remember when gossip girl was about the power of human connection in the face of a cold world that assigns everyone monetary value. and then chuck took over the narrative and it became about how human connection is lame and status is everything actually. reminiscing about the evil show, sorry. it will happen again
i truly stand by the fact that Chuck becoming a main character really downgraded the show and its morality. like at first we got to see how evil the rich and powerful can be just for it to turn into a poor people hate show lol
Could you possibly write a smutty fanfic about JFK Jr. and reader? (My obsession with him got worse and I need more fanfics about this man IMMEDIATELYYYY!!!)
Recess
synopsis: john f. kennedy jr. might play by the rules in the courtroom, but behind your office door, it's a different story.
word count: 2.4k
pairing: john f. kennedy jr. x reader
rating: 18+; includes depictions of semi-public sex and vaginal sex
author's note: sorry this took a little longer! so many people have submitted requests these past few days, so i got a little busy... 😭 😭 i hope you're still obsessed with him!
The stack of legal briefs on your desk had grown to a small mountain by noon. Just another Tuesday at the New York District Attorney's office—no high-profile cases, no urgent deadlines, just the steady grind of the justice system churning along.
You rubbed your eyes, leaning back in your chair. The coffee had gone cold hours ago, but you took a sip anyway, grimacing at the bitter taste. The office was quiet except for the distant sound of phones ringing and the occasional burst of laughter from the break room.
When your door swung open without a knock, you didn't need to look up to know who it was. Only one person in the entire Manhattan DA's office had the audacity to skip knocking.
"Don't you have your own work to do, Kennedy?" you asked, eyes still on the brief in front of you.
John F. Kennedy Jr. leaned against your doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His suit jacket was slung over his shoulder, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. His tie hung loose around his neck, and his hair was slightly mussed, like he'd been running his hands through it all morning.
"I finished my work," he said, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "Unlike some people."
You finally looked up, arching an eyebrow. "Bullshit. Castleman gave you the Menendez case yesterday. There's no way you've prepped for that already."
He shrugged, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into your office. "Maybe I'm just more efficient than you."
"Maybe you're cutting corners," you countered, but there was no bite to it. This was your rhythm, the back-and-forth that always preceded... other things.
John closed the door behind him. The soft click of the lock turning sent a jolt through your body that you tried to ignore.
"No big cases today?" he asked, perching on the edge of your desk. He picked up a pen from your desk organizer and twirled it between his fingers.
"Just paperwork. Nothing exciting." You leaned back in your chair, watching him. "Why? You looking for someone to bail you out on Menendez?"
He laughed, and the sound made something warm pool in your stomach. "I don't need bailing out. I was just..." His eyes traveled slowly from your face down to where your blouse was unbuttoned just enough to be professional but not prudish. "Bored."
You recognized that look. It was the same one he'd given you three weeks ago in the file room, right before he'd pressed you against the shelves and hiked your skirt up. And two months before that, in his office after everyone else had gone home. And in his car in the parking garage. And in your apartment that one time when you'd both claimed to be "discussing strategy" for the Petroni trial.
"Bored," you repeated, your voice dropping slightly. "That sounds like a personal problem, Counselor."
John's smile turned predatory. He set the pen down and slid off the desk, circling around to your side. He spun your chair to face him, planting his hands on the armrests, effectively caging you in.
"I think it's a problem you could help me solve," he murmured.
You held his gaze, refusing to be the first to break. "I have work to do."
"It'll still be there in an hour."
"An hour?" You raised your eyebrows. "That's ambitious."
His laugh was low and rough. "You're right. Two hours, minimum."
Your breath caught as he leaned in closer, his face inches from yours. You could smell his cologne—something expensive and subtle that you'd never asked the name of because that would cross the unspoken line between whatever this was and something more defined.
"John," you said, aiming for stern but landing somewhere closer to breathless. "It's the middle of the workday."
"I locked the door." His hand moved to your knee, fingers tracing small circles against your skin just below the hem of your skirt.
"Someone could need me for something."
"They can wait." His hand inched higher, dragging your skirt up with it.
"We have that meeting with Morgenthau at three."
"It's only one-thirty." His lips brushed against your ear. "Plenty of time."
You should say no. You should remind him that you're both professionals, that this office affair—if you could even call it that—was reckless and potentially career-ending. You should tell him to come back after work, when you could go to your place or his, somewhere private and appropriate.
Instead, you grabbed his tie and pulled his mouth to yours.
John made a satisfied sound against your lips, like he'd never doubted the outcome for a second. His kiss was hungry, demanding, his tongue sliding against yours with practiced ease. He knew exactly how to kiss you—not too gentle, not too rough, just the right amount of pressure to make your toes curl in your heels.
"Stand up," he murmured against your mouth.
You obeyed, letting him guide you backward until your ass hit the edge of your desk. Papers scattered, but neither of you paid them any mind. His hands were at your waist, then sliding up to cup your breasts through your blouse.
"I've been thinking about this all morning," he said as he worked the buttons of your blouse open. "Couldn't focus on a damn thing."
"Poor baby," you teased, your own hands busy with his belt buckle. "How do you get anything done?"
He grinned unrepentantly. "I don't, when you wear this skirt." His hands slid under the garment in question, fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. "You know what it does to me."
You did know. You'd worn it deliberately, though you'd never admit it. Just like you'd never admit that you sometimes chose your underwear based on the possibility that he might see it.
Speaking of which—his fingers had found the edge of your panties, and he made a sound of approval when he discovered how damp they already were.
"Seems like I'm not the only one who's been thinking about this," he murmured, pressing his palm against you.
You bit back a moan, your hands faltering on his belt. "Don't flatter yourself. Maybe I just really like paperwork."
John laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. "Liar." He pushed your panties aside and slid a finger through your folds, finding you slick and ready. "This isn't about paperwork."
Your head fell back as he pushed a finger inside you, then another, curling them in that way he'd learned drove you crazy. "John," you gasped, clutching at his shoulders.
"Shhh," he admonished, though his eyes gleamed with satisfaction at your reaction. "Thin walls, remember?"
You bit your lip to keep quiet as he worked his fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit with maddening precision. He knew your body too well by now, knew exactly how to touch you to make you fall apart.
But you weren't going to let him have all the control. You finally managed to undo his belt and zipper, pushing his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. He was already hard, the head flushed and leaking. You wrapped your hand around him, giving him a firm stroke that made his rhythm falter.
