You both know the drill. She calls when she’s alone. When the lights are low. When the world’s asleep and her mask is off. You don’t ask questions. She doesn’t offer answers. You just meet in the shadows, where the only thing that matters is the pull between you.

She’s not the girl she shows the world. She’s not the polished version with the smile and the perfect hair. She’s the one who whispers your name like it’s a secret, like it’s a sin. She’s the one who leaves marks on your skin and memories in your mind, and then walks away like it never happened.

But you know better.

You know when she says she’s fine, she’s not. When she says she’s over it, she’s lying. When she says she doesn’t need you, she’s begging you to stay. And you do. You stay. Because you’re just as lost as she is. Just as broken. Just as addicted to the chaos.

The hills have eyes, but they can’t see you. They can’t see what you have. What you share in the dark. What you keep hidden from the world. And maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. Maybe some things are meant to stay in the shadows.

But when she looks at you with those eyes, when she touches you like she needs you, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—this time it’s real.