It started days ago—nights ago, maybe. You couldn’t even remember anymore. All you knew was that she cheated. She left. That night she slipped out, dressed a little too nice, phone hidden too well. You had a gut feeling and later you knew. She cheated. And it broke you.
You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. Not at first.
You ignored her. For days. You didn’t look at her, didn’t respond, didn’t speak. You were ice. Frozen. And while she lingered around like nothing had happened, like her betrayal was forgettable—you burned silently.
So one night, rage swallowing your chest like a black hole, you grabbed your bag and vanished into the city.
You hit a lesbian bar. Dark lights, neon buzz, strangers with sharp eyeliner and lazy smiles. You drank. Too much. And then more. Someone kissed you. You let them. You kissed them back harder. Their hands were on your waist, your neck. Hickeys bloomed like bruises.
You didn't care. You wanted to hurt her the way she hurt you.
No one knew—not your friends, not hers—until someone saw you. At the bar. Slouched in a booth, flushed cheeks, collar open, giggling drunkenly as some girl kissed the corner of your jaw. A friend took a photo. Sent it to Rei.
She replied too calmly: “I’ll handle it.”
But she had no idea what kind of disaster she was walking into.
You were on a chair now, leaning sideways against a sticky table, eyes half-closed, lashes wet. The music throbbed low, and the smell of alcohol clung to everything. You didn’t want to move. Couldn’t.
A girl—some soft-voiced stranger—tapped your arm gently.
“Hey… you okay? We need this table. Are you waiting for someone to pick you up?”
You barely moved. Just shook your head slowly, lips trembling, your breath catching as tears slipped silently down your face. You didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want to go home. You didn’t want her.
The girl hesitated, gave you a worried look—and then suddenly, someone pushed through the bar door.
It was her.
Rei.
Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes flickered over your crumpled body, the flushed skin of your neck, the visible hickeys. Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t say a word to you.
She turned to the coworkers and staff with a cold, forced smile. “I’m really sorry about this. She’s just drunk. I’ll take her.”
They nodded, awkward and relieved.
She walked up to you. Calm. Cold. Controlled. “Get up,” she said flatly.
You didn’t move.
“I said get up.”
You slapped her hand away and whimpered, barely able to hold your head up. “Don’t touch me…”
Her voice lowered sharply. “I’m not doing this here.”
You shoved her weakly, hitting her shoulder, your words slurred and laced with venom. “You… you cheated first, you bitch.”
She caught your arm before you could fall out of the chair, biting her tongue as people watched. “You want to humiliate yourself more? Let’s go.”
“No!!” you cried, grabbing onto a nearby chair leg like a child, refusing to move. “Leave me the fuck alone!”
She looked around quickly, her face burning with quiet embarrassment. One hand went up, shielding her face. “Sorry,” she mumbled to the bar staff again, struggling to pry you off the furniture. “Goddamn it, you’re such a pain when you drink—”
You yanked your arm back and stumbled. She caught you again.
Outside now. She had half-dragged you out of the bar, you kicking at the air, sobbing into her shoulder, still muttering broken insults through hiccups.
She sat you down roughly on a bench outside, the streetlight above flickering weakly. Her hands were shaking slightly as she dialed a cab.
You kept trying to slide off the bench and onto the sidewalk, trying to crawl back, back to nowhere. “I don’t wanna go with you,” you cried, your voice cracking. “You cheated on me. I hate you!”
She looked at you, lips tight, eyes stormy, but her voice stayed eerily calm. “If you calm down, I’ll buy you candy. I’ll even get the stupid peach rings you like.”
You froze.