A Deal With Desire

The smell of death suffocated her.

Adele stood in the white room and looked down at her mother.

The IV tubes ran through her like a puppeteer’s strings.

Her head burned with heat, and her chest throbbed under the weight of it all. She clutched the metal bedframe and groaned softly, tears stinging her eyes.

The doctor’s voice echoed in her ears again, distant but sharp.

“Unfortunately, your mother’s health insurance can no longer cover her treatments. We suggest you seek alternatives before her next chemotherapy rounds. We are very sorry…”

Vomit surged up her throat, and she bolted for the toilet, palms pressed to the cold porcelain as she retched.

She hated hospitals, but this one had become her second home.

She rinsed her mouth and stared into the mirror, her insides still churning.

Her once-supple skin had gone pale and ashy, and the bags under her eyes told stories of sleepless nights.

She tore her gaze away from her reflection and looked down at her knuckles, white from gripping the sink too tightly.

There was no way out. Not one that didn’t cost her more than she had.

She worked two jobs: valet by day, truck driver by night. There was barely enough time to shower, let alone breathe.

After the messy breakup with her ex, he kicked her out. Now she didn’t even have a room to call her own.

Her best friend took her in, but how long could she keep sleeping on Ronnie’s dusty old couch?

She shut her eyes for a second too long, hoping the world would pause with her.

It didn’t.

The next three hours blurred by in a haze of bitter coffee, hospital vending machine snacks, and waiting.

Always waiting. For test results, for news, for some miracle.

Nurses passed by with strained smiles. Machines beeped in monotonous rhythm.

The air stank of bleach, despair, and unanswered prayers.

She kissed her mother’s hand. It was cold, limp.

“I’m so sorry, Mom…”

Tears blurred her vision as she lifted her eyes.

“Please, God…” She didn’t know what else to say.

******

Running on zero hours of sleep, she stood outside a five-star restaurant, helping customers park their overpriced cars.

The aroma of rich cuisine and a cloud of designer perfumes made her head spin.

Her cheeks ached from forcing a smile. Her frizzy brown hair was scraped into a bun, and her toes screamed inside tight shoes.

A black limousine glided to a stop in front of her. The driver stepped out in a black suit, looking just as tired as she felt, and opened the back seat.

The old lady who emerged didn’t even glance her way, let alone offer a tip. Adele muttered angrily under her breath as the limousine disappeared around the corner.

Something shiny caught her eye. Lying on the curb was a sparkly blue card. She picked it up and turned it over.

An invitation.

Exclusive dinner. Elegant venue. Date and time printed in gold foil.

She read it twice. It must have fallen from the old lady’s purse, but she couldn’t be sure.

A quick glance over her shoulder. No one was searching for it.

Her heart thudded. Invitations like this weren’t meant for girls like her.

Still, she tucked it into her pocket like it might burn her fingers if she held on too long.

******

“Ads! This is huge!”

Ronnie flopped onto the beat-up couch beside her, cradling the blue card like it was made of glass.

Adele rolled her eyes and stuffed more Cheetos into her mouth. She chewed slowly, feeling Ronnie’s eyes burning holes into her skull.

“I know. I just don’t get why you’re acting like this has anything to do with me.”

Ronnie snatched the bag from her and pouted.

“Invitation cards don’t drop out of nowhere, Ads. This could be a sign.”

Adele dropped her gaze to her lap.

“I don’t know, Ronnie. I don’t belong there. What am I even going to wear? What if I get caught? Why would I go at all?”

Ronnie groaned and ran her fingers through her hair.

“It’s invitation-only. You know what that means? All the rich and powerful people in New York under one roof. It’s like a buffet—opportunities everywhere. And with your face? You could bag a hot, rich billionaire.”

"No, I won't. And that won't even be a good reason to crash an 'invitation-only' event"

But Ronnie was past listening.

She reached over and fluffed Adele’s frizzy hair with a giggle.

“You’ll need a full makeover, though…”

Adele rubbed her temples. Her head throbbed, her body was bone-tired, and she had zero energy for whatever this was Ronnie was pitching.

But Ronnie was persistent—like a dog with a bone—and Adele knew resistance was pointless.

“You’re not letting this go, are you?”

“Nope. You need to get out, Ads. Meet new people. Do something bold. You’re not gonna change your life sleeping on my couch.”

“Fine. But I’m not spending a dime. I don’t even have one.”

“Don’t worry about that. This one’s on me.”

Adele’s lips curled into a soft smile.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, please. I’ve been dying to give you a glow-up since forever.”

Ronnie rolled her eyes and crunched on a handful of Cheetos.

They laughed softly. For a moment, the weight on Adele’s chest lifted just a little.

And that little was everything.

******

Later that night, long after Ronnie had dozed off with the TV humming softly, Adele sat alone on the couch, thumbing the edges of the invitation.

The blue shimmer caught the light, casting a faint glow across the wall.

She ran her fingers over the embossed letters again.

There was something about it. Like the first page of a story she didn’t know she was about to live.

And for the first time in weeks, her heart whispered a dangerous word.

Hope.