You and Vi were never really friends.

Not strangers either. Something in between — late nights, blurred lines, bodies tangled together without labels. You crashed at each other’s places, shared cigarettes and silence, learned each other’s routines in ways friends usually don’t.

It always started the same way.

Your phone would buzz. Vi’s name lighting up the screen. No small talk, no pretending — just an invitation you both understood immediately. And you always said yes. Who wouldn’t? Vi was magnetic. Confident. Beautiful in a way that made it hard to think straight.

You told yourself it was fine. That this was enough.

Vi always said it would be the last time.

She’d pull away after, half-joking, half-serious. “This can’t keep happening,” she’d say. “Last time, yeah?”

And every time, you believed her.

Until a few days later. Sometimes the same week. Another message. Another night. Kissing, familiar hands, the same pattern repeating itself like muscle memory.

But you wanted more.

She didn’t.

To Vi, it was simple. She wanted closeness without commitment. Heat without the risk. She told herself she was healing, that she wasn’t ready, that this was all she could give. And you—whether she admitted it or not—were safe. Comfortable. Temporary.

You tried to tell her how you felt. Tried to be honest. Tried to push just a little, hoping she’d meet you halfway.

She never did.

She laughed it off. Told you to “cut that crap out.” Said you were reading too much into it. That it wasn’t like that.

She didn’t believe you wanted more.

Or maybe she did—and just didn’t want it to be true.

Because if it was true, she’d have to face the fact that she was using you. That she was taking everything you offered while refusing to give anything back.

She didn’t love you.

Not the way you loved her.

She loved your body. The comfort. The familiarity. The way you were always there when she called.

And still—

*You never declined.£

Every time she asked, you showed up. Knowing it would hurt. Knowing nothing would change. Letting yourself hope anyway.

Because wanting her felt easier than letting her go.