"Fuck," he hissed, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "Do that again."
You obliged, twisting your wrist on the upstroke the way you knew he liked. His breathing grew ragged against your neck, his fingers still moving inside you but with less coordination now.
For a few minutes, the only sounds in the office were your stifled moans and the wet sounds of your bodies. It was filthy and inappropriate and exactly what you needed to break up the monotony of the day.
"I want to be inside you," John finally groaned, withdrawing his fingers. "Now."
You nodded, already reaching for the drawer where you kept a small box of condoms—another thing you'd never verbally acknowledge keeping there specifically for these encounters.
He took the condom from you, tearing it open with his teeth (a move that shouldn't be as hot as it was) and rolling it on with practiced efficiency. Then he was lifting you onto the desk, pushing your skirt up around your waist and yanking your panties down your legs.
"These are nice," he commented, stuffing the lace into his pocket instead of discarding them. "I'll give them back later."
"You better," you warned, though the threat was undermined by the way you spread your legs for him, inviting him closer.
John positioned himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against you. He paused there, his eyes locked on yours, a silent question in them despite his earlier confidence.
You answered by wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him forward, both of you groaning as he sank into you in one smooth thrust.
"Christ," he muttered, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "You feel so good."
You couldn't respond, too overwhelmed by the feeling of him stretching you, filling you completely. He gave you a moment to adjust, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between your mouths.
Then he started to move, and coherent thought fled.
John fucked with the same confidence he did everything else—deliberate, focused, with just enough arrogance to be infuriating if it wasn't so effective. He knew the angle that made your breath hitch, knew when to slow down and when to speed up, knew exactly how much pressure to apply to your clit to make you see stars.
You clutched at his back, bunching his expensive shirt in your fists as he drove into you. The desk creaked beneath you, pens and papers falling to the floor with each thrust. You'd have to clean up later, but right now you couldn't care less.
"John," you gasped, feeling the tension building inside you. "I'm close."
"I know," he murmured, his voice strained with his own approaching climax. His fingers found your clit again, circling it in time with his thrusts. "Come for me. Let me feel you."
It only took a few more strokes before you were falling apart, your inner walls clenching around him as pleasure crashed through you in waves. You buried your face in his neck to muffle your cries, your teeth sinking into his skin hard enough to leave a mark.
The pain seemed to push him over the edge. His rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With a muffled groan, he buried himself deep inside you, his body shuddering as he came.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Your hearts raced against each other, your breathing gradually slowing as you came down from the high. John's weight pressed you into the desk, his face buried in your hair.
Finally, he pulled back, slipping out of you with a small grimace. He disposed of the condom in the trash can under your desk, tucking it beneath some papers where the cleaning staff wouldn't immediately notice it.
You slid off the desk on shaky legs, adjusting your skirt and looking for your blouse, which had somehow ended up on the floor. John picked it up, helping you back into it with surprising gentleness.
"You missed a button," he said, his fingers brushing against your sternum as he fixed it.
"Thanks." You ran a hand through your hair, trying to smooth it back into something presentable. "How do I look?"
John stepped back, his eyes traveling over you with an appreciative gleam. "Like you just got fucked on your desk."
You smacked his arm. "Be serious."
He laughed, tucking his shirt back into his pants. "You look fine. Maybe a little flushed, but nothing suspicious."
You turned to the small mirror you kept in your desk drawer, checking your reflection. Your cheeks were indeed pink, and your lips looked slightly swollen, but nothing that couldn't be attributed to the stuffy office air.
"What about you?" you asked, eyeing the red mark on his neck where you'd bitten him.
He touched it, wincing slightly. "I'll keep my collar up. No one will notice."
You nodded, then bent to gather the papers that had fallen to the floor. John joined you, helping to reorganize the mess you'd made.
"So," he said casually as he handed you a stack of briefs, "dinner tonight?"
You paused, looking at him suspiciously. Dinner wasn't part of your usual arrangement. Fucking in inappropriate places was one thing; meals together ventured dangerously close to dating territory.
"Why?" you asked, narrowing your eyes.
John shrugged, his expression deliberately nonchalant. "I have some thoughts on the Menendez case. Thought you might have some insights."
Ah. Work. Safe ground.
"Sure," you agreed, relaxing. "Marcello's at seven?"
"Perfect." He straightened his tie, then checked his watch. "Shit, it's almost two-thirty. We should head to the conference room."
You glanced at your own watch, surprised at how much time had passed. "You go ahead. I need to..." You gestured vaguely at your disheveled desk.
John nodded, already moving toward the door. He paused with his hand on the knob, turning back to you with that infuriating smirk.
"Oh, and by the way," he said, patting his pocket where your panties were stashed, "I think I'll hold onto these until tonight. Consider it incentive to not cancel on me."
Before you could respond, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
You shook your head, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips as you straightened your desk. The Menendez case, your ass. You both knew exactly what would happen after dinner.
But that was a problem for tonight. Right now, you had a meeting to get to, and you were pretty sure you'd left your case notes in the conference room yesterday.
As you gathered your things, you realized with a start that for the first time all day, the stack of motions to dismiss didn't seem quite so daunting anymore.
My Style Blueprint | The Snob Closet & Icons Of Influence That Shaped My Aesthetic 🐈⬛ 🩷 🐆
My personal brand aesthetic is deeply rooted in the early 2000s to late 2010s—a mix of minimalism and bold statements. I rely on my fashion sense to deliver the product of my aesthetics. For me it’s all about balancing sleek, effortless basics with standout pieces that turn heads.
One thing I’ve learned over the years when putting together an outfit is that just because something looks good doesn’t mean it will look good on you. There are so many factors to consider, like body shape and skin tone. While skin tone isn’t a huge factor for me, I do believe that certain colours don’t flatter specific undertones. That’s why, when choosing an outfit, I always make sure the colours align with my undertones. Wearing colours that don’t match your undertone can throw off the whole look. You want your outfit to compliment you, not just look good on its own. Makeup plays a big role in this too—but anyways let me get started..
Colour Palette: Shades That Define My Style
Colour is everything. The shades I choose set the tone for my look and reflect my mood for the day. My absolute favorite colours are pink, black, and brown—they’re the foundation of my wardrobe, and I always find a way to incorporate at least one (if not all) into my outfit.
