Chapter Text
Before
Despite your unstable home growing up, you had a semi-decent group of friends and managed to keep your grades high throughout your life. You just never let any of those friends get too close. Your family was embarrassing… it was easier to keep everyone at arm’s length than risk anyone seeing too much.
The exception was your best friend. You met her your freshman year of high school. She was two years older, and her family was about as fucked up as yours, which meant there wasn’t much you had to hide from her. She was someone you could actually let your guard down around. Someone you could be yourself with.
When she graduated before your junior year, the loneliness you were used to carrying crept back in.
Then you met Milo at a party. He was a year older and went to a nearby private school. You’d never had anyone give you so much attention before. He showered you with affection in a way that felt almost overwhelming at first. Everything you’d spent your entire life wanting from your family was suddenly being handed to you all at once by this boy. It was almost like a high.
So when he told you he wanted you to be his girlfriend, you said yes without much hesitation.
Things changed slowly. A few months into the relationship, he started pointing out your mistakes. Small things at first. The way you said something, the way you dressed, the way you acted around other people.
Eventually, the corrections became insults. Then came the comparisons, the constant suspicion… the rules you never remembered agreeing to. Before you really understood what was happening, most of the friendships you had were gone. Some people stopped trying. Others Milo decided you weren’t allowed to see anymore. You lost job after job because he always found some way to interfere.
The only thing he couldn’t take from you was your grades. School became your only real sanctuary. And still, you couldn’t leave him. You needed the adoration. You craved the version of him you met your junior year. You needed to know you were someone’s number one… someone’s center of gravity. It was a sick kind of drug you couldn’t quit.
And you hated yourself even more then than you do now.
It wasn’t until your best friend dropped out during her second year of college that you really came face-to-face with how far gone you were.
She’d had problems of her own. An abusive boyfriend at school… parents who opened credit cards in her name and maxed them out… eventually, all of it became too much. One of her roommates found her on the floor beside an empty bottle of Tylenol. Her school had her admitted to an inpatient unit, where she stayed for almost two months. When she finally got out, her family told her they didn’t have a room for her anymore.
That was the first time you brought her home. You remember it clearly - her sitting at your kitchen table with tears in her eyes and scars running down her arms. Your mother gasped when she saw them. She covered her mouth with one hand, then reached for your friend with the other, gently running her hand along her arm like the sight of it personally broke her heart.
When she found the cuts on your arms a few months earlier, she asked why you were being so selfish.
But this girl she barely knew got tenderness. Your mother insisted she stay with you. In your room, if she needed to. Apparently it was easy for her to mother anyone who wasn’t you.
Your friend started noticing things nobody else in your house seemed to. The long sleeves. The heavy makeup. The way you checked your phone constantly and answered Milo’s messages the second they came through.
She tried talking to you about him, but you were already too far gone to listen. She probably would’ve given up eventually if she hadn’t needed your house as badly as you needed someone else inside it. Still, having her there helped.
And your dad… he wasn’t bad. He tried to care about you. He remembered to ask how school was going and what your favorite snacks were. When your mom was on one of her drunken rampages, he’d sometimes let you hide out in his room until she calmed down.
It was unfortunate that he was always so weak. He could never stand up to her. You spent so much time feeling sorry for him, worrying about him, caring about his emotional needs, that there was never much room for him to do the same for you.
So he stayed oblivious to most of what you were suffering through outside the house. That was fine. You never expected him to save you. He was just a kind face to see at the end of the day.
*****
Six Years Ago
It’s your one-year anniversary. You’re in the front seat of Milo’s car, looking straight ahead with your hands folded in your lap, trying not to bring any attention to yourself. You try to focus on the snowfall, knowing it’ll probably be the last of the year.
Your arm aches where his fingers dug into it earlier. Without thinking, your hand comes up and your thumb rubs over the tender spot through your sleeve.
“Stop doing that.”
Your hand freezes.
“I said it was an accident,” he says, still looking straight ahead. “Stop trying to make me feel worse than I already do.”
You slowly lower your hand back into your lap. “Sorry,” you say quietly.
“You always are.”
Stupid. You should’ve known better than to move.
“Because I really am,” you say quickly. “I swear, it doesn’t even hurt.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I know it doesn’t.”
Your phone buzzes inside your backpack. You don’t reach for it.
“Who’s texting you?”
