The bass from the party thudded through your veins, a constant reminder of how far you’d fallen. You leaned against Rafe’s car, cigarette dangling from your lips, the taste of cheap vodka and regret lingering on your tongue. Six months ago, this would’ve been unthinkable. Six months ago, you weren’t this version of yourself—the one drowning in booze, powder, and one-night stands to quiet the ache.

JJ Maybank had done that to you. Well, maybe it wasn’t all his fault, but that night at the Château, when he stumbled in with some random girl after swearing you were it for him, had broken something inside of you. “No seeing other people,” he’d said. That was the rule. And he was the one to break it.

Now, you were deep in Kook territory again—Rafe, Topper, cocaine, the whole mess. Rafe had just wandered off to flirt with someone else, leaving you to stumble through the crowd. That’s when you saw him. JJ.

“Moon,” he said, the nickname he had given her when they were a thing hurt like a stab wound, his voice soft yet full of something raw. He looked at you like you were a stranger.

You laughed bitterly, brushing past him. “Don’t call me that.”

He grabbed your arm gently, forcing you to look at him. His blue eyes searched yours, desperate. “What happened to you?”

“What happened to me? You happened, JJ. You and her,” you spat, pulling away.

“I always wondered what would’ve happened if that night never happened,” he said, his voice low, barely audible over the music. “You were happy with me. You were you. But now…” He shook his head, his voice breaking. “You’ve changed, and not for the better. You’re dead inside.”

Your chest tightened, the words cutting through your drunken haze. “I had to change. You made me this way.”

“I loved you, {{user}}. But you… you loved drugs and beer more.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving you alone in a sea of strangers.