Black & Brown: The Core of My Aesthetic
I naturally gravitate towards black and brown, which is one of the reasons why I love leopard print so much. It blends two of my favourite colours while adding that bold, statement look I go for. My overall aesthetic leans toward that 2010s edgy socialite vibe—think dark, sleek, and effortlessly stylish. There’s a touch of emo influence, but not in a full-on gothic way.
Black is such a staple in my wardrobe—it adds the sharpness and structure that I love. It’s bold, confident, and always makes a statement. Brown, on the other hand, brings warmth and balance, making my outfits feel a little more grounded in some aspects.
Pink: My Signature Shade
No matter what outfit I’m wearing, something is going to be pink. Even if no one can see it—my undies—pink will always be there. It’s my way of keeping things playful and feminine, even when my outfit leans more on the edgy side that day.
I reach for pink more when I’m feeling girly and want to appear more soft & approachable. It’s perfect for days when I want to keep things minimal yet striking—whether I’m just chilling or stepping out for the day. But when I say pink, I mean soft pinks—not those super bright, neon shades. I’m not mad at brighter pinks, but they have to make sense in the outfit. I prefer pinks that feel delicate yet noticeable.
Textures & Prints
• Suede – I love suede for its soft yet structured feel. It almost adds a luxe, polished touch to any look, whether it’s a bag, shoes, or a jacket.
• Silk & Mesh – Silk and mesh are fabrics I only wear when it comes to tops. I don’t go for mesh pants or anything that feels too revealing. If it’s silk, I’ll wear it as a top or a skirt, but I keep my outfits modest. I love showing just enough skin to tease, but never too much.
• Glitter & Rhinestones – I love a bit of sparkle, whether it’s a subtle shimmer or bold rhinestone details. It’s all about the right balance to make an outfit pop without looking overdone.
• Leopard & Zebra Print – These prints are not just for bold outfits when it comes to me. Even when I’m going for a classy, minimalistic look, I always add leopard or zebra print somewhere—whether it’s a bag, shoes, or any statement piece. There’s just something about it that elevates an outfit.
• Floral Prints – Floral prints are for my feminine moments. I don’t wear full-on floral dresses or shirts, but I love adding florals as a statement piece—usually on a skirt or dress. I wear florals when I’m in a softer, more romantic mood, like on beach days, hot sunny days, or when I’m channeling like a boho vibe.
Icons Of Influence
Kimora Lee Simmons
Now this diva set the tone for me when it came to pink and rich. She always looked like she was on her way to a private jet, even when running errands. She had that old-money meets new-money aesthetic—the fur coats, knee-high boots, big designer bags, and subtle gold jewelry made her look polished but never try-hard. She mastered the art of looking expensive without looking like she was chasing trends.
Paris Hilton
The pink princess. She was definitely a big inspo for my obsession with pink. The pink Juicy tracksuits, rhinestone bags, pink flip phones, and even a pink Bentley. Always in mini dresses, oversized sunglasses, and heels. Ate!
Nicki Minaj
Loud, animated, over-the-top. Bubblegum wigs, wild prints, bold accessories. Harajuku meets hip-hop. Although her style was not a full dedication to my obsession with pink, those days where she paired the perfect amount of pink with the edgy minimalist outfit, had me hooked!
Kim Kardashian
Her peak socialite fashion—before the full Yeezy takeover, will always have me obsessed, Kim’s style was the blueprint for my obsession with the 2010s luxe minimalism. Always in neutral tones, tight-fitting dresses, knee-high boots, and those oversized Birkins that screamed money. She never over-accessorized, always opting for sleek gold hoops, delicate bracelets or bold sunglasses.
Vanessa Hudgens
She had this downtown, rebellious yet glam energy. It was very “cool girl” in a way that felt unpolished but intentional to me. It was the era of Tumblr grunge, oversized layers, and mixing girly pieces with a rougher edge.
Karrueche Tran
The ultimate cool girl socialite vibe—always in fur-trimmed coats, skinny jeans, pointed-toe boots, and those sleek gold accessories that made her look effortlessly expensive. She never overdid it—just the right amount of edge, the right amount of luxury.
Cassie Ventura
Cassie was so ahead of her time—she had that high-end minimalist-meets-edgy aesthetic before everyone else. The side-shaved hair, the subtle gold jewelry, the knee-high boots, the oversized designer bags—it was all calculated but looked effortless.
Brenda Song
On Suite Life, she was seen as the over-the-top wealth—spoiled rich girl but her off-screen style is what drew me in, she kept it chic with fitted jackets, heels, and bold accessories, she was always going for the edgy look.
Rihanna
I mean do I even have to explainnn !? The mix of tomboy and high-fashion—always looking undone yet perfect. Never followed trends, always set them. #so colebabey888 coded.
COLEBABEY888 Snob Closet
- What The Perfect Outfit Consists Of For Me
The Foundation
When I put together an outfit, I always start with a simple foundation—usually a neutral base that matches my undertones and I let the statement pieces pull it together. If the base isn’t basic, then it’s a statement piece on its own, whether it’s a top with a unique texture or pattern, or pants that steal the show. You get it.
Footwear: The Statement
Shoes are everythinggg to me. They set the tone for the whole outfit. Whether it’s sneakers, high boots, or strappy sandals, they have to stand out. The only exception for basic shoes is if it’s a lazy day or I’m just running errands—but only when the rest of my outfit is doing enough. If my look is already structured and bold, then plain shoes make sense. But otherwise, my shoes have to add to the statement.
Handbags: My Show Stopper
A good handbag is a must—it should always start a conversation. I love oversized tote bags, especially when they have metal clasps, extra pockets, or unique textures. My go-to right now is my Polo Black Leather Tote for everyday use, whether I’m on campus or running a quick errand. But when I really want to make a statement, I bring out my Jimmy Choo Animal Print Glaze—that bag is everything. When I step out with it, I know I’m breaking necks. I don’t always do animal print, but when I do, it has to be bold.
No matter how basic or extravagant my outfit is, statement handbags will always be needed. Occasionally, I’ll go for a smaller sling bag, like my Chanel or my simple black Shein sling, but that’s rare. I refuse to step out of the house without people drooling over my bag.
Jewelry: Minimal but Impactful
Jewelry is one of those things where people think you should only wear one metal at a time, but I don’t follow that rule. I mix gold and silver effortlessly, but only when it makes sense for the outfit. The key is balance—if I’m doing both metals, it’s intentional, not random.
