background. She glanced over at Jessica, who was busy arranging pillows. "How can you pick the brooding, mysterious vampire who's always lurking in the shadows, over the childhood friend who's been there for you since day one?" Rosemarie's voice had a teasing edge, but there was a glimmer of sincerity behind her playful tone.

Jessica didn't look up immediately, but when she did, her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Oh, come on, Rosie! You don't pick the sweet, reliable guy—" She threw a dramatic hand gesture in the air as she dramatically tilted her head back. "You pick the dark, brooding supernatural boy who's totally obsessed with you. He's got secrets, mystery, and... danger," Jessica added with a wink, leaning back in her seat, clearly loving the direction the conversation was going.

Rosemarie smirked as she walked over to the coffee table, setting the popcorn down. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Jess," she said, her voice dripping with mock innocence, "but I think I'm more into the nice, next-door-neighbor type." She gave Jessica a playful grin, her tone light but full of challenge.

Jessica gasped dramatically, clutching a pillow to her chest. "No way! You mean, you didn't pick the angst-filled vampire who's obsessed with saving you from eternal danger?!" she teased, eyes wide with faux shock. "That's so unlike you, Rosie!" She took a sip of her beer, leaning back further into the couch with a smirk, clearly enjoying the banter. "I mean, we're talking about your Sam, right? The sweet, reliable guy who's practically a golden retriever in human form."

Before Rosemarie could respond, she picked up the bowl of popcorn and hurried to the couch, but Jessica was faster. With a swift move, she grabbed Rosemarie's wrist and yanked her forward, sending them both tumbling onto the cushions in a heap of laughter. Rosemarie landed on top of Jessica, her legs wrapped around her waist as they both giggled uncontrollably.

"You're too slow, Rosie!" Jessica laughed, her voice muffled by the pile of pillows they had knocked onto the floor. Rosemarie pushed herself up, still straddling Jessica's waist, her head thrown back in laughter.

Jessica tried to shove her off, but Rosemarie grabbed the nearest pillow and began mercilessly smacking her with it. "Ha! You think you can win this battle?" Rosemarie teased, her voice high with glee. "I'm the pillow champion, remember?"

"I'm defenseless!" Jessica exclaimed with exaggerated surrender, throwing her hands up in mock defeat, but the grin on her face made it clear she was enjoying every second of the chaos. "Alright, alright, you win, Rosie. I give up. No more teasing the sweet, nice guy," she added, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Rosemarie paused for a moment, still holding the pillow in the air. "Fine," she said, dramatically lowering the pillow and pretending to consider Jessica's plea. "But only because you promised not to make fun of Sam anymore," she said with mock seriousness, only for her face to break into another laugh as Jessica let out a groan of exaggerated frustration.

"You're impossible," Jessica said, but it was clear she didn't mind. "Now, let's get to the good part of the night."

With a final playful shove, Rosemarie collapsed next to Jessica on the couch, both of them still laughing. The movie was about to start, but for now, they were content in their little world, filled with inside jokes, memories, and the kind of friendship that only grew stronger with time.

As the opening credits of Ella Enchanted began to roll, Rosemarie snuck a glance at Jessica. "Okay, okay, maybe you're right about the vampire thing... but I think I still prefer the nice guy."

Jessica smirked and nudged her with an elbow. "Of course you do, Rosie," she teased, before both of them settled in to enjoy the movie, popcorn in hand. The night was still young, and whatever supernatural worlds they may dream of, in this moment, they were exactly where they belonged—together.

ROSEMARIE LEANED IN CLOSER, HER EYES NARROWING IN PLAYFUL DISBELIEF. "Wait a second," she said, arching an eyebrow, "So, the bartender from the party—the one who looks like he walked out of a romance novel—asked you out, and you said no?" She leaned back dramatically, her hands flying up as if trying to comprehend the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Jessica, lounging on the couch with a beer in hand, let out a long sigh before taking a slow, deliberate sip. She lowered the bottle and rested her head in her palm, her large doe eyes glancing up at Rosemarie with a sheepish but almost guilty look. "Yeah," she said, her voice laced with hesitation. "I guess I did."

Rosemarie blinked, the disbelief clear on her face. "Hold on," she said, voice filled with playful incredulity. "You, Jessica Moore—the woman who swore on her life that the day she turned down a hot date would be the day she joined a convent? That Jessica just said no to a guy who looks like he stepped out of some cheesy rom-com?"

Jessica let out a small chuckle, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "It's true," she shrugged, though there was a faint unease in her voice. "Guess I'm getting older or something..." Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, she seemed lost in thought.

Rosemarie's face softened as she watched Jessica's sudden seriousness. "What's going on, Jess?" she asked, her tone light, but with an undercurrent of concern.

