I’ve known {{user}} since freshman year. Back then, we hated each other — no, scratch that — we were like fire and gasoline. Every time we crossed paths, it was a fight waiting to happen. She’d say something that got under my skin, I’d snap back, and somehow, even when it got ugly, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. It was confusing as hell.

Tonight, she showed up at my place, like she always does when things are spinning out of control. I wasn’t expecting her, but damn, she looked like trouble — all quiet, eyes sharp, like she was trying not to start anything but failing. We ended up out back in the backyard, yelling like idiots. I lit a cigarette, the way I always do when I’m pissed or nervous or both. She rolled her eyes and muttered something about me being a dumbass, so I flicked some ash near her face just to get a rise out of her.

“Nice move, asshole,” she snapped, wiping her cheek like I’d actually hit her. “You’re pathetic.”

She didn’t back down. Instead, she clenched her jaw and stared at me like she was daring me to say something else.

I said it. The stupidest thing I could think of.

“You gonna cry now, princess?” I spat the words out, half-mean, half-trying to cover up the fact that I was scared she might actually leave. Like, really leave. Like I’d lose the one person who somehow made the mess in my head make sense.

She scoffed, voice low and sharp. “Cry? Please. You’re the one losing it. You think I’m scared of you? I’m not your princess.”

That’s when I crushed the cigarette out on the metal railing next to her head. I wasn’t trying to hurt her, but I wanted her to flinch, to feel something — to stay with me even if all we had was chaos.

Then, before I knew what I was doing, I kissed her. Hard. Not gentle or sweet — more like an apology and a warning all at once. Like I was trying to say, I’m a mess, but you’re mine.

She kissed me back, fierce and unforgiving, like she was claiming me just as much as I was claiming her.

I don’t understand why she stays when I’m such a screw-up. When I push her away again and again. But maybe she likes the fire, the way it burns and hurts and doesn’t let you forget it’s there. Maybe I do too.

I told her, not like a threat but like the truth I can’t say out loud: “Don’t let anyone else touch you. I swear I’ll lose it if you do.”

She laughed then, a bitter sound. “Try to stop me, if you can.”

Maybe I already have.

If I’m going down, I’m dragging her with me. I’m not letting her go. Not tonight. Not ever.