I don’t wear too much jewelry, just enough to sparkle when I step into the sun. I love minimalistic rhinestone bracelets or slim white gold watches—pieces that feel delicate but noticeable. My jewelry always has to make sense with the outfit. I don’t just throw on accessories for the sake of it; they need to add something to the look.
I don’t do chunky necklaces unless they’re a core part of my aesthetic for that day. Rings? Yes, but only when they compliment my nails—which are always clean, polished, and either soft pink, nude, or a subtle French tip.
Outerwear: Bold and Luxe
Since it’s usually hot where I live, I’m not always reaching for a jacket, but when I do, you can bet it’s going to be a statement piece. I’m all about that over-the-top fur coat—think Kimora Lee Simmons with her mob wife vibe or Rihanna with her oversized, luxurious furs. A big, plush fur coat has this way of pulling everything together, making any outfit feel elevated, even if I’m just wearing sweats or a basic outfit. It gives off that “I’m spoiled” vibe, which is exactly what I’m going for. When I’m not in the mood for something so extra, I’ll keep it simple with a black leather jacket. That’s my go-to when I want something sleek but edgy. I’m not really into long, formal coats at the moment—those business-type, casual-formal coats don’t quite fit my vibe right now. For now, it’s all about that black leather or a bold, fluffy fur coat.
Final Thoughts: My Style, My Rules
At the core of my fashion choices, it all comes down to balance for me. I don’t believe in over-accessorizing, and I never want my outfit to feel too chaotic. Every element—whether it’s colour, fabric, or accessories—has to feel effortless yet calculated. I mix simple, structured pieces with statement shoes, textured bags, and standout accessories.
——————
I really hope you enjoyed reading this article as much as I enjoyed writing it. It’s been one of my favorites to put together, and I’ve put a lot of time, energy, and research into making sure I present the best textures and details for you. Hopefully it gave you a deeper understanding of my blend of early 2000s to late 2010s edgy girl vibes mixed with that fun, pink-obsessed clean girl energy.
Diving into the depths of my aesthetic, how it came to be, and why I love it is something I could talk about for hours. I could keep going forever when it comes to fashion and style. Writing this also helped me gain a better perspective on my aesthetic and what I truly love, so grateful for that.
Watching Gossip Girl and actually rooting for the non UES characters is the fastest way to drive yourself to madness. We can forgive William Van der Woodsen for giving Lily FAKE CANCER in an attempt to FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE her into GETTING BACK TOGETHER WITH HIM and Jack Bass for his MYRIAD of offenses, not least of which being statutory rape and attempted rape but Jenny is Satan for being a *checks notes* teenage girl in desperate need of a BPD diagnosis and Vanessa gets iced out by her entire friend group and leaves the continent in disgrace and Ivy’s character has to do a complete 180 (okay, maybe like, a 140) so that she can be the villain that everyone can trash with some very specifically classist insults. Who cares! They’re poor!
currently watching gossip girl after reading the books and why is chuck straight? why is dan straight? where’s his coming out party and his boyfriend that leaves him for chuck?? like dan lit only liked vanessa bc she looked like a boy bc she was bald??? where are blair’s gay dads? where’s jenny’s lesbian friend who’s obsessed with her? like i guess this means that weird gay writer orgy isn’t happening either
It's funny when fans reduce Jess and Rory's connection into an "I can fix him" trope. Did they... watch the show? Rory did NOT fix Jess. They dated and he struggled, imploding at the end of his senior year with a spectacular series of mistakes. Jess doesn't get "fixed" until later, and he does it all on his own. It's kinda the whole point of his arc. Rory didn't fix him, nor was she trying to fix him. She just loved him and believed in him even when he was struggling.
You know who WAS Rory's "I can fix him" guy? Logan. He's the guy who magically changes for Rory. He's suddenly monogamous, he's real quick to move in with her, he suddenly starts liking his job. All the characters comment on this, too. Logan notes that he never thought he'd like a relationship until Rory, Mitchum credits Rory with Logan's good choices, and Rory worries out loud that she's "tamed" Logan. And once they break up, Logan reverts to most of his bad behaviors. He's the definition of an "I can fix him" trope. Just another thing that makes Logan so overwhelmingly boring.
friendship breakups are lowkey the worst thing ever cause what do you mean this person I used to share every single detail of my life with is just gone
author’s note: sorry for the wait guys! might be forgiven tho since i claimed this was 4k words but it ended up with 6k.
i tried to include all your suggestions so i hope you like it
Tara had been blocked.
You had blocked her.
Though, it didn't hit her all at once. The first few minutes, she thought you were just asleep, it had been late when she had texted you after all.
Maybe you needed space after what Tara had said a few nights before, and she couldn't blame you for that.
Yet she still tried texting you, each one more desperate than the last. They were all small messages, apologies wrapped in awkward words that probably didn't mean much for anyone but her.
At first, Tara chalked it up to bad timing, bad service, something.
You had to see her messages eventually, right? So she kept sending them. But there was still no reply. Then, the doubt crept in.
Maybe you were ignoring her.
That thought weighed heavily on her, but she didn't stop.
She was still convinced there had to be an explanation. You always stayed. Even when things were at their worst, when she screwed up time and time again, you stayed.
But something was different this time. She felt it.
Then she noticed the green bubbles. The messages weren't delivering.
Her stomach had dropped. It wasn't bad service. It wasn't bad timing. You had cut her off completely.
Her thumb hovered over your contact, thinking about calling, but she stopped. What was the point? You wouldn't answer.
You were done with her.
She stared at her phone for longer than she should have, as if willing it to change.
But it didn't.
The reality sank in, slow and suffocating. You were gone.
For the first time, she wasn't the one walking away, and the absence of you—your presence, your texts, your warmth—was a hole Tara hadn't even realized she relied on.
It wasn't like she hadn't expected it after everything that had happened.
You always had a way of catching her when she messed up, but things seemed to smooth over eventually.
She never really had to confront her mistakes because you stayed, no matter how many times she got it wrong. Now, though, there was nothing.
Tara wasn't used to this. Sure, she knew she had done something wrong—pushing you away, keeping you in this weird limbo while she figured herself out—but she hadn't thought it would lead to you cutting her off.
Blocking her, even.