Jessica glanced up, meeting Rosemarie's gaze with a vulnerability she rarely showed. "I don't know," she said, her voice quieter now, almost unsure of herself. "It's like...I've always been the 'wild one,' the fun one. And now, I don't know... I just don't feel like that anymore. I'm... changing."

Rosemarie's playful smile softened into something more comforting as she leaned forward, her hand gently resting on Jessica's shoulder. "Hey," she said softly, "maybe you're just growing up, that's all. Don't let it freak you out, okay?" She winked and added with a teasing grin, "But if you start wearing one of those habits, I'll be the first one to burn down the convent."

Jessica laughed softly, her shoulders relaxing as Rosemarie's words took the edge off. "I'll try to avoid that," she said, her tone light again. "But... what if I don't recognize myself anymore?"

Rosemarie gave her a gentle squeeze, her voice reassuring. "You'll still be you, Jess. You just might be a little... different you." She stood up, pulling away from the comforting moment, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "And if you ever do become a nun? I'll make sure to sneak you some whiskey on the side."

Jessica snorted, her mood lifting. "Good to know you've got my back."

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and Jessica sighed in relief. "That's probably the pizza," she said with a smile, standing up and letting the soft, flowing white of her nightgown swirl around her legs as she moved toward the door. "I'll grab it."

She bent down to her purse to search for her wallet, her brows furrowing in slight frustration. "Hey, Rose, have you seen my wallet?"

Rosemarie, still wrapped in her blanket, didn't even bother to move from her comfortable spot. She looked up lazily, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Nope, haven't seen it," she said, her voice light. "But, hey, I've got this." Without even standing, Rosemarie reached over to the side table, grabbed her own wallet, and tossed it to Jessica. "I'll pay for the pizza. You go handle the important stuff."

Jessica raised an eyebrow but caught the wallet easily. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah," Rosemarie replied, stretching out her arms with exaggerated laziness as she stood up. She was wearing one of Sam's maroon button-up shirts that reached mid-thigh—her own version of pajamas—and her hair was neatly braided in French twists. There was something effortlessly charming about her. "Let me grab more beer while you do the responsible adult thing. You know, door-answering and pizza-fetching and all that."

Jessica grinned at her but let the teasing slide. "Fine, fine," she said, nodding toward the door. "You're the best, really. I'll be back in a minute."

Before heading toward the door, Rosemarie walked past Jessica and paused, turning to give her a soft kiss on the forehead. Her lips lingered just a moment too long, and Jessica's breath caught, heart unexpectedly fluttering.

Rosemarie pulled away with a sly smile. "I've got this, don't worry," she murmured, her voice low and comforting.

Jessica smiled softly, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. "You're too good to me," she said, the words carrying a tenderness that made her heart ache a little.

Rosemarie winked as she turned toward the kitchen. "Yeah, I know. But don't get used to it," she teased, her voice over her shoulder. "I'll make sure the beer's cold and the pizza's hot when you get back. And I might even let you have the last slice, if you're nice."

Jessica chuckled, shaking her head as she grabbed the wallet. "You're impossible," she muttered under her breath, but there was a warmth in her voice. The teasing was something she'd come to love, and the little moments like this made everything feel right.

She walked toward the door, the sound of Rosemarie's lighthearted banter fading behind her.

Rosemarie, however, was suddenly no longer caught up in the simple rhythm of their night. As she opened the fridge to grab another pack of beer, an unsettling chill ran through her, something she couldn't place—like a sudden shift in the air. The lighthearted buzz of their conversation vanished, replaced by an oppressive stillness that made her stomach tighten.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

She froze, instinctively straightening up and looking toward the hallway. The apartment, once cozy and familiar, felt... off. Her pulse quickened, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something was wrong.

"Jessica?" Her voice was hesitant, sharper now, the unease creeping in as her eyes searched the darkening hallway.

No answer.

Her instincts flared, sharp and alert. Without even thinking, she grabbed the baseball bat from between the fridge and the wall, the solid weight of it grounding her. She didn't know why, but she felt like she needed it. The silence in the apartment was too heavy, too thick.

"Jessica?" she called again, louder this time, her voice slicing through the stillness. There was no response, not even the faintest sound of movement. It was as though the apartment had gone completely still, every noise sucked into the airless void.

Her grip tightened on the bat as she slowly made her way toward the hallway, her mind racing. Something's wrong. Something's very wrong.

"Jessica, this isn't funny," Rosemarie's voice cracked slightly as she called again, but still, there was no answer.

The silence pressed in around her, and she could almost feel the walls closing in. Her breath grew shallow, and her heartbeat quickened as the apartment seemed to grow darker, heavier. She took a careful step forward, her body tensing, every sense on high alert.

She rounded the corner into the living room, and her heart stopped.

