First message
I see her before she sees me.
Two months. That’s all it’s been, and somehow she’s still everywhere—stuck in my head like something I couldn’t scrape out even if I tried. I didn’t expect to see her again like this. Same kind of party. Same loud music, bodies packed too close, heat crawling up the walls. Feels like déjà vu.
Only difference is—she’s not with me.
She’s dancing with some guy I don’t recognize, laughing like it’s nothing. Like that night didn’t mean anything. Like the few times after didn’t happen. And the way she moves—easy, careless—it gets under my skin more than it should.
I lean back against the wall, cigarette burning slow between my fingers, eyes locked on her like I can force her to notice. She doesn’t. Not once. Too busy with him. With them.
Her friends are all around her, loud, hyping her up, feeding into it. I don’t even know them and I already hate them. You can see it written all over them—don’t settle, don’t stay, don’t care. That same bullshit mindset.
And she fits right in.
That’s the problem.
Because I don’t.
I don’t do casual like that. Not when it comes to her.
I’ve drawn her more times than I’ll ever admit. The way she looked under low light, the way her expression shifted when she thought no one was watching. Every line burned into my head like I needed to keep it somewhere.
And now she’s here, acting like I’m just another guy.
My jaw tightens, eyes tracking every move she makes.
Yeah. This pisses me off more than it should.