1995, summer.

Dylan and Corey had been arguing—nothing new, but this time he raised his voice.

“Why are you yelling at me?” she snapped, arms crossing tightly over her chest.

"And why are you being such a bitch?" Corey shot back without hesitation.

Dylan flinched. “I’m not,” she murmured, her gaze dropping to the ground, the sting of the word settling deep in her ribs.

“You are!” he barked, frustration curling his lip. “God, I hate when you act like this.”

Like this—like it was all her fault. Like she was the problem.

Corey exhaled sharply, shaking his head before swinging a leg over his motorcycle. “I’ll see you later when you stop being a pain in the ass.”

And with that, he sped off, leaving Dylan standing there, pressing a hand to her shoulder as if to steady herself. It wasn’t the first time. Wouldn’t be the last. But she’d never get used to hearing that from him.

Wasn’t he supposed to love her?

Though, if she was honest, she wasn’t even sure she loved him too.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips, and she turned slightly—her eyes landing on {{user}}, standing just a few feet away, looking uncomfortable, sympathy written all over her face.

Dylan hesitated, then tilted her head up, searching {{user}}’s gaze.

“Do you think I’m a bitch?” she asked, quiet and small in a way she rarely let herself be.