There, on the couch, was Jessica—unconscious, bound, her hands tied tightly behind her back. Her mouth was covered with tape, and her normally bright face was pale and strained. Rosemarie's breath hitched, her chest constricting as the scene before her registered.

No. No.

She wanted to move, to rush to her friend, but her legs felt like lead. Her mind couldn't process what she was seeing. The world spun around her, and before she could react, her vision began to blur.

The air felt too thick, too heavy, and she couldn't breathe.

"Jessica?" Rosemarie whispered, her voice choked, but there was no answer. Nothing but the overwhelming silence.

The room seemed to tilt as her pulse pounded in her ears. Her vision faded to dark edges, and before she could take another step, her body betrayed her. She collapsed to the floor, the bat slipping from her hand as darkness closed in, her last thought a desperate, fading whisper.

"Please, no..."

And then everything went black.

ROSEMARIE'S EYES FLUTTERED UPEN, BUT THE HARSH BRIGHTNESS ABOVE HER forced them closed again. She squeezed them shut, trying to block out the blinding light, but it felt like it was burning through her skull. Her head throbbed, and when she attempted to lift a hand to shield her eyes, panic hit her like a jolt of ice-cold water.

Her arms were chained down, her wrists held tightly to either side of the bed, and the chains rattled as she struggled. She tried to move, but her legs were similarly bound, immobilized in a way that left her feeling like a trapped animal.

A cold, sick feeling crept up from her stomach and into her chest, and she forced her eyes open again, refusing to give in to the darkness that was clawing at her mind. The room around her was cloaked in shadows, the only light coming from a single, sterile spotlight overhead. It illuminated her in the center of the room, making her feel like a specimen, something to be observed, studied, and experimented on. She was on a hospital bed—or at least it resembled one—but this wasn't any ordinary hospital room. It felt more like a twisted science lab, cold and sterile, with the faint smell of antiseptic in the air.

Tears welled up in Rosemarie's eyes, but she blinked them away angrily, refusing to break down. She couldn't. Not now. She needed to think, to get out, but her body felt heavy, and the sharp pull of needles embedded into her arms told her that something was wrong. They were pulling blood from her, drops of crimson disappearing into the tubes and machinery that surrounded her. She wanted to scream, but the fear tightening in her chest choked her. She wanted to call out for help, for Jessica, for Sam but her throat felt dry and tight, like her voice was a distant memory she could no longer access.

Looking down at herself, Rosemarie's stomach churned. She didn't even recognize herself anymore. Her skin was pale, a sickly shade of white, and her hair was matted with something sticky—blood or sweat, she couldn't tell. The clothes she had been wearing were gone, replaced by a thin, hospital gown that clung to her skin, and she felt exposed in a way that made her skin crawl.

She fought against the chains, but they held her firm. Where was she? Her mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of memory before everything went black. She could remember the apartment, the weird shift in the air, the way the walls had seemed to close in on her, and then... nothing.

Nothing but darkness. Until now.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, panic bubbling up inside of her. "No, no, no..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, the tremble of fear evident in every syllable. "Jessica... where are you?" Her heart ached with the thought of her friend, the thought that Jessica might be in danger too—if she was even still alive.

Her mind raced, her thoughts swirling into an anxious blur. She couldn't let fear consume her. She wouldn't. Rosemarie wasn't the type to just give up. No matter what twisted situation she found herself in, she knew she was strong. She had to be.

But even as she tried to steady her breathing, the reality of her situation pressed in on her. The chains, the needles, the empty darkness around her... it felt like a nightmare she couldn't wake up from. And yet, every second that passed, it became more real. The fear, the helplessness—it gnawed at her insides.

A shiver ran down her spine as she tried to pull herself up, but the restraints were too tight. She was trapped, and the more she fought, the more her limbs felt like they were being pulled apart. Tears stung her eyes again, but she clenched her jaw, willing herself to stay strong. No. I will not break down. Not here. Not now.

Her mind kept returning to Jessica. The way her best friend had looked at her earlier—so full of life, so full of love and laughter. Rosemarie had been the one to lighten Jessica's moods, to make her feel like everything would be okay. But now, in this moment, Rosemarie felt powerless, unable to do anything to protect her, to keep her safe. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, but her voice was lost, swallowed by the sterile emptiness of the room.

A soft noise broke through her thoughts—footsteps, faint and slow, echoing in the distance. Someone was coming.

Her heart stuttered in her chest, a mixture of dread and hope rising up in her. Maybe it was a guard, someone who could tell her what was happening—someone who could explain why she was here. But deep down, she knew. She didn't need to be told. This wasn't just some random kidnapping. This was something darker, something bigger. Something that she and Jessica had barely begun to understand.

As the footsteps grew closer, Rosemarie forced herself to sit up straighter, despite the burning in her muscles. She wouldn't let them see her broken. Not yet.