That had never happened before. No matter how many times she messed up, you had always been there, willing to pick up the pieces, and things just... worked.
She hadn't even realized how much she relied on your presence until it was gone.
For the first time, she was completely alone. No Amber, no you. Just silence.
———
Tara woke up the next morning with a strange sense of hope. She half expected to see the messages had been delivered, that maybe you'd unblocked her while she was asleep. Maybe it was all just a mistake. You wouldn't really cut her off, not after everything, right?
She grabbed her phone, swiping to the messages she'd sent.
Still green.
Her heart sank, the pit in her stomach deepening as she realized nothing had changed. You were serious. You weren't coming back.
When she got to school, a part of her still thought maybe you'd be there, waiting to talk like you always did, or at least watching from afar. She found herself glancing at the spots where she usually saw you, waiting for that familiar feeling of your eyes on her.
But you weren't there.
But Tara kept walking, her heart heavy as she scanned the hallways. That's when she spotted Amber, standing by her locker, waiting. The familiar feeling of longing tugged at her, but this time it wasn't as comforting as before.
Amber caught her eye and signaled for her to come over, flashing that smile Tara always fell for. Without thinking, Tara did. She walked straight into Amber's arms, letting Amber sling her arm casually around her shoulders as if nothing had changed between them.
For a brief moment, Tara felt like she had what she wanted. Amber was there, holding her close, showing everyone that she was hers—at least for today.
But there was still a heaviness in her chest, something she couldn't shake. It didn't make sense. She was with Amber now, wasn't this enough?
The thought of you crept in, uninvited.
No, it couldn't be that.
She pushed the feeling down, convincing herself that having Amber was enough.
It had to be.
That's what she told herself for the following days, trying to convince herself that Amber was enough, that this was what she wanted.
And for a while, it almost worked. Amber had been good—more attentive, more affectionate than usual—at least during the school week.
The weekends, though, were different. Parties took priority, and Amber's attention drifted.
Yet even when things were good; better than ever if you will, Tara couldn't shake the feeling lodged in her chest, that gut-wrenching discomfort that seemed to cling to her no matter how much she tried to ignore it.
The more she tried to push it down, the more it twisted inside her, leaving her uneasy.
And all of the thoughts led back to you. To Tara's own surprise.
You didn't try to search for her between classes, didn't glance in her direction when you passed her in the hallways. Nothing. Like she didn't even exist.
That was what Tara should've expected, really. After everything she'd done—after the way she'd strung you along, pushed you aside, left you waiting on the sidelines—it made sense. She had no right to expect anything different.
Tara had always been the one to call the shots, to decide when and where things stood between the two of you. Now, for the first time, the power was out of her hands.
She kept telling herself it was temporary. You'd come back—you always did. She just had to wait it out. Maybe this time it would take a little longer, but you'd be there, eventually. You had to be. So she forced herself to get used to it, to the absence, pretending she could handle the emptiness you left behind.
But what really started to get under Tara's skin wasn't just your absence or the way you seemed to move on so easily. It was seeing you with someone else.
She first noticed it during English class. You had been sitting next to some girl—someone Tara vaguely recognized but never really paid attention to before.
At first, she didn't think much of it, but as the days went on, she kept seeing the two of you together. Talking. Laughing. It wasn't just casual conversations either. You looked comfortable. Almost like you were enjoying yourself.
And as the days passed, Tara couldn't help but notice it more.
You hadn't even glanced her way in days, and yet here you were, cozying up to someone else like nothing had happened.
And every time she glanced in your direction during class, there you were, talking to her. Sometimes you'd laugh, or lean in a little closer, your body language relaxed in a way that made Tara's stomach twist.
You weren't just sitting next to each other anymore—you were... comfortable. And it wasn't just in English. She caught sight of you together in the hallways, outside the building after school.
The more she saw the two of you, the more it grated on her nerves. A sharp, simmering anger that built with each passing day.
Every smile, every shared glance between you and this girl made it harder for her to focus on Amber, even when Amber was right beside her, holding her hand or whispering in her ear.
It shouldn't have bothered her like this. It shouldn't have mattered.
You were free to talk to whoever you wanted. For all Tara knew, she was just a classmate, someone you happened to sit next to by chance.
But that didn't stop the ugly feeling from growing inside her, gnawing away at her with every interaction she witnessed.
She told herself it was nothing. That it didn't mean anything. But with every glance, every shared word between you and that girl, her anger simmered, coiling tighter until it was all she could focus on.
It wasn't jealousy, Tara told herself. It couldn't be. She had Amber, after all.
Yet there was no denying the way her chest tightened every time she saw you with her. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. You weren't supposed to matter anymore.
But somehow, you still did. Of course you did.
___
"What's got your panties in a twist?" Amber's voice broke through Tara's thoughts, cutting through the low hum of the campus.
Her tone was sharp, playful in a way that normally would've made Tara grin, but today it grated, pulling her out of the spiral she had been sinking into.
They were sitting outside, perched on one of the weathered wooden benches that lined the quad, the usual bustling energy of lunchtime fading as the crowd thinned.
Chad and Liv had disappeared first, throwing out some half-hearted excuse about "something better to do," Mindy had ditched too—not that Tara blamed her, considering she wasn't exactly Amber's biggest fan. Which left only Amber and Tara behind.
Normally, Tara would've reveled in that—the rare chance to have Amber's full attention, unshared, unchallenged by anyone else. She used to crave these moments when it was just the two of them, when Amber's eyes were only on her.
But now, Tara could barely summon the energy to care. The thrill of it had dulled, smothered under the weight of everything else she couldn't stop thinking about—of everything she couldn't feel.
Your absence hung heavy in the air, even though Amber didn't know it was there. She couldn't know.
She wouldn't have cared if she did.
Amber shifted beside her, more out of impatience than concern. "Seriously, you've been acting weird all week," she pressed, her voice tinged with frustration.
She wasn't used to Tara being so distant, and the idea that something might be slipping out of her control clearly bothered her. "What's your problem?"
Tara blinked, her mind sluggish, trying to catch up. It wasn't like she could explain it—not in any way that made sense.
How could she tell Amber that the cold shoulder she had been getting from you had thrown her completely off balance?
That it was the same cold shoulder she'd given you, over and over again, each time leaving you on the outside while she stayed wrapped up in Amber's world. How could she admit that now, when it was her on the receiving end, it felt like a punch to the gut every single time she saw you?
