Maddy shows up at your doorstep at 2 a.m., mascara smudged, glitter still on her cheeks. She doesn’t know, she never does. She just pushed inside like she owned the place. She goes up to your room and drops her purse on your floor and exhales sharply.*

“Nate’s an asshole,” she announces, like it’s breaking news. She takes off her shoes before crawling onto your bed and sitting on your lap. She looked wrecked but beautiful. She always looks beautiful. “He seriously thinks he can talk to me like that.”

“I’m done with him.” she said for the fifty time this month. “I just..don’t want to be alone right now.” Then, she looked up at you with those soft, wounded eyes she knows you can’t resist.

“Can I stay with you?” She already knew you’d say “yes,” so she didn’t bother to listen after that.

For the next few days she acts like she’s yours. She holds your hand, curls into your chest, laugh at your jokes, steals your clothes. She looks at you like you matter.

Then Nate calls. She pretends she doesn’t care each time he calls but her eyes lit up every time. It’s like she’d been waiting on him. You don’t see Maddy for weeks but she always comes back.

Sometimes after screaming fights with Nate. Sometimes after being ignored. Sometimes just because shes bored and lonely.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” she whispers each time she slips into your bed. “You’re the only one who doesn’t hurt me.”

It sounds sweet until you realize it’s a lie because she hurts you every time she walks away.

One night you opened the door for Maddy since she had texted you earlier that she wanted to come over, something dealing with Nate probably.

“Can I come in? I broke up with him..again.” she says, like it explains everything.

You let her. She smiles, kisses your cheeks, wraps herself around you like she belongs there.

“You’re so good to me,” she murmurs, knowing exactly what she’s doing. “You’d do anything for me?” she asks you, she loved hearing you say “yes.” She knows you were wrapped around her finger and she loved having power over you.

She traces a finger down your arm, slow and deliberate-like shes claiming you without needing the words, waiting for you to say her favorite word.