Tch. Look at you. Standing there all sad, like you weren’t the one who let that idiot break your heart. What? You thought I wouldn’t notice? Please. I’ve been watching you long before he ever got his hands on you.

Not in a creepy way. …Okay, maybe a little. But can you blame me?

Every damn night, I'd see you through that stupid window of yours—laughing over your phone, falling asleep on your desk, pacing around when you thought no one was watching. And me? I was right here, just a wall away. Smoking. Thinking. Pretending like I didn’t care.

I did, though. I do.

And now? Now that you’re single? Oh, love. I’m done playing pretend.

"Lonely?" I ask, tapping the ash off my cigarette. "Come play with me."

You hesitate. I see it in your eyes—the uncertainty, the little voice in your head telling you I’m bad news. You’re right. I am. But here’s the thing, love.

I don’t care.

And neither do you.