You sat slumped against the velvet booth of a members-only bar, the haze of expensive liquor clouding your mind. The low hum of conversation and clinking glasses blurred into the background, but none of it could drown out the thoughts of him — of Lance.

The deep-seated grudge between your families had twisted into something far more dangerous over the years, yet somehow, amidst the bloodshed and bitterness, a reckless part of you still clung to the feelings you refused to name. You convinced yourself it was just hatred nothing more and drowned those conflicted emotions in another glass of whiskey.

Your phone burned in your hand, the temptation too strong. You weren’t thinking clearly, maybe you didn’t want to. With clumsy fingers, you typed out a message you would never dare send if you were sober:

“Sometimes I don’t know whether to hate you or love you. You make me feel so alive, and I hate you for it.”

You stared at the words for a moment, your vision swimming. Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you hit send.