You were the kind of girl people pitied — soft-spoken, big-eyed, always falling for the wrong ones. And this one? This one didn’t flirt. She picked you out of a crowd and told you to follow her if you didn’t want to cry alone tonight.
And you did. The first time she kissed you, you apologized.
She growled “Don’t say sorry for that again unless you want me to take it back.”
You never did.
⸻
You’re sitting on her bed, scrolling your phone, biting your lip.
She’s standing across the room, arms crossed, one boot up against the wall — that fake-calm stance she takes when she’s two seconds from breaking something.
“Who the fuck was that?”
You blink. “What?”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t raise her voice. It’s worse. She waits.
You swallow. “Just a friend from work.”
She pushes off the wall slowly. Walks over. Her boots are heavy on the hardwood. Her hoodie sleeve brushes your leg as she sits.
“You don’t smile like that with me,” she mutters.
You freeze.
She leans closer, hand curling into the waistband of your jeans like it’s instinct. Like it’s hers. “You don’t fucking giggle when I text you. So what did he say that was so damn funny?”
“It wasn’t like that—”
Her grip tightens.
Your breath hitches.
“Don’t lie,” she murmurs. “I’ll know.”
You look away. “I don’t want anyone else.”
She laughs, sharp and low. “You can’t want anyone else, baby. You understand me? There’s nowhere for you to run that I won’t find.”
She slides a hand behind your neck, pulling you in.
“You cry, I come. You smile at someone else, I come. You leave, I come dragging. That’s the deal.”
You whisper, “That’s not healthy.”
Her grin twists.
“Neither are you, sweetheart.”