Chapter 3 - The Aftermath of the "Prank"
By 2:00 AM, my face was stitched closed with twenty-eight fine nylon sutures. The left side of my face was swollen to twice its normal size, throbbing to the rhythm of my racing heart, and covered in protective gauze.
I sat alone in the quiet discharge alcove, holding my phone in shaking hands.
The notifications were already exploding.
Chloe had posted a video to her social media accounts an hour after I left the venue. The caption read:
*“When your Maid of Honor takes herself way too seriously! 🎂🤣 Can’t take a little wedding cake prank! Still love you, little sis! Don’t stay mad at the bride! #WeddingFails #DramaQueen #SisterlyLove”*
The comments were brutal:
- *“Omg, why did she storm out? It’s just cake!”*
- *“Some people always have to make someone else’s wedding about themselves.”*
- *“Chloe, you look gorgeous! Don’t let her ruin your night!”*
Not a single person in the video could see the blood because the thick, dark chocolate and strawberry filling had masked the crimson flow long enough for me to run to the restroom.
Then came the text messages from my mother:
*Maya! How could you walk out of your sister’s reception? Austin’s family was horrified. She was crying in the bridal suite! You know how Chloe gets when she’s excited—she was just being playful. You have embarrassed this family on Chloe’s most important day. Call her right now and apologize!*
My hands shook so hard I nearly dropped the phone.
*Apologize?*
I took a photograph of the sterile specimen jar that the police had just sealed into an evidence bag, along with a photo of my stitched, discolored face. I typed one sentence to my mother:
*She put razor blades in the cake, Mom.*
I hit send.
A minute passed. Then five. The three bouncing dots appeared, vanished, appeared again, and then disappeared entirely. My mother didn't call. She didn't text back.
Ten minutes later, two figures in dark civilian suits walked into the waiting room. A man with graying hair and a weary, sharp gaze, accompanied by a younger woman holding a digital recorder.
"Maya Linley?" the man asked, flashing a gold shield. "I’m Detective Miller. This is Detective Reyes. We spoke with Dr. Evans and took possession of the evidence removed from your facial tissue."
"Is she going to jail?" I blurted out, my voice cracking with humiliation and terror. "Tell me you're arresting her."
Detective Miller pulled up a chair, sitting directly across from me. His expression was solemn, his eyes assessing the damage on my face with practiced, grim detachment.
"We need every detail from the moment you arrived at the venue today, Maya," Miller said. "Because whoever constructed that lower tier didn’t just drop a blade in by mistake. The hospital lab ran an immediate preliminary swab on the metal fragments."
"And?" I asked, my pulse pounding in my throat.
May you like
Detective Reyes leaned forward. "The blades were coated in an industrial solvent designed to cause chemical burns upon contact with open flesh. Maya... this wasn't a prank gone wrong. This was calculated mutilation."
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