“Uh.” You glance down at your bag. “Probably just my friend. The one staying at my house.”
“What does she want?”
“I don’t know.” You make your voice lighter, pleasant. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll check it later.”
The car rolls to a stop at a red light. Red spills through the windshield, washing across his face.
He turns to look at you. “Check it now.”
You nod and cautiously reach for your backpack.
Please be her.
At this point, she’s pretty much the only friend you have left. Milo tried driving her away, too, but it’s harder when she lives with you.
Your breath loosens when her name appears on the screen.
Milo takes the phone from your hand before you can even open the message and types your password into the lock screen. The password he picked for you.
His face changes almost immediately. “Why the fuck is she asking when you’re gonna be home?”
You shrug. “She’s probably just wondering.”
“Are you planning to go out or something?”
You shake your head. “No. You’re my only plans tonight.”
“How am I supposed to believe you?”
Another small shrug. “You can text her back if you want.”
He starts typing. “I don’t trust this fucking bitch, either.”
Your phone vibrates in his hand almost immediately.
“Fucking bitch,” he mutters. His thumbs move again.
The light turns green, but he doesn’t move. A car behind you honks.
“Why does she think she can fucking talk to me like this?” He looks at you. “The fuck do you tell her about me?”
“I don’t tell her anything,” you say quickly.
Another horn.
You glance toward the windshield. “The light’s green.”
His head snaps toward you. “You think I don’t fucking know that?”
You flinch back.
He shoves your phone into his jacket pocket and slams his foot on the gas. The tires spin before catching.
Your body jerks backward against the seat as the car fishtails across a slick patch of ice. You grab the edge of your seat with both hands.
He takes the next turn too fast, the back end of the car swinging wide before snapping straight again. He tears down the street until a fast-food sign glows ahead. He whips into the parking lot, cuts across two empty spaces, and stomps on the brake. The seat belt locks across your chest, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.
Milo throws the car into park and yanks your phone back out of his pocket.
“Explain this shit to me.” He shoves the screen toward your face. He’s scrolled up through your conversation to a selfie of you and your best friend.
“Where the fuck did you take this?”
“The store near my house,” you say.
“When.”
“A few nights ago, I think.”
“Oh, really?” He scoffs. “Why didn’t you tell me you went out?”
“It was just to the store”-
“You didn’t think to ask me beforehand?”
You look down. “Yeah. That’s my bad. I’m sorry.”
“And look how she fucking talks to me.” He scrolls back down.
You see what he sent her:
shes busy
Her response is underneath it:
I wasn’t texting you, Milo. Give my friend her phone back.
Then his:
mind ur fckn busness ugly bitch
You suck in a breath.
“What?” he says. “Can’t I say that to her?”
You stare at the screen. “She’s not ugly.”
“Yeah, I know.” He swipes out of the conversation. “I just said that. She’s lowkey hotter than you, so…”
You go quiet.
He opens your social media. His thumb stops.
“Fucking knew it.”
You lean just enough to see your notifications. She posted the picture and tagged you.
Damn it. You asked her not to.
He opens it and scrolls through the comments.
“Who the fuck is this?”
Your stomach tightens again.
He’s stopped on a comment from some guy whose profile picture is a mirror selfie at the gym:
Who’s your friend?
“I don’t know,” you say quickly.
“Really. So if I open your DMs, he’s not gonna be in there?”
You shake your head.
He opens them and scrolls through months and months of messages he’s already read before. Conversations he’s checked so many times you know exactly which ones he’ll stop on.
Then his thumb moves toward your message requests and opens the hidden folder. You didn’t think to check it today.
Your chest goes cold. Please, no.
“You fucking bitch!”
You flinch so hard your shoulder hits the door.
He turns the screen toward you.
That same profile, one message sent earlier today:
Hey
Heat rushes across your chest and up your neck.
Stupid. So fucking stupid. You should’ve checked before you saw Milo. You knew he’d go through everything. You should’ve cleared it out. You should’ve been more careful.
“Milo, I swear, I didn’t even see that. I have no idea who that guy is.”
“But somehow he thinks it’s completely fine to message you?”
“I don’t know why he messaged me.”
“I know why.” He closes the message and goes back to the picture. “Why the fuck were you posing like that?”
You stare at the photo. “What?”
“Who were you trying to impress?” He zooms in. “Trying to get fucking attention?”
