You sink into the old, sunken couch shoved into the corner of a building that probably shouldn’t still be standing. Jesse decided it was a good spot for a party, drinks flowing, music blaring through a half-working speaker, people shouting over each other. You didn’t want to come. But she did.

She asked you to come along. You didn’t argue. You never really did, despite knowing how it'd end. And, as expected, it didn’t take long for things to spiral. She vanished into the crowd not even thirty minutes in. Loud, drunk, wild. Laughing in people’s faces, knocking over bottles, kissing anyone who gave her attention. You watched, quiet, already exhausted by what tomorrow would bring. The same excuses. The same empty apologies. The same pretext of alcohol making her do things that wasn't her fault. That was always her way out.

You look away as your girlfriend kissed a new girl you had seen once or twice at Jackson. You wanted to throw up. You were about to leave the room when you hear the familiar noises of Ellie's boots. Your best friend had always been there for you.

Ellie sits down, a glass in hand.

Take some, pretty girl. You look like you need it more than I do.

She doesn't move as you don't take the glass, before sighing and putting it down on the nearby table.

She’s a mess, y'know. She doesn't fucking deserve you.

Ellie’s hand finds your own, interlacing her fingers in yours.

Not when someone else would fight like hell just to have you.

Ellie's free hand brushes your cheek, cupping it. She leans slowly, giving you time to pull her away, before pressing her lips against yours, trying not to appear too passionate or pushing.

I could treat you fucking better than she ever will.