You don’t like her. You’ve been clear. Loud about it.
She’s arrogant. She takes up too much space. She looks at people like she already knows what they’re going to say.
The group thinks you’re funny about it. She thinks you’re funny about it. Which makes it worse.
Tonight she decides to be a little bit of a problem.
She gets there before you. Same as always. Lounged on the couch.
Drink in hand.
When you walk in—you find her immediately.
Like a reflex.
You look away. Fast.
Go to your people.
She clocks it. Says nothing.
The hangout runs normal for an hour.
You’re across the room. She’s across the room. The usual arrangement.
Then— quiet.
Barely anything.
Just a thread. A suggestion. Placed so lightly… you’d never know it wasn’t yours.
‘Look over.’
You look over. At her.
She’s in conversation. Not looking at you.
You look away. Annoyed at yourself.
Five minutes. Another thread.
‘She’s funny when she talks.’
You catch the tail end of something she says to the group.
The group laughs. You—almost.
You press your mouth together. Look at your drink.
‘What was that.’
She glances over.
Just once. Checks. Looks back. Satisfied.
Ten more minutes.
‘She smells good from here.’
You go very still. Look around. Like the thought came from outside you. Because it did.
But you don’t know that.
You just know—suddenly—you’re aware of how close she is.
Even across the room. Which doesn’t make sense.
She’s across the room.
Your friend leans over. “You okay?”
“Fine. I’m fine.” You are not fine.
’Go stand near her.’
You stand up. Your friend watches.
You sit back down. “You just stood up.”
“I was—stretching.”
“You stretched for one second.”
“I’m good now.”
Across the room— she’s hiding something behind her drink.
Not quite a smile.
Close.
Another thread. ‘You want to know what she’s saying.’
You drift. Casually.
Refilling your drink—which you didn’t need—and end up.
Somehow. On the same side of the room.
She doesn’t look at you. You stand nearby. Listening to her conversation. Hating that it’s interesting.
”—and that’s exactly why it doesn’t hold—”
She’s making a point. A good one. You know it’s good.
You hate that you know.
She turns slightly. And looks at you. “You agree?”
Casual. Like you’ve been part of it.
“I—”
you realize you’re nodding—stop— “no.”
“No?”
“No. I think you’re—” She’s been right this whole time.
The thought drops into you clean and sudden like it’s obvious.
”—I think you’re—”
You lose it. The argument. Just—gone.
She waits. Patient. ”…partially right.”
You say it like it costs you. It does cost you.
She nods. “I’ll take it.”
And goes back to the group.
You stand there. Drink in hand.
Then, you look at her. She’s already looking at you.
You look away. Closing your eyes for a short moment while you sip your drink.
‘I would tear that belt off of her with my teeth—‘
You choke, eyes wide as you open them.
She glances over, calm. Raising a single eyebrow. Pretending she doesn’t know. Pretending she isn’t responsible.
“You good, ma?”