It’s a picture of you and your friend in the bathroom mirror at the store. You’re leaning toward the sink together, smiling at your reflections and turning your heads enough to show off the matching earrings you’d just bought. You’re wearing a puffer coat zipped almost to your chin.
You stare at it, genuinely unable to see what he sees.
“I don’t think I”-
“You didn’t think?”
You swallow. “We were just taking a picture of our earrings. I didn’t think she’d post it or anything.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to trust you?”
“I’m sorry”-
“Oh, shut the fuck up!”
You go silent.
“I’m so fucking tired of hearing that you’re sorry.” His voice fills the car. “You’re not sorry, because you keep doing this kind of shit!”
His eyes move to your ears. “These earrings?”
Your stomach twists. You nod.
His hand comes up. You barely have time to move before his fingers catch the earring in your left ear and rip it free.
Pain flashes hot through your earlobe. Your hand flies up automatically, but you stop yourself from making a sound.
He looks down at the earring between his fingers.
“He only fucking messaged you because you can’t see your back rolls from that angle.” He taps the guy’s profile and blocks him. Then he goes into your settings.
“You know what we agreed on, right?”
You don’t answer.
“I tried to be the good guy by letting you keep this stupid account because you promised you wouldn’t post anything that didn’t have me in it.”
His thumb moves across the screen.
“But you leave me no choice if you can’t respect my boundaries.”
You watch him enter the menu.
“You lose this, too.”
He deactivates your account.
You stare at the phone, and the only thing you feel right now is empty.
“Why do you look so sad?”
Your eyes immediately lift. “I’m not”-
“You wanted him, didn’t you?”
“No!”
He yanks the keys out of the ignition and shoves his door open.
“Milo”-
He’s already out of the car.
He doesn’t even close the door behind him.
Cold air rushes inside.
You scramble after him.
“Milo!”
Your shoes slip against the wet pavement as you hurry across the parking lot. The wind cuts straight through your coat, sharp enough to make your eyes water.
He doesn’t look back.
“Milo, wait!”
He runs across the street. A horn blares.
You stop short as headlights sweep past you, then run after him the second the car clears.
He’s heading for the bridge.
Your stomach drops.
“Milo!”
The wind tears your voice apart before it reaches him.
You run harder.
By the time you reach the bridge, your lungs burn from the cold, and Milo is already halfway across.
He finally stops and turns around.
“Do you love me or not?”
“Of course I do.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
He lifts his hand. Your phone and your earring pinched between two of his fingers. Then he holds both of them out over the railing.
You stop walking.
“Please don’t.”
He looks at you.
“You know I can’t afford another phone.” Your voice catches. “And-and I just bought those earrings. Please.”
His face goes flat. “Fine.”
He climbs over the railing.
Your entire body goes numb. “What are you doing?”
One leg disappears over the other side. Then the other.
“Milo!” You run toward him. By the time you reach the railing, he’s hanging from the outside of it.
You scream.
Both of his feet are gone from view. One hand grips the freezing metal rail. The other is still raised beside him, your phone and earring trapped in his fist. Below him is nothing but darkness.
“Milo, stop it!”
“Choose.”
Your hands clamp around the railing. “What?”
“If these things are so fucking important to you,” his fingers tighten around the rail, “I should just let go.”
“No!” Your voice cracks. “No, no, no. Please. Milo, please.”
The wind whips his jacket away from his body, making his hand shift against the railing.
You lunge forward. “No!”
“You’re gonna have to convince me I mean more to you than this shit.”
“You do!” You can barely get the words out. “Of course you do. Please just come back here.”
“What would you do if I let go right now? If I died… would you find somebody else?”
“No!”
“You would,” he nods once with crazed eyes. “You’d replace me.”
“I wouldn’t! I swear!” Your hands are numb around the railing. You can’t even feel your fingers anymore. “Please, Milo. Please just come back over.”
He raises the hand holding your phone. “Then choose.”
You shake your head frantically.
“Me or this shit.”
“Milo”-
“Choose!”
“You!” The word tears out of you. “You! Obviously you!”
He watches you. “Say it.”
“I choose you!”
“Over what?”
“Everything!” You’re crying so hard you can barely see him anymore. “Please. I choose you. I don’t care about the phone. I don’t care about the earrings. Just come back.”
He nods. Then he opens his hand. Your phone drops first, followed by your earring. Then they disappear.
