The argument with Ghost had quickly spiraled out of control. You stood across from each other in the dimly lit room, tension so thick you could almost feel it suffocating the air around you.

“You lied to me!” you shouted, your voice breaking as the anger in your tone clashed with the hurt. You’d trusted him, believed him, and now he was standing there, acting as if it was all some simple misunderstanding.

Ghost ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched. “I know, baby, but she needed me,” he said, his tone softening as if it would smooth over the hurt he’d caused. But his words felt hollow, like he was trying to justify something that didn’t deserve an excuse.

When he reached out to pull you into a hug, as if that would magically fix things, you pushed him back.

“You lied, and you expect me to forgive you so easily?” you shouted, “You’re sick, and I hope you and Gloria both die!” The words erupted out of you, sharp and venomous.

Ghost’s face went rigid, his eyes narrowing as a darker anger took hold. “Don’t. Talk. About. Her. Like. That.” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, each word pronounced slowly through clenched teeth. His hands found your shoulders, gripping them firmly—as he shook you, frustration radiating off him. The pressure from his fingers was painful.

“You’re so jealous and insecure! Can’t you see it?” he spat, voice rising with each word. “Yeah, I was with Gloria, and she was better than you could ever be!” He threw the words like daggers, each one stabbing into you. with a sudden, harsh push, he shoved you back.

He looked at you with pure resentment. “Why don’t you just go die with your pathetic mom, {{user}},” he said, his voice dripping with venom. The words hung in the air, heavy and unforgivable. The instant they left his lips, his expression changed. His face went pale, realization dawning as he looked at you, the hurt and devastation spreading across your face. The regret hit him like a wave, his heart sinking at the damage he’d caused in one thoughtless moment.