"I don't know," she mumbled, her voice barely audible. "I'm just tired."
It was the best she could come up with, the easiest excuse, but even as the words left her lips, she knew it wasn't enough.
Amber wasn't the type to let things slide, especially not when it came to Tara. She was used to being the center of attention, the one calling the shots, and when Tara's focus wasn't on her, Amber always took notice.
"Yeah, well, you've been 'tired' for a while now," Amber snapped back, her tone cutting through the brief silence like a whip.
She didn't sound concerned, not really—just annoyed, irritated that something wasn't going her way. "Maybe you should come out with me this weekend, you know? Party with me."
Amber's suggestion hung in the air between them, and Tara hesitated. Normally, Amber didn't bother to ask.
She'd go without her, living up the night on her own, letting Tara watch it all from the sidelines. She'd see it unfold through Amber's and other people's social media—photos and videos of Amber laughing, surrounded by friends, completely absorbed in her own world.
But this time, it felt different. Tara could feel it in the way Amber's eyes lingered on her, waiting, expecting something—expecting Tara to be excited, to jump at the chance like she would've done before.
But the thought of it, the thought of pretending everything was fine, felt suffocating.
She nodded anyway, forcing herself to give Amber the answer she was waiting for, even if it felt hollow. "Yeah. Sure."
But even as the words came out, Tara felt the weight of them, heavy and wrong.
Because the truth was, none of it mattered—not the party, not Amber's fleeting attention. None of it made a dent in the gnawing ache in her chest that had started the moment you stopped looking at her.
She told herself it was fine. She could play along. She had done it before. But deep down, Tara knew that no matter how much she tried to push it down, nothing could fix this disgusting feeling.
She sat in silence for a moment longer, staring at the ground as her mind whirred with thoughts she didn't want to have.
She clenched her jaw, trying to shake the feeling, trying to make herself believe that this—Amber, the party, all of it—would be enough. It definitely would've been before, hadn't it?
But now, the weight of your absence pressed in on her from every angle, heavy and suffocating. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. It wasn't supposed to matter so much.
Amber shifted beside her, sighing loudly. "Whatever, Tara," she muttered, standing up and brushing invisible dust off her jeans. "Don't get all weird on me."
Tara barely registered her leaving. The rush of relief she might have once felt in moments like these—when Amber turned her attention elsewhere—was gone, replaced by an ache she couldn't name.
A week ago, maybe two, Tara would've called after her, almost running to catch up. She would've asked if they could get ready together, spent half an hour agonizing over what she should wear, hoping for Amber's approval.
Her mind would've spun with questions, things she'd never needed to worry about when she was around you.
What should she wear? What did Amber want her to look like? Was her hair okay down, or should she try something new? She would've sent selfies for Amber's opinion, eager for a reaction, any reaction, to reassure her that she was enough.
But now, the questions didn't come. They felt distant, buried under the weight that had settled in her chest and refused to leave. Tara didn't care what Amber thought anymore. She didn't even care what she looked like.
The weekend came sooner than she had expected, almost sneaking up on her while she drifted through the week in a haze.
Throughout the week, Tara had tried to text you. Just one message each day, nothing too desperate, nothing that screamed she was losing her mind over your silence.
But each time, the bubble turned green, and with every little notification, her hope that you might respond twisted into something bitter, something angry.
Were you with her? That girl from your English class, the one she'd seen you walking with down the hallways, laughing, your head bent close to hers like you didn't have a care in the world.
Tara's stomach knotted at the thought, her grip tightening on her phone every time she imagined the two of you together. Were you sharing the jokes you used to save just for her? Did you laugh the same way?
By the time Friday came around, the anger had wrapped itself around her chest, growing heavier each time she looked at her phone, still green, still silent.
It weighed on her as she stood in front of the mirror that night, staring at her reflection like a stranger. She had thrown on whatever was closest, not caring how it looked—not caring how she looked—and now, standing there, she could feel the frustration boiling over.
She looked terrible, and she knew it. The clothes didn't sit right, her hair was a mess, and she didn't even have the energy to fix any of it.
Normally, she'd have texted Amber for advice, asked her what to wear, how to do her makeup. They might've gotten ready together if Amber cared enough, Amber teasing her the whole time but never letting her leave the house unless she looked perfect.
But tonight, none of that mattered. Tara was angry—angry at herself, at you, at the girl you were probably with right now. She felt like she was spinning, her thoughts spiraling into a million catastrophic possibilities, each one worse than the last.
Maybe she just needed to see you in person. Maybe if she could find you, look you in the eye, and tell you how she was feeling right now, you'd understand. Maybe that's what would finally break through this silence.
If she could just get you to listen, maybe if she could tell you all of it—how she didn't know what she was doing, how none of it made sense to her—you'd understand.
But would you even believe her? Would you even want to hear her out?
Without thinking twice, she pulled out her phone and typed out a message to Amber.
can't make it tonight. smth came up.
She didn't even wait for a response before throwing her phone onto the bed, her mind already somewhere else.
Part of her wanted to look you up, track you down, and talk to you face-to-face. Whether you were with someone else or just avoiding her the way she'd been avoiding you —but either way, Tara was done waiting around for you to reach out.
She stood frozen for a moment, feeling ridiculous as the thought of showing up at your house unannounced settled in.
She could already picture how stupid she'd look, standing at your door, trying to explain herself. You'd blocked her—didn't that already say everything she needed to know?
But then that other girl's face flashed in her mind, the way you laughed with her, walked next to her in the halls.
The thought of her taking you away, of her being the one you shared everything with now, twisted Tara's stomach in knots. She couldn't let that happen. Not without at least trying.
She didn't want to be too late.
Tara hated how desperate she felt, how even after everything, after you'd blocked her, she was still running after you. But she couldn't help it.
Even if she had to look you in the eye and hear you say you didn't want her anymore, she needed to know for sure. She needed to fight, because the thought of losing you to someone else was worse than any rejection you could throw at her.
With a deep breath and her hands shaking, she grabbed her jacket and keys.
Feeling stupid the whole way, she headed out the door, her heart pounding with every step she took toward your house.
___
didn't think u were weak enough to back out.
guess i was wrong.
Amber's text lit up her screen, but Tara barely glanced at it.
Normally, Amber's words usually stung, leaving Tara questioning herself, doubting everything. But tonight, they barely registered. She didn't care anymore, not about Amber's opinion or her insults.
