ZARA
Two weeks.
It had been two full weeks since that night—prom night—when everything inside me shattered with seven little words from Liam Hunter. Since then, I'd done everything I could to convince myself I was okay. That it would stop hurting eventually. That I didn't need him.
But lies have a way of unraveling, especially the ones you tell yourself.
This morning, as I stared at myself in the mirror, still wearing the same hoodie I'd lived in for days, I thought maybe… just maybe I was strong enough to go back.
Nick, as usual, was already up. He leaned against the kitchen counter, holding out a coffee for me. "I'll drive you," he said, no questions, no pressure—just steady and there, like he'd been for the past two weeks.
But I shook my head, offering a soft smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Thanks, but I want to ride my bike. I need the wind."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Text me when you get there."
I rode through the city with my helmet on, the wind pressing against me like a shield. I thought maybe the ride would clear my head. It didn't. The nerves grew heavier the closer I got to school.
By the time I parked and stepped through the gates, it was like I could already feel the stares, the whispers.
And I knew why.
I was the girl who got humiliated at prom. The girl Liam Hunter used, then discarded.
The girl who'd trusted too easily.
I kept my head low as I walked through the hallway, my helmet tucked under my arm. My goal was simple: get to my locker, grab my books, and survive the day.
But fate wasn't about to make that easy.
As I turned the corner into the main hallway, my steps faltered. I stopped.
No. No, this couldn't be happening.
There he was.
Liam.
Leaning casually against my locker, dressed in black, laughing like the world had never burned around him.
And beside him—wrapped around his arm like she owned him—was Beatrice. Perfectly styled, smug smirk painted on her glossed lips.
Then it happened.
He kissed her.
Right there.
Against my locker.
Like I hadn't meant anything. Like I hadn't once believed the way he looked at me was real.
I felt the air leave my lungs. My chest tightened, my hands shook. The sound around me faded until there was only a dull ringing in my ears.
People had stopped. They were watching. Waiting for my reaction.
Liam pulled away from Beatrice, and his eyes found mine.
For a second, I thought I saw hesitation in his gaze. Something softer. But whatever it was, it didn't matter. Not anymore.
I turned and walked past them, shoulders straight, steps stiff. I didn't say a word. I didn't glance back.
But as soon as I rounded the corner and slipped into the nearest restroom, the mask shattered.
I rushed into the last stall, dropped my helmet to the floor, and locked the door behind me. My back slammed against the cold tile as I slid down, breath catching in my throat.
And then—
I lost it.
Hot, angry tears poured down my cheeks as a sob tore out of my chest. I covered my mouth with my hands, trying to silence myself, but it didn't work.
It still hurt. God, it still hurt so much.
Why did it hurt like this? Why couldn't I breathe?
Why couldn't I just be over it?
It had been two weeks. Shouldn't it stop by now? Shouldn't I have healed? Shouldn't I be angry enough to forget him?
But I wasn't. I was still broken. Still so stupidly in love with someone who never even meant it.
"I was so dumb," I whispered to the walls. "I believed him. I let him in. I let him kiss me. I told him it was my first."
The tears kept coming.
"I defended him. I stood by him. I chose him. And this is what I get? Just… thrown away like a joke?"
I pulled my knees to my chest, curling into the smallest version of myself. My prom dress had still been hanging in my closet—mocking me every day. I hadn't touched it. Couldn't bear to.
But now it wasn't just the memory of that night that haunted me—it was today. Watching him kiss Beatrice like I never existed. Like I was just a challenge, a game.
I pressed my forehead to my knees and sobbed, letting all of it pour out. The heartbreak. The humiliation. The shame. The disappointment in myself for still caring.
I hated that it still hurt.
But it did.
And I didn't know when it would stop