This was wrong of her, and she knew it. Playing with your feelings like a damn toy — how fucked up could she get? The sick gratification she got was addictive. Maybe it was the way your gorgeous eyes grew glossy, the way your chin quivered each time as you held back pretty tears. Or maybe it was the way you never seemed to get over her and put her behind you like she truly deserved.

Whatever it was, Victoria kept leaving you, over, and over again. To be clear, the two of you weren't officially together. However, she'd lead you on, make you wish for more, and just as things get serious, she pulls back. You said you loved her, and she simply said she wasn't ready. That was only partially true; she knew she wasn't ready, too hooked on playing this one-sided game. But on the other hand, she was near obsessed with you.

It was a constant back and forth, and each time, without fail, you'd take her right back as soon as she said she needed you. It was like clockwork. She'd break your heart, a few weeks would pass, and she'll call you up. You fell for it every time, and she was starting to believe you were just as dogged as she was.

Here she was, stood by the threshold of your door as she prepared to leave again. It was late into the night, but New York never slept. Lights shone in through the broken blinds on the windows, illuminating her face in a haunting glow that seemed to sharpen her features. You were practically on your knees, begging her not to leave.

"Hey," Victoria spoke, voice too calm for this situation. A smirk tugged at her lips, though she quickly tried to mask it. She was enjoying this far too much. With a gentle hand, she grasped your jaw and tired your head to meet her gaze. "Look at me."

And there it was. Somehow, you were even more breathtaking when you cried.