The thought of how she'd been stringing you along—pushing and pulling, hot and cold—made her stomach twist in a way Amber's games never had.
Tara had always hated how Amber toyed with her, how she'd be there one day and gone the next, keeping Tara on a leash just long enough to never fully let go. Now, she realized, she was doing the same to you. She'd been selfish, scared, and now it was coming back to haunt her.
Amber had dragged her through the same emotional mess for so long—back and forth, never knowing where they stood—and now she had done the same to you.
It wasn't about Amber anymore. It was about you. And she wasn't going to let you slip away without at least trying.
She made it to your house almost sooner than she'd liked. The sight of your front door tightened the knot in her stomach, something she wasn't used to feeling.
Tara wasn't the nervous type—usually, she could handle herself in any situation, always sure of what she'd say or do. But now, her palms felt damp, her breath catching every time she thought of you opening that door.
She didn't know what she was going to say. Hell, she didn't even know if you'd open the door. But she had to try, even if her nerves were making her feel like a complete idiot for being there.
But she was already here, and she'd come this far—she couldn't just turn back now. She'd fought her way through every doubt to get here, and backing down wasn't an option.
Her feet felt heavy as she took each step up the walkway, the familiar creak of the wooden steps underfoot echoing louder in her ears than it ever had before.
The closer she got, the more every little detail stood out—the chipped paint on your door, the soft glow of light seeping out from the window.
She raised her hand to knock, fingers hovering just inches away, her heart pounding so loudly she wondered if you'd hear it from the other side.
Taking a deep breath, she let her knuckles tap lightly against the door, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the still night air.
It took long enough for you to answer that her thoughts had time to spiral. She knew your parents weren't home; in the little time she'd spent actually getting to know you, she'd learned that they hardly ever were.
You were probably home alone, and the idea haunted her—maybe you'd invited someone else over, maybe you weren't even alone at all, maybe you were with that girl she'd seen you with before.
By the time she heard footsteps approaching, her heart was beating so fast she almost felt sick, every possibility fighting for space in her mind.
Finally, the door swung open, and for a split second, there was a soft smile on your face.
But the moment your eyes landed on her, it vanished, replaced by something unreadable.
It wasn't anger—your expression was calm, almost neutral, yet there was a guardedness to it, like you'd been caught off guard, not entirely prepared to see her standing there.
The warmth in your eyes had dimmed, leaving something harder to read.
Tara couldn't tell if that look meant you were relieved or if she was the last person you wanted to see right now.
For a second, Tara felt so small. She knew she was short, but this was different—she'd never felt this out of place, like she was shrinking right there on your doorstep. Not since Amber.
Her fingers fidgeted, tracing over her knuckles as she tried to read you, to figure out what was going on behind that guarded expression. She barely registered the sound of her name until she heard your voice.
"Tara.. Hi."
The words hung there, making the quiet between you even heavier.
Tara didn't respond right away, too caught up in the questions swirling through her mind.
Had she interrupted something? Were you expecting someone else—someone who actually wanted to be here?
Her mind raced, flashing back to all the times you'd tried reaching out, inviting her over, and all the times she'd ignored you, too wrapped up in the momentary thrill of Amber's attention.
She hadn't let herself think about what that might've felt like for you.
And now, standing here, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was karma—that maybe you'd moved on, found someone else who didn't make you feel like a backup option. What if, after all this, she was too late?
Finally, after a moment, she managed to speak, her voice barely above a whisper, unsteady.
"Were... were you expecting somebody else?" Her words faltered, her gaze fixed on her hands as she twisted her fingers together, almost as if she could hold onto some kind of confidence.
You furrowed your brows just slightly, a small, almost confused smile pulling at the corner of your mouth as you let out a soft, breathy laugh. "No... why would I?"
Tara's mouth opened, but no words came out right away. She hadn't expected you to look so genuinely surprised, and now she felt her cheeks warming, her gaze darting down as she scrambled for something to say. Her fingers twisted together, and she forced herself to meet your eyes again, feeling silly for even bringing it up.
"I... I don't know. I just thought... maybe." Her voice was barely a whisper, and she hated how uncertain it sounded, as if she'd already given away too much. But she couldn't help it—she just had to know.
You tilted your head slightly, still wearing that soft smile, though there was a hint of something knowing in your eyes.
"Is she.. ignoring you again?" you asked, the question so casual yet so pointed that Tara's breath hitched.
She knew you meant Amber—you didn't even need to say her name. And the worst part was, she felt a pang of guilt because, honestly, it wouldn't have been the first time.
She swallowed hard, feeling like her own answer was betraying her. "Actually... no," she said slowly, her voice faltering as she tried to piece together her words. "She, uh, actually invited me to a party."
Your expression shifted, that lightness fading from your eyes, and Tara's stomach twisted painfully when she noticed.
She hadn't expected you to react like that, hadn't anticipated that flicker of hurt crossing your face. And now, standing there in the doorway, she felt a rush of regret wash over her.
Before she could stop herself, she added, her voice barely above a whisper, "But I didn't... I didn't go."
You didn't respond right away, just looked at her, eyebrows raised, silently waiting. Tara shifted under your gaze, feeling smaller by the second, until finally, she started to speak.
"I know you probably... don't want to talk to me right now," she began, her voice a little too fast, like she was rushing to get the words out before she lost her nerve.
She took a shaky breath and continued, "I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. I mean, it's not like I've given you a reason to, you know, feel any different... or... yeah."
Her hand drifted up to her wrist, squeezing it as she fumbled for her next thought. "I... I messed up. And, I've been thinking about it, like, a lot, and it's just—I didn't know what I was doing. I mean, I thought I did, but then I... I didn't. And I didn't mean to make you feel like you weren't... important, or that I didn't care, because I did. I do."
She bit her lip, glancing up at you, unsure if she was making any sense, but she kept going. "I know it's probably too late to say any of this, and you've probably moved on, but I just... I don't know. I didn't want you to think that I... forgot about you. Or... or that you didn't matter."
Her gaze flickering down to the ground, then up to yours again, almost as if she's scared you'll walk away.
"That message where I told you to... that I didn't want anything to do with you..." She shakes her head, struggling for the right words. "I shouldn't have said that. I was... I don't even know what I was thinking. I just... Amber was there, and I felt like if I didn't, she'd—" She stops herself, clenching her fists a little, swallowing hard.
