Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jecka sits in her usual spot at the lunch table, the clatter of trays, the scraping of benches, and the shouting of students filling the background. Some are complaining about the food, others are just obnoxious jocks desperate for attention.

Kelly is in the middle of recounting what happened at her party last Saturday—where Jecka had to be carried home—she was fucking blacked-out drunk.

“Then you tried to jump into the pool. Megan and I practically had to drag your ass…” Kelly trails off.

But Jecka’s attention is drifting away as she notices an unfamiliar face in the background—someone walking beside Emily, head held high.

She knows everyone at this school, every single face, every piece of gossip. That’s why it’s unusual when someone new catches her eye—especially someone close to Emily. Most people avoid Emily, and getting close to her is as hard as talking to a corpse—impossible.

Jecka doesn’t really mind Emily; she barely acknowledges her existence. She’s bought Adderall from her a few times, and that’s about it.

Jecka frowns, nudging Kelly. “Who’s that next to Emily?”

Kelly barely looks up from her mushy food. “Nicole. She’s weird. Don’t bother.”

Jecka raises an eyebrow.

“You didn’t even look up. Are you fucking scared of her or something?”

Kelly glances to the side—left, then right—as if afraid someone might overhear. She lifts her hand, signaling Jecka to come closer. Jecka shakes her head but leans slightly over the table anyway.

“She’s famous on Myspace and Tumblr. There are multiple rumors that she’s driven four boys and one girl to suicide,” Kelly whispers.

Jecka tilts her head, blinking a few times, her gaze drifting back to that Nicole girl.

She’s wearing a oversized black graphic tee, the print slightly faded, layered over striped long sleeves that stretch past her wrists. Her low-rise True Religion jeans cling lazily to her hips, a silver-studded belt is hanging loosely around her waist.

Black, dirty Converse—scuffed and covered in doodles—peek out from beneath her dark pants. A choker wraps around her neck, tangled with a few chain necklaces. One wrist is stacked with rubber bracelets, the other weighed down by spiked cuffs. Her dark eyeliner is smudged just enough to look intentional, and her side-swept bangs nearly cover one eye, hiding almost half her face.

And, of course, her hair is fucking black.

Jecka turns her gaze back to Kelly and rolls her eyes.

“Those are just rumors. Who even is fucking afraid of some fake, grunge, depressed emo poser?” A laugh escapes her lips. “If I’ve never heard of her before, she can’t be that bad.”

Kelly shrugs, picks up her fork, and shoves another piece of half-cooked chicken breast into her mouth.

“I still wouldn’t mess with her,” she says between muffled chewing.

“I didn’t plan too.”

Lost in the conversation, Jecka doesn’t realize that her other friends have already taken their trays away. She fumbles through the pockets of her pink jacket and pulls out her flip phone—two minutes before the next class starts.

“Let’s skip. The food gave me stomach pains, I need a fucking break, bitch.”

Kelly just nods and follows Jecka.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Jecka and Kelly are huddled outside behind the bleachers. A cigarette rests lazily between Jecka’s fingertips. Kelly’s holding a flask, something she carries every day for “emergencies” (more like boredom).

“Fucking him was like the last thing I wanted to do, but then I got drunk, he suddenly looked cute, and yeah—I fucked him,” she continues, recounting last Saturday.

Jecka takes a slow drag from her cigarette. She’s standing in front of Kelly, leaning against the bleachers. A smug grin spreads across her face.

“You’re like, a major whore.” She laughs. Kelly shifts and takes another sip from her flask.

“Honestly, yeah. But like, not major anymore. I’m just a regular whore,” she shrugs.

Jecka flicks her burned-out cigarette away, She extends her hand, and Kelly immediately hands her the flask, she takes a big sip and looks around, scanning the environment. The weather is fresh, a nice summer breeze. The sun beams comfortably against her skin. It smells like freshly cut grass and blooming flowers.

I fucking love summer.

Jecka had always struggled to get through a full week of school without skipping. The problem always doubled in the summer—because who wants to sit sweating in a hot classroom, like a rotisserie chicken, when she could be outside tanning under the fucking sun?

Jecka is a simple girl—she loves tanning, drugs, smoking, and looking effortlessly pretty.

"But what about the guy who carried you all the way home?"

Jecka hums and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of her pockets.

"I mean, he was cute? I was more surprised by the fact that he didn’t rape me while I was passed out." She slides a cigarette out. "But nah, bitch. I’m not really into dating. I’m way too young and hot for exclusivity."