Milo pulls himself back over the railing.
The second both of his feet hit the pavement, he wraps his arms tightly around you. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”
You bury your face against his shoulder. “I love you, too.” Your words come out broken.
He rubs a hand up and down your back. “Please,” he says against your ear. “Please never make me do something like that again, okay?”
You nod immediately. “I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Good.” He pulls away and takes your face between his hands.
You’re still shaking.
His expression softens. Then he smiles at you like you’re the greatest thing in the world. “Let’s go.”
*
As soon as you make it back to the car, Milo pulls you into the backseat like it’s some kind of romantic gesture. You lie there, going along with whatever he wants, waiting for it to be over.
*
You’re almost home. Milo’s hand rests over yours in your lap. Every few minutes, his thumb strokes across your knuckles like nothing happened.
“Hey.”
You look over.
He gives your hand a little squeeze. “You can still message me on your laptop. So text me as soon as you get inside.”
“Okay.”
“See?” he says. “Basically nothing’s different.”
You look back through the windshield.
“The only time you’re ever out is when you’re with me anyway, so it’s not like you even need a phone.”
You nod.
“You’ll just use your laptop at home to get ahold of me.”
“Okay.”
His fingers lace through yours, then he brings your hand up and kisses the back of it.
You stare ahead.
When he finally pulls up in front of your apartment building, he puts the car in park and turns toward you. “Come here.”
You do. He pulls you into a long kiss, one hand cupping the side of your face.
When he finally pulls back, he stays close enough that the tips of your noses almost touch. His eyes search yours. “I love you so fucking much.”
Your throat feels tight. “I love you, too.”
He smiles. “Text me when you’re inside.”
You nod. “I will.”
*
You lean against the front door as soon as you shut it behind you. You wish it could feel like relief, but it’s anything but that. The TV is blaring so loudly you can barely think straight, fighting with the sound of your brother yelling somewhere down the hall.
The place is a mess like always. There’s a laundry basket sitting in the middle of the hallway that everyone has been stepping around for days, clothes spilling onto the floor around it. The kitchen counter is covered in dishes because the sink is already full. A garbage bag is propped beside the trash can because no one bothered taking the full one outside.
You barely notice any of it anymore.
You want nothing more than a steaming hot shower to wash away all the gross shit Milo made you do tonight. How he made you take all your clothes off in the car even though you begged for them to stay on. So you walk straight to the bathroom, but the door is shut when you get there.
You tilt your head back with pure exhaustion and sigh.
Only one shared bathroom in this fucking place. Then the shower starts running. Great, looks like you’re going to have to wait.
You walk into the living room, expecting to find your mom shit-faced on the couch. She’s lying on the floor instead.
You exhale through your nose. Just what you were hoping to come home to. “Mom, get up.”
She’s sprawled on her side between the couch and coffee table, one arm bent underneath her, shirt ridden halfway up her stomach. Her mouth and teeth are stained purple-red with wine. Two empty bottles sit on the little plastic drawer someone started using as an end table after the real one broke. Another bottle is on its side beneath the couch.
Real Housewives is screaming at full volume.
You grab the remote and turn the TV off.
“Mom.”
She doesn’t move.
“Mom, get up!” You nudge her with your foot. Nothing.
Your stomach drops.
You fall to your knees beside her and hesitate before reaching out.
“Mom?” you say quieter now.
You slowly bring two fingers up to her neck.
Still beating.
You exhale and close your eyes for a second.
You shake her shoulder harder once you know she’s not dead. “Mom, wake up. You’re on the floor.”
Slowly, her eyes crack open, one after the other. She fumbles around trying to push herself up but immediately sways, one eye staying half-closed like she can’t get it to focus.
You grab her underneath the arms and get to your feet, trying to pull her up with you. “Come on.”
She shoves at you. “Fuck off.”
You stumble back half a step. “You passed out again.”
She swings her arm back and slaps you across the face. You close your eyes but barely react. You almost expect it at this point.
She makes some irritated sound in the back of her throat and manages to drag herself onto the couch. “Fucking bitch,” she grumbles. Her head falls against the cushion, and within seconds, she’s asleep again.
You stand there for a moment, staring at her. You wish you could hate her.
You step over the laundry basket on your way back down the hall.
Your brother’s door is cracked open.
“Hey.” You push your head inside.