"And all those other messages.. I just kept trying to say sorry, but it was probably just... desperate, I guess. I didn't know how else to say that I... I wanted you, that I didn't mean it. That I still..."
Her words falter, and she sighs, rubbing her forehead as though exhausted with herself. "I know it probably doesn't make up for any of it, but... I swear, I didn't mean it. I never wanted to hurt you."
As soon as she stopped talking, a wave of embarrassment crashed over her, and it was all she could do not to cringe.
She hadn't even planned on saying half of what she'd said, and yet here she was, fumbling through one strained apology after another.
It felt messy, like she was just piling words on top of words, hoping that somehow they'd turn into something that made sense to you, that could somehow make things better.
But in her heart, she knew it sounded like nonsense, just a lot of desperate, pointless excuses that probably made her look even more pathetic.
And you just stood there, looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite read—somewhere between shocked and neutral.
The silence between you seemed to stretch on, making her rambling feel even more pointless, like each second of quiet only added weight to her mess of words.
Tara could feel her face heating up, and all she wanted was to take everything back, to make it sound right somehow—but she didn't even know what "right" would be.
Her fingers tightened around her wrist, her gaze dropping back to her worn out converses as the silence thickened around her. Part of her wanted to shrink back, to stop talking altogether, but she'd already put too much out there to turn back now.
So when you didn't answer, she continued.
"I... I want to do better," she said, each word a little slower, like she was searching for the strength to actually mean it. Her eyes barely lifted to meet yours, as if waiting for something—anything—that might tell her it wasn't too late.
Your hand, which had been holding the door open this whole time, finally slipped away. You clapped both hands against the sides of your thighs, the sound breaking the quiet between you two.
Then, with a tone that was almost unreadable, you asked, "Is that it?"
Tara's face fell slightly when your words cut through the silence. She searched your expression, looking for something—anything—that hinted at forgiveness, but the steady way you looked back at her made her stomach drop.
Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to speak, her voice barely above a whisper.
"So... you don't forgive me?"
Tara looked up at you, her eyes wide and glistening, almost like a puppy's, searching for any hint of understanding. It was a look she hadn't meant to put on, but somehow it found its way back to her face, a reflex from childhood.
She remembered using those same eyes when she'd gotten into trouble with her mom or when Sam wouldn't let her hang out with her friends. Back then, she'd wielded them like a weapon, a last-ditch effort to melt hearts and earn forgiveness.
Now, though, it felt different.
There was no intent behind it, just a genuine plea for empathy that made her feel exposed, and a wave of embarrassment washed over her as she realized how desperate she must look.
You took a breath before responding, your gaze steady but distant. "I do.. but I don't see why that matters because it'll all happen again." You said slowly, weighing each word.
Tara felt her heart sink at your words, the reality of what you said hitting her hard. She knew all too well how it felt to be caught in that cycle—Amber had done the same to her, repeatedly promising change only to slip back into old patterns.
It was frustrating and disheartening, and in that moment, she understood where you were coming from.
She took a shaky breath, trying to find her voice. "It won't... I promise it won't." Her tone was earnest, filled with a desperate need to be believed, to convince you that this time would be different.
Tara searched your expression, and as your words echoed in her mind—you did accept her apology—a flicker of hope ignited within her. It felt like a delicate promise written in cursive, intricate yet fragile, and she couldn't help but cling to it.
She tried to muster a soft smile, though it felt tentative, as if it might shatter under the weight of everything left unsaid.
"Can we... do you think that maybe we can try again?" The words tumbled out, filled with a mixture of uncertainty and determination. It was a fragile request, a chance she hoped wouldn't be met with rejection.
She could see the flicker of thoughts crossing your face. Your brow furrowed slightly, and she sensed the hesitation lingering in the air between you. It was as if you were weighing her words, measuring the sincerity of her apology against the weight of the past.
She couldn't tell if you were considering her request or if doubt still lingered in your mind.
It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for a sign, desperately hoping that you would choose to leap with her this time.
After a long pause, a small, soft smile crept up on your face, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit. You finally met her gaze, and the warmth in your eyes hinted at something Tara had been longing to see.
"Sure... yeah, I'd like that," you said, your voice gentle but firm, like a lifeline tossed her way.
Tara let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, her shoulders eased slightly at your response, something softening in her expression as she processed your words. It wasn't a promise, but it felt real enough.
A quiet acknowledgment that maybe this could lead somewhere different.
She looked at you for a moment longer, managing a small, uncertain smile as if not entirely sure this chance would hold but willing to take it anyway.
The silence lingered, weighty but almost comfortable. Tara held your gaze, her expression softening just a bit as she let herself settle into the quiet, not wanting to push any further. When she finally managed a small smile, it was tentative, as if she was holding onto it carefully.
"Guess I'll... see you around?" she asked, her voice a quiet murmur, like she wasn't entirely certain if she should even say it.
You gave a slight nod, already moving to close the door. The subtle acknowledgment was enough to let her feel that maybe, just maybe, things could shift—if only a little.
She shifted slightly, like she wanted to say something more but couldn't quite find the words. A small, unsure smile crossed her face as she looked up at you again, her voice softer.
With that, Tara turned to go, casting one last look back at you before turning around to walk away.
___
The next week, Tara's phone buzzed on her nightstand, pulling her from a the books scattered all over her bed.
She squinted at the screen, hoping to see your name lighting up, a sign that things were finally moving forward between you two.
Maybe it was about the plans you'd casually mentioned — plans that did not include Tara bringing out her frustrations in bed with you.
Instead, her heart sank a little as Amber's name flashed across the screen.
u free this friday?
For the first time, Tara felt a surprising clarity wash over her as she read the message. She didn't hesitate, knowing exactly how she wanted to respond without second-guessing herself.
In the past, she'd tiptoed around her replies, always afraid that Amber would judge her for whatever she said.
But now, after everything with you, she was certain of what she wanted. This time, there was no uncertainty clouding her thoughts. So, after a moment, she typed a quick reply.
im actually busy, sorry
With a breath of relief, she hit send and immediately blocked Amber's number. She felt a weight lift off her shoulders.
This time, she wouldn't be waiting for Amber's text, for promises that never changed anything.
She knew what she had now—this newfound sense of clarity—and what she wanted. And that was enough.
