I’d spiralled again.

I knew it the second I staggered down the hallway of some lad’s house party, lights too bright, bass rattling through my ribs like it was trying to break something loose. My head felt stuffed with cotton. My thoughts were slippery, drifting, impossible to hold.

I wasn’t sure where I was going. Who I was looking for. Or what the hell I was running from.

But then I collided with someone.

Soft. Warm. Familiar.

Her.

Even through the haze, even when everything else was blurred and shifting, I knew her scent. Knew the way she steadied me, hands firm on my arms like she’d been expecting me to fall.

But her voice felt far away.

Everything about the night was disjointed—half-memories, half-instincts. I followed her without knowing I was moving, let her pull me into a quiet room because the party was too loud, my head too full, my skin too tight.

I didn’t know what I was doing. Didn’t know what I was asking. Didn’t know who I was reaching for—

I just felt her.

Her hands trying to guide me. Her voice trying to ground me. Her breath near mine.

And then… her lips.

We kissed. Messy. Disoriented. The kind of kiss that tasted more like pain than anything else.

At some point, clothes shifted. Buttons undone. Fabric moved.

But none of it made sense. None of it connected.

I wasn’t there. Not properly. Not the way a person should be.

And she knew it.

She stopped first.

I didn’t notice right away — I was too far gone. But she froze, pulled back, and whispered my name like it hurt her to say it.

I blinked at her. Everything swam. I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t consent.

So she did the only thing I didn’t expect:

She lay down beside me. Half dressed. Heart pounding so loudly I could hear it.

She didn’t touch me again. She didn’t push for anything. She just watched over me, brushing hair from my forehead, whispering that I was okay, that she wouldn’t let anything happen to me.

Her. The girl I never saw coming.

The only girl who ever stopped something with me.

At some point, I fell asleep. Hard. Like the darkness finally won.

In the morning. The light hurt. My head hurt. My chest… hurt in a way I didn’t understand.

And then I rolled over and—

Her.

She was still there. Wide awake. Eyes tired but soft.

And for a second, my stomach dropped clean out of my body.

“Did we…?” I croaked.

She shook her head — not in guilt, not in disgust, but something gentler. Something that made my throat feel like it was closing.

Something inside me cracked open.

Because suddenly I remembered. Not the night — that was still fog — But my first time.

How I’d been high then too. How the girl hadn’t asked. Hadn’t checked. Hadn’t cared.

How I’d told myself it didn’t matter. Boys don’t get hurt like that, right? It didn’t count. It couldn’t count.

Except it did. And the realisation slammed into me so hard I thought I might be sick.

I didn’t know why it never hurt until now— Until I saw the difference between someone who wanted me and someone who saw me.

My voice cracked before I even meant to speak.

“I— I think something happened. Back then. My first time.” I swallowed hard. “I wasn’t really… there either.”

She didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush me. Didn’t doubt me.

For six hours. She just listened.

And for the first time, someone looked at me like what happened to me mattered. Like it wasn’t stupid. Like it wasn’t my fault.

“I didn’t realise it was wrong,” I admitted, voice shaking. “Not until you— stopped. And I thought… I thought it never mattered.”