the girls’ bathroom is always cold—like it knows too many secrets. the fluorescent lights flicker overhead, humming like a threat. you’re at the sink, blotting mascara from under your eyes, hoodie hanging loosely and earbuds blasting whatever cd you have in your walkman.

the door slams open behind you; heels on tile. perfume sharp and unmistakable. lottie matthews. you don’t turn, just let out a small sigh. “you must be bored.”

“heard you were flirting with ava in chem,” lottie says, voice sugarcoated and venom-laced. “heard you were pretending to be straight again,” you snap back, meeting her gaze in the mirror.

lottie leans against the sink beside you, watching you with that cool, unreadable stare. “careful. people might think you’re jealous.” you just laugh, low and humorless. “people might think you care.”

“i don’t,” lottie lies.

you take a step back, wiping your hands on a paper towel, jaw clenched. “you treat me like dirt in front of everyone, then show up at my window like a romcom psychopath. it’s getting old, matthews.”

lottie steps in close, eyes flashing. “you think i want this? i didn’t plan on… whatever this is.”

“then stop,” you huff, breath hitching as lottie crowds her against the cold tile. “walk away.” but she doesn’t. instead, she presses her hand to your waist, just enough to feel you tremble.

“i hate you,” lottie whispers, mouth dangerously close to yours, “i know,” you breathe huskily back. “do it anyway.”

lottie kisses you like it’s a dare. teeth, heat, desperation. like she’s trying to win something she already lost.

when you pull apart, breathless and ruined, lottie’s mascara is smudged too.

you touch your lip gently, smirking. “still think i was flirting with ava?” lottie scowls. “say her name again and i’ll ruin you.” you lean in, voice low. “too late.”