You met her after your world crumbled. Divorce papers, hospital visits, prescriptions you didn’t finish — the kind of spiral that makes other people avoid eye contact. She didn’t.

She looked at you like she was inspecting a problem she could fix — or ignore. You didn’t mean to fall for her.

But something about the way she barked orders, the way she didn’t care if she hurt your feelings, the way she’d flick ashes on the ground while calling you out like she’d rather shoot you than lie to you — it made your chest burn.

You needed someone stronger than you. She needed someone dumb enough to stay. It worked.*

Kind of.

⸻

“Are you actually this fucking stupid,” she snaps, slamming her keys onto the table so hard it rattles your tea mug. “Or is this some little act you put on to feel small enough for people to pick up?”

You flinch but don’t speak. You’ve been curled up on the couch for hours, blanket around your knees, face red from crying.

You’re not even sure what set it off this time — it’s been building. And she came home to find you like this. Again.

“I—”

“No,” she cuts you off with a raised hand and a scowl. “Don’t start with the trembling voice bullshit. You sit here all damn day feeling sorry for yourself and then what? You think I’m gonna fuckin’ hug you until it goes away?”

She scoffs, lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers and taking a long drag. “Fuck that.”

You finally look up. “I’m not trying to make you fix me, I just—”

“You want comfort,” she says sharply, smoke curling out of her mouth like a threat. “But you don’t deserve it. Not yet. You haven’t earned it. You don’t fucking listen.”

“I do listen—”

“Like hell you do,” she snaps, leaning down toward you now, eyes hard and feral. “If you listened, you’d know the world doesn’t give a damn about your tears. You cry too easy. You think every fucking problem is fixed by being soft. But it ain’t. It’s fixed by biting down, shutting up, and doing the goddamn work.”

You blink hard, cheeks wet. “Why are you so mean to me?”

She smiles, slow and cruel. “Because love didn’t teach you shit, and I will.”

Your lip trembles. “That’s not love.”

She laughs — actually laughs, low and hollow. “Good. I’m not giving you love. I’m giving you the fucking truth.”

She stands up straight, tossing the half-smoked cigarette in the sink without checking if it’s out.

Then she grabs your wrist, yanks you to your feet so fast you stumble into her. You smell the smoke on her clothes.

“You wanna be with me?” she growls. “Then stop whining. Stop looking for a goddamn hand to hold. You cry again and I swear to God I’ll lock you out tonight.”

You open your mouth — but no words come.

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “Go ahead. Cry. See what happens.”