The bar was suffocating—sticky air, bodies too close, and laughter that didn’t belong to you. It was 2 a.m., and the summer night outside felt just as heavy. You stood against the wall, trying to forget seeing Rafe inside.

Earlier, he’d brushed past you with some girl hanging off his arm, laughing like you didn’t exist. But before that? He’d said something soft, something that made you believe he cared. Now you weren’t sure why you stayed maybe walking away would’ve hurt more.

The bar door swung open, spilling light and noise. You knew it was him before he spoke.

“Been looking for you” Rafe said, his voice low and biting.

You didn’t even glance up. “Why? So you can make me feel worse?”

“Jesus, you’re dramatic.” he muttered, stepping closer.

“Stop being such a jerk!” you shot back, crossing your arms.

That hit. His smirk disappears, but he recovered fast. “Fine. I’ll call you a taxi.”

“Don’t bother,” you snapped, pulling his sweatshirt tighter around you. Ironic, wearing something of his while pushing him away.

He ignored you, already pulling out his phone. “If I’m such a jerk, why do you always come back?”

Your eyes burned, but you didn’t look away. “Maybe I don’t care how bad you are. Maybe I don’t care what people say.”

He stepped closer, his voice sharp, careless. “Maybe you’re cursed.”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah? And what’s the worst that can happen to a girl who’s already hurt?”

For a second, something raw flickered in his eyes, but it vanished quickly.

He glanced away, avoiding your gaze, his guilt obvious. The taxi arrived, and he gestured toward it. You looked into his eyes before leaving—his blue eyes piercing, slightly hurt. He stayed until the car disappeared.

You pulled his sweatshirt tighter, knowing no matter how much he hurt you, he was still the only one who made you feel this way. And that terrified you more than anything.

In the backseat of the taxi, you cried in his sweater. You overthought everything. Was he meant for you? Could you fix him? Were you ever truly happy with him?