Zara:
I'm still in the dress.
The emerald green velvet that shimmered under the lights at prom now clings to me like a cruel reminder. It's wrinkled, stained with tears and makeup, the corset tighter than I remember, like it's trying to suffocate the pain right out of me. My heels are gone—I think I left them on the driveway when I stumbled inside. But the pain? That followed me up the stairs, into my room, and straight into my bed like an uninvited guest.
And now I'm lying here, my face pressed into my pillow, mascara streaking across the cotton, sobbing like a child who just learned the world isn't as kind as they believed.
My body shakes with every breath. I try to hold it in, try to convince myself I've cried enough. That I should stop. That I should pull myself together.
But the tears won't stop. They just… won't.
"Why did it hurt this much?" I whisper into the empty dark. "Why him?"
He knew.
He knew how broken I already was. How hard it was for me to trust anyone. And I still gave him everything—my trust, my time, my heart.
My first kiss.
God.
The sob that rips from my throat surprises me. It's loud and raw, and it empties everything I've been holding in. I curl into myself, clutching my stomach, trying to stop the ache that has taken over every inch of me.
Was it all fake?
Every laugh? Every glance? Every time he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear like I was someone precious?
"Was any of it real?" I cry softly, my voice cracking. "Was I just… a joke to you?"
The words hang in the air like ghosts. And the worst part? I don't know the answer.
I keep replaying it, over and over again. His hand in mine. Him pulling me away from the crowd. The way his eyes softened as he touched my face. I thought he was going to kiss me.
I wanted him to.
I loved him.
Then he said it.
"Don't be silly. You'll never be my type."
And he laughed. He laughed.
That's the part that replays in my head the most. Not the words—but the sound of his chuckle. Cold. Dismissive. As if none of it mattered. As if I didn't matter.
I swallow hard, choking on the next wave of tears. My throat burns.
I thought I was strong.
I thought I could handle anything after everything I'd already been through—losing my mom, being forced to live with a stepbrother I hated, watching my best friend date him like it was no big deal. I thought nothing could hurt more than all that.
But I was wrong.
This hurts more.
Because I let my guard down. I let him in.
And now I'm here, crying alone in my room, still wearing the dress I thought would make me feel beautiful. I was supposed to feel special tonight. I was supposed to dance and laugh and kiss the boy I loved under the stars.
Instead, I'm left with questions.
So many questions.
"Is this what I get?" I whisper brokenly. "For defending Kaylee? For standing up to Beatrice when no one else would?"
I remember that day so vividly—Beatrice and her minions cornering Kaylee at lunch, laughing at her outfit, calling her "a clumsy little charity case." Everyone else just watched, but I didn't. I stepped in. I told Beatrice to back off. And that was the day everything changed.
I became her next target.
And maybe… maybe Liam was just her ultimate move.
I sit up slowly, wiping my face with trembling hands. The room is quiet except for the occasional creak of the old pipes and the hum of the ceiling fan. I glance at the clock—3:12 a.m.
I haven't even taken off my earrings.
They sparkle in the dark, mocking me with their beauty.
I lean against the headboard, arms around my knees, dress bunched up around me, and I wonder… how did I become this girl? The one who thought she was strong, but now feels like she's breaking apart at the seams?
And worse… why do I still miss him?
I hate that I want to believe he didn't mean it.
I hate that some part of me is hoping this was all some twisted mistake. That he'll show up at my door, eyes full of regret, voice soft and broken, telling me it wasn't supposed to happen like this. That he didn't mean it. That he loves me.
But he won't.
Because it was the plan.
He did exactly what he set out to do.
Break the tomboy who thought she could rise above it all.
I press my forehead to my knees and try to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
I don't know how I'll show my face at school. I don't know how I'll walk the halls knowing they're all laughing at me. That I was nothing more than a game to the golden boy and his queen.
But somehow… I will.
Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not the next day.
But one day—I will.
For now, though… I let myself cry.
I let myself break.
Because I know this pain won't last forever.
Even if it feels like it might