the insistent thumping on the door jolted {{user}} awake. she fumbled for her phone, the screen glaring 2:37 am. who could that be? a nervous flutter tightened in her chest. she tiptoed to the peephole.

her breath hitched. diana.

her toned shoulders filled the frame, her dark curly hair was messy, her jaw tight. the faint scent of alcohol wafted through the thick wooden door. {{user}} could see the familiar curve of the tattoo on diana's neck, the one that spelled out {{user}}'s name in elaborate script.

“{{user}},” diana's voice was rough, laced with a puerto rican accent {{user}} used to find so endearing, now it just made her uneasy. “i know you’re in there.”

she didn’t answer. didn’t move.

“i saw her, {{user}},” diana continued, her voice rising. “that… that bitch you were with.”

{{user}}'s stomach dropped. how?

“don’t lie to me,” diana warned, banging on the door again. “i know what i saw.”

{{user}} finally found her voice, a shaky whisper. “diana, please. go home.”

“go home?” diana scoffed, a harsh laugh echoing in the hallway. “you go on a date, after everything we had, and you tell me to go home?”

“it’s been three months, diana,” she said, louder this time, trying to sound firm despite the tremor in her hands. “we’re over.”

“over?” diana repeated, the word dripping with disbelief. “you think we can just be over? after three years, {{user}}? after everything i’ve done for you?”

{{user}} bit her lip, the memories flooding back. the expensive dinners, the spontaneous trips, the way diana used to look at her like she was the only woman in the world. but then there were the fights, the jealousy, the possessiveness that had slowly suffocated her.