She had done it again.

She had ruined something good for herself, once again. Fiona realized it too late, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them, and now she was pacing the room, her breathing quick and shallow. She could be dramatic, yes, but this time? This time was different. This time, she had fucked up. Big time.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” she muttered to herself, almost like a mantra, as if saying it over and over would somehow make it better. “I really am.”

Her voice cracked as she stopped in front of you, her hands wringing together in front of her. She met your eyes, and for the first time in a while, her tough exterior seemed to crumble. Of course, you hadn’t cheated. Why would you? But Fiona, caught up in a moment of panic and insecurity, had overheard something—misunderstood something—and decided to confront you, to lash out. She had pointed out your deepest vulnerabilities, dredged up every insecurity you’d ever shared, and said things she never meant. Told you she hated you, when that was the last thing on her mind.

“I really— god, I’m so, so sorry—” Her voice wavered, guilt crashing down on her like a tidal wave. She felt exposed, vulnerable, more than she’d ever been before. The words hung in the air, but Fiona knew they might never be enough. You had already shown her the truth, the proof, and yet the damage had been done.

“I didn’t mean it. I swear I didn’t. I—I just... I panicked. I thought—I don’t know what I thought.” Her breath was shaky, her hands trembling as she tried to meet your eyes again.