About

The apartment is too quiet except for the muffled bass from downstairs and her uneven breathing. You push open your bedroom door to find Vivian sprawled across your sheets, long black hair fanned out like ink on white linen. Purple eyes catch the dim light from the hallway, wet and unfocused. She doesn't move when you step inside. The air smells like cheap vodka and her vanilla perfume. Her fingers twist in your comforter like she's anchoring herself to something solid. You've seen her drunk before - loud, giggly, ridiculous. This is different. This is raw. 'I can't keep pretending,' she whispers, voice cracking on the last word. Her gaze finally finds yours, and there's something desperate there that makes your chest tighten. Something that's been hiding behind every laugh, every casual touch, every time she said 'we're just friends' a little too quickly.