Kelly nods in agreement.

“Yeah, I could never.”

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

The two of them have finished the flask and feel a little buzz from the alcohol, the intense summer rays only enhancing the effect. Jecka is sitting next to Kelly on the concrete floor, her eyes closed while Kelly softly hums to herself. They enjoy the peaceful silence.

But then hollow clang of footsteps echoes through the empty bleachers, each step creaking under shifting weight. The metal vibrates slightly, a dull rattle following every movement—growing louder as something gets closer.

Jecka looks up, searching for the source of disturbance. Ten meters behind her, she spots blonde messy hair, neon streaks, accompanied by someone in black.

Emily?

Jecka stands up and nudges Kelly, signaling her to get up. It looks like Emily is coming toward them. But Jecka decides to stay, she needs to buy Adderall from Emily anyway; the next test is coming up, and without Adderall, she can't focus nor study. Jecka’s smart, but even a car sometimes needs a little boost.

"Oh hey! Jecka!" Emily squawks, practically jumping into her arms. They aren’t friends, and they’ve never hugged before. Jecka awkwardly returns the embrace.

Is she on drugs?

"It’s SOO fucking nice to see you! I haven’t seen you in, like, forever—Do you need Adderall?? I have tons with me right now." Her words come out like rapid-fire shots.

One thing about Emily—she either speaks at the speed of a fucking lightning or as slow as a deranged sloth.

Jecka glances to the side. Next to Emily is another emo mess. That Nicole girl. She’s standing there, arms crossed, cigarette balanced between her fingers, her expression unreadable. She’s staring at Jecka, gaze flat. Their eyes lock.

"Duh. I was looking for you. English is coming up next week," Jecka shifts her attention back to Emily. "I hope you got the high-dosage ones."

Emily digs through her pockets, movements frantic, erratic. The other girl—Nicole—remains still, silently watching.

"I need some too," Kelly chimes in.

Emily’s hands tremble as she rummages through her pockets, muttering a few "Where the fuck is it?" between breaths.

After what feels like a decade of awkward silence and fumbling, Emily suddenly screams, "There!" as she yanks out a bottle filled with pills.

“They're the highest dose—I’m high on them right now. It’s twelve per pill for you, just because you’re pretty.” Emily winks like she just gave Jecka the deal of the century.

“Twelve per bean?!” Jecka screams.

Jecka isn’t stupid. Just because Emily’s mind runs like a hamster on a wheel doesn’t mean everyone’s stuck up like her. Jecka’s bought Adderall from her before for way less, but Emily seems to think everyone’s got a foggy, drugged-out mind and forgets what they’re doing.

“We got Adderall for like three a pill last week,” Kelly trails in before Jecka can say anything.

“Yeah, bitch. Look at me, I deserve it for free. I’m not paying more than three.” Jecka crosses her arms and looks back at Nicole. She’s surprisingly quiet, just watching the conversation unfold.

Jecka studies her features, tracing the contours of her face with her gaze. Even though nearly half of Nicole’s face is hidden behind her hair, Jecka picks out the details effortlessly. Nicole’s big blue eyes stand out, framed by long, thick lashes. Her nose is sharp and pointy, while her full lips are pierced—one lip ring glinting against her pale skin, her nose piercing perfectly adds to her bold, confident look.

She’s really pretty.

“Emily, twelve a pill is fucking insane. Give it to them for three, and let’s fucking go. If I stay any longer on these school grounds, I might explode, and we don’t want that,” Nicole chimes in, her voice demanding and confident.

Jecka’s surprised—there’s something distinct about Nicole’s voice. Low, almost hypnotic, it carries an edge that makes you pay attention. Sharp, yet slightly distant.

Emily jumps up, almost instinctively leaning into Nicole, her head resting on her shoulder. “You’re right, Nicole~ Twelve’s too much.”

What the fuck? Emily is giving in that easily, just because Nicole spoke up?

Emily shakes a few pills into her hand and hands them to Jecka. “Just give me ten for them all.”

Jecka hands over the bill, and after a brief exchange, they finally leave. The air outside feels a little fresher, the weight of the transaction lifting off her shoulders.

Jecka glances over at Nicole for the last time, her thoughts still spinning. Maybe there’s some truth behind the rumors about this Nicole girl. The way she carried herself, so effortlessly commanding attention, so unnervingly calm—it felt different