She might be trapped. She might be chained up and vulnerable. But she wasn't done fighting.

Her eyes narrowed, and she called out, her voice stronger than she felt. "Who the hell are you?" The words came out sharper than she expected, filled with defiance.

She wasn't going to just lie here and wait to become a specimen in some sick experiment. She was Rosemarie, and she wasn't going to break so easily.

The shadows at the doorway shifted, and someone—or something—stepped into view. Rosemarie's heart skipped a beat, the hope she'd clung to fading into a new kind of fear.

"You're not real," Rosemarie whispered desperately, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her voice shaking with hysteria. The words tumbled from her lips like a prayer, a fragile chant she hoped would snap the world back into place. She repeated it over and over, as if by sheer will, she could force the nightmare to dissolve. Please, let this be a nightmare... please let me wake up.

But the figure before her didn't budge. His presence was like a thick fog, suffocating and cold, and his piercing yellow eyes never left her, unblinking, unyielding. Every step he took toward her made the air feel heavier, more oppressive, as if the room itself was closing in on her.

"I told you, sweetheart," his voice slid through the air like velvet, sweet yet laced with malice. "You couldn't outrun me." The words were honeyed, dripping with the satisfaction of someone who had already won. Each syllable taunted her, mocking her futile attempts to escape.

Rosemarie's chest tightened. She shook her head violently, her hair flying in every direction as she tried to block him out, to push him away. This can't be happening. She was strong, she could handle anything—anything but this. This isn't real.

The single light above her felt like a beacon, a lifeline that should have offered some comfort, but now it was nothing more than an illusion, a cruel reminder of her helplessness. She glanced up at it, the only thing that seemed to shine in the endless blackness of the room, and for a split second, she thought she saw something—someone—in the glow. A guardian angel. A savior. Someone who could pull her from this nightmare, from his grasp.

"It will be over in the morning," she whispered softly, the words tumbling out of her like a broken prayer, a promise she clung to, despite the crushing dread filling her heart. Please... let it be over soon.

Her pulse quickened, and she forced herself to look away from the light. Her eyes stung with tears, the panic rising in her throat like a lump she couldn't swallow. She needed to escape, needed to get away from him—but where? The walls were closing in, the chains too tight, the fear too suffocating.

Then, before she could take another breath, he was right there, in front of her, towering over her trembling form. His yellow eyes bore into hers with an intensity that made her stomach lurch. Without warning, he grabbed her chin with an almost unnatural force, pulling her face up to meet his. His touch was cold and calculated, as if he was savoring every second of her helplessness.

"It's real, sweetheart." His voice was quieter now, almost intimate, as he wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb, the action both unsettling and possessive. The softness of the gesture made her skin crawl. "It's a real nightmare, isn't it?"

Rosemarie's pulse hammered in her ears as she fought to keep her voice steady. "No," she choked out, her eyes wide with desperation. "This isn't real... you're not real." Her words, though firm, trembled under the weight of his gaze, as if they were barely a whisper against the cold, oppressive reality he was forcing on her.

But deep down, she knew—it was real. This wasn't some twisted dream she could wake up from. This was something worse. She felt it in her bones, that gnawing sense of inevitability. And it terrified her more than anything she had ever faced before.

She tried to pull away, to break free from his grip, but his hold on her chin was unyielding. His fingers were like iron, unshakable. Rosemarie's breath came out in ragged gasps as she stared up at him, feeling the weight of her fear settle deep in her chest.

She wasn't the type to break. She never had been. But in that moment, with him standing over her, with the dark, sickening sense of power radiating from him, she felt something she rarely allowed herself to feel. Helpless.

A tear slipped from her eye, and his thumb wiped it away with such gentleness, it only made the situation worse. "Such a brave girl," he murmured, his voice soft now, almost mockingly sweet. "But even brave girls break, sweetheart. You'll see."

Her heart pounded as she stared at him, her chest tightening with the overwhelming weight of despair. He was right. No matter how hard she fought, no matter how many times she told herself she was stronger than this, there was no escaping him.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. There was no escape. This was no dream. This was real. And no matter how much she fought, no matter how much she prayed for a miracle, she couldn't outrun him.

Her voice cracked, the defiance slipping from her tone as she whispered through gritted teeth, "I won't let you win."

He chuckled darkly, his smile widening as if he were savoring her resistance. "Oh, sweetheart," he purred, his voice sending chills down her spine. "You already have."

As the darkness crept in, as the world around her seemed to blur into nothingness, Rosemarie held onto one last shred of her will. She couldn't break. Not yet. She wouldn't let him see her do it. But deep down, she knew—the battle wasn't just for her life anymore. It was for her very soul.

And she was running out of time.

[ update long over due but I had time so expect another chapter very soon. also, jessica and rosemarie are girlfriends in another universe.]