His back is to you, face inches from the little TV on top of his dresser while some war game flashes across the screen. He’s yelling into his headset, controller clicking violently in his hands.
“Did you see Mom like that out there?” you ask.
“Like what.” He doesn’t look back. He leans hard to the left like moving his whole body is somehow going to help whatever he’s doing on screen.
“Passed out on the floor.”
“Fuck!” he screams at the game. His character dies and he throws his controller on the ground. “Stop making shit up!” he yells, not turning around. “Get out of my room, fat liar.”
You stare at the back of his head before slamming his door shut. Kid’s gonna be the next local school shooter.
Your room is next down the hall. You pause in the doorway. Your light is on, but your friend isn’t there. She must be the one in the shower.
That’s actually good. It would be nice to see Dad before he falls asleep anyway… you hope he’s still awake.
He’s been weird lately. Sometimes he comes home from work and sits at the kitchen table forever, barely touching his food, staring at nothing until someone talks to him. Other nights he disappears into his room before dinner and doesn’t come back out.
But he’s still nice to you. He remembers when you have a test. If he stops at the store, he comes home with something he knows you like without you having to ask. Sometimes you’ll watch TV shows only the two of you enjoy. He doesn’t really know how to fix anything. He never has. But at least he doesn’t make things worse.
After tonight, you could use that.
You walk farther down the hall toward your parents’ closed bedroom door.
You knock once, already turning the handle.
“Dad?” You push the door open.
There’s movement on the bed.
For half a second, you expect him to sit up and look at you. Maybe ask what’s wrong. Maybe notice your face and know something happened.
Except it isn’t your dad.
It’s your best friend… naked.
She jerks upright and pulls the covers over her chest with a quiet gasp.
You stop breathing.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
Your brain catches on everything except what’s actually in front of you: her clothes on the floor, the crumpled sheets, her hair messed up around her face, the fact that she’s in your parents’ bed.
Your eyes flick toward the empty side of the bed, then toward the bathroom down the hall.
Something cold settles into your stomach. Oh my fucking god.
“I can explain,” she says.
You stare at her like there’s anything she could possibly explain.
Then you turn and walk quickly out of the room, even faster once you hit the hallway. By the time you reach the bathroom, you’re practically running.
You slam your fist against the door.
The shower is still running. For one second, you just stand there listening to the water hit the tub.
“Yeah?”
Your dad’s voice.
Your hand slowly drops. Everything inside you seems to go completely still.
No.
You take two steps backward, shaking your head.
You stand there staring, waiting for your brain to come up with literally any other explanation. None comes.
Then your friend stumbles into the hall wearing one of your dad’s T-shirts of all fucking things.
Your stomach turns. Oh fuck no.
She walks toward you with panic on her face. “Hey”-
Something hot finally cuts through the numbness. You shove past her and storm into your room, slamming the door behind you.
Then she knocks. The bitch is actually fucking knocking.
“Please, just let me”-
You don’t want to hear her voice or her fucking explanation. You especially don’t want her to cry and make you feel bad for her right now.
With your mind still barely caught up, you go straight to your closet and start grabbing her things. Her work clothes, her purse from your side table, a sweatshirt she left hanging over the back of your chair.
Your hands shake so badly you almost drop everything.
You yank the door open.
“We need to”-
“No.” You shove the bundle of her shit into her chest.
She stumbles back half a step and catches it against herself. Her eyes are already wet. That almost makes you angrier.
“I can’t deal with this tonight,” you say. “So sleep on the fucking couch next to your sister wife. Or the master suite. I don’t give a fuck.”
Her mouth opens again. You shut the door in her face.
Then you stand there with your hand still wrapped around the knob. For a second, you expect her to knock again. Part of you almost wants her to.
Her footsteps eventually move away.
You lock the door, flick off the light, and fall into bed without changing your clothes. You curl onto your side facing the wall, knees pulled slightly toward your chest.
For a while, nothing happens. You just stare at the paint. At that little chip near the baseboard you’ve been meaning to peel off for months.
Your brain still hasn’t caught up.
Part of you keeps waiting for something to happen that will make the last few minutes make sense. For your friend to knock again and say you misunderstood. For your dad to come down the hall with some explanation so ridiculous you’ll laugh at yourself for ever thinking otherwise. Anything.
Your eyes start burning. You blink, and a tear slips across the bridge of your nose into the pillow. Then another. You don’t wipe them away.
The worst part is that your brain won’t leave either of them alone.
Your best friend laughing, teaching you how to roll your first joint because you kept fucking it up and spilling weed everywhere.
The two of you running away together one night when neither of your houses felt safe, sitting beside each other in a train station until morning because there was nowhere else to go.
Her lying beside you in the dark after she moved in, whispering until one of you finally fell asleep.
…her being the closest thing you had to a sister.
You sniffle.
Then your dad starts creeping in too.
Coming home to find your favorite show paused because he knew you’d be pissed if he watched without you.
Halloween candy he brought home on November first because everything was half price and he knew exactly which ones you liked.
Bags of green apples appearing in the kitchen after you mentioned liking them once.
Him asking how your day went when nobody else even noticed you were home.
All those tiny things you kept collecting as proof that he cared.
Your throat closes.
Because none of those memories disappeared. That would almost be easier. They’re all still there, exactly the way you remember them, except now every single one is tainted.
A sob catches painfully in your throat before you can stop it. You clamp your mouth shut against the pillow, embarrassed even though nobody is in the room to hear you.
You don’t understand how two people can love you and still do something that hurts this fucking badly.
A ping comes from your laptop.
Your whole body tenses. Fuck. You forgot to message Milo when you got inside. The fear arrives so automatically that there isn’t even room for the grief anymore.
You shove yourself upright, wipe your face against your sleeve, and scramble for your laptop on the floor.
Milo: wtf
Your heart pounds under your ribs.
You: I’m sorry. Something crazy happened.
I caught her sleeping with my dad.
She’s sleeping with my dad, Milo.
You stare at the screen and wait.
Five minutes.
Ten.
You keep staring.
By the time he finally responds, more than half an hour has passed.
Milo: not suprise
wat i tell u ?
next time lissen
Your face crumples. You wipe your nose against your sleeve.
You: I can’t stop crying.
Can you come get me?
I can’t stay here.
The little typing bubble appears. Then it disappears.
Minutes pass.
Milo: out rn
You stare at it.
You: Please… I need you.
This time he answers quickly.
Milo: u knew i was goin out
tryna fuck my nite
You immediately start typing.
You: Ok. Sorry. Ily
His reply comes almost right away.
Milo: ily ?? tf
You swallow.
You: Oh, sorry. I was just being cute.
I love you.
Milo: yea thats real fckn cute of u talk to ur bf like dat
grow tf up
Your fingers hover over the keyboard while you wipe your face again.
You: I won’t do it again <3
I love you, Milo
A minute passes.
Milo: watever
mayb i shoud fuck a new bich tonite
bet she wont text her bf ily
like a real women
Your chest aches. You type again.
You: Really. I love you so much.
Milo: thats it ?
You: I’m so lucky to have you <3 and I love you
Milo: yea
You stare at it until the screen starts to blur.
Eventually you roll back over towards the wall, but your one earring catches on the pillow. You quickly jerk it out of your ear with almost as much force as Milo did earlier. This time it doesn’t even sting. You fling it into the dark room behind you and hear it clatter somewhere on the floor.
You wish that helped.
Milo threw your phone off a bridge. Your mom is passed out drunk in the living room. Your brother hates you. Your best friend is fucking your dad.
And your dad…
You squeeze your eyes shut.
That one hurts the worst.
A soft knock lands against your door. You know that knock.
“Hey, kid,” your dad’s voice comes quietly through the door. “You home?”
You stay on your side, facing the wall.
He sounds completely normal. That familiar softness is still there. The same one you were hoping to hear when you started walking toward his room tonight because, after everything with Milo, you thought seeing him might make you feel a little better.
A few hours ago, you would’ve opened the door. Now, you don’t move.
There’s a pause on the other side.
“Okay,” he says softly. “Goodnight.”
His footsteps retreat down the hall.
A minute later, you hear another door close somewhere in the apartment.
You keep staring at the wall.
You loved them both. That’s the part you can’t figure out what to do with.
You pull your knees a little closer to your chest and lie there listening to the dark apartment settle around you.
You literally have no one.
*****
Today
You’re still staring at your reflection on the dark screen of your dead phone, knowing exactly what it feels like to be betrayed by the people you trust most.
To be the last one to know.
And now you’re doing it to Yuji.
This thing with Sukuna…
…it has to stop.