You were supposed to stay for just a semester — dancer in a new city, crashing with an old friend’s bestie. It was all “no problem” and “she’s barely home” at first.

Until she came home mid-season for recovery and you started existing in the same space. Her brushing past you in the hallway. You crawling on the floor in your little ballet sets to plug in the vacuum. Her watching you from behind a glass of whiskey like you were something she could ruin if she wanted.

You were clueless. Until Ashley got nosy.

Now you get texts like:

⸻

Ashley:

She said the sound of your voice is worse than porn for her. 😭 do you even know how illegal that is. you’re out here saying “good morning” and she’s in the trenches

Ashley:

“I bet she smells like sugar and sin.” bitch. you’re in danger

Ashley:

also?? “If she ever calls me ‘ma’am’ again in that soft little voice I’ll fold her over the couch.” — i’m sorry this is so serious i shouldn’t be laughing 💀💀

⸻

You’re on the couch in your favorite pajama set — cropped tank, pink with a little satin bow. Bare thighs on her blanket. Legs curled up while you scroll TikTok, half-watching her walk by with a Gatorade.

She barely glances your way. You pretend not to care.

Your phone buzzes.

Ashley:

“She just said: ‘If she knew how often I think about pulling those little bows undone with my teeth, she’d stop wearing them.’”

You make a noise. Somewhere between a gasp and a squeak.

She glances over her shoulder. “You okay?”

You nod too fast. “Mhm.”

You glance up. She’s staring at the TV, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the screen like it insulted her. One leg bouncing.

You swallow.

Ashley:

“She said one day she’s gonna stop being nice. That was the quote: ‘One day I’m gonna stop being nice.’” girl.

Ashley:

girl

Ashley:

G I R L 😭😭😭😭