I stood just outside the double doors of the gymnasium, leaning against the wall, the music pulsing faintly behind me. Inside, laughter and camera flashes echoed, but all of it felt far away—muted. Like I wasn't really there anymore.
I couldn't stop staring at her.
Zara.
She was sitting on the stone steps at the edge of the parking lot, her shoulders curled inward like she was trying to make herself smaller, invisible. Her arms wrapped tightly around her frame, like she was trying to keep herself from falling apart in front of the world.
And maybe I was the one who had torn her apart.
No—not maybe. I did.
I let Beatrice's voice echo in my head again: "Break her in a way no one ever has. That's what she deserves."
And I had.
I broke her.
But standing here now, watching her like this—silent, still, alone—I'd never hated myself more.
She didn't cry. That was the part that gutted me the most. Zara didn't cry. Not in front of me. Not even when I gave her that line—"Don't be silly. You'll never be my type."—the line we all rehearsed. The one I had laughed about not too long ago with my so-called friends.
Only now, I wasn't laughing. I hadn't laughed in hours.
My fingers clenched around the cool metal railing beside me. I should go back inside. Pretend I didn't care. Act like this was just another check on our twisted little list of victories.
But I couldn't move.
I watched her like she was the last thing anchoring me to the truth. And when Kaylee came out and sat beside her, I flinched. I thought maybe Zara would crumble then. That Kaylee would say I told you so, and Zara would finally fall apart.
But she didn't.
She sat tall, spoke softly, and even smiled—smiled—when she asked Kaylee to stay and enjoy prom.
She had just been humiliated in front of the whole school. Lied to, toyed with, and shattered.
And she still thought about someone else's happiness.
What the hell kind of girl does that?
The kind I never deserved.
The kind I was supposed to destroy.
The kind I just did.
I pressed the heel of my palm into my temple, trying to ease the ache building behind my eyes. The guilt was a weight I hadn't prepared for. I had convinced myself it wouldn't be this hard. That she would bounce back. That she wouldn't feel this deeply.
But Zara was never the kind of girl who only dipped her toes into something. She jumped in completely. Gave herself fully. Trusted too fast, too deeply. Trusted me.
And I turned that into a weapon.
She stood up slowly now, hugging herself tighter. Her dress shimmered in the moonlight like liquid emeralds. She looked like something out of a dream. A dream I didn't deserve to have.
Kaylee said something to her—something soft and gentle—but Zara shook her head. She wasn't crying. She wasn't begging for someone to make it right.
She was walking away. Alone.
I felt my throat close as she passed under the streetlight and toward the edge of the parking lot. Her heels clicked softly against the pavement. She didn't look back once. Not even to see if I was watching. And I was. Every second. Every step.
I stayed hidden in the shadow of the building, not because I didn't want her to see me—but because I didn't deserve to be seen by her. Not anymore.
"Liam."
I turned sharply.
Beatrice.
She stood behind me, arms crossed, the smug smirk already forming.
"You did it," she said, her voice laced with triumph. "She's gone. God, did you see her face? That moment when you said the line? Perfect." She laughed like it was all just some big inside joke.
I didn't laugh. I couldn't.
She looked at me, her brow arching. "What? Don't tell me you're feeling bad now. Come on, Liam. This is what she needed. A reality check. You know she was getting too full of herself—"
"Shut up, Bea," I said, my voice low and hard.
She blinked.
"What did you say?"
"I said shut up." I turned fully toward her, jaw clenched. "Just… shut the hell up."
For a second, I saw something flicker in her eyes—confusion, maybe even a hint of fear—but she quickly masked it.
"Wow," she scoffed. "Guess you're more attached than you thought."
I didn't respond. What was there to say?
She left after that, calling back something snide to one of her minions who trailed behind her. The others laughed.
But I stayed frozen.
The spot where Zara had sat was now empty.
And my chest felt hollow.
I reached into my jacket pocket, fingers brushing against the soft fabric pouch. The bracelets. I even gave... them to her. Our initials—Z + L. What a joke.
She had looked at me tonight like I hung the stars. And all I did was dim hers.
I stayed outside long after everyone went back inside.
Because inside there was music, celebration, false crowns.
But out here? Out here was truth. Regret. Guilt.
And the girl I let walk away without ever telling her the truth.
That I was falling for her.
That I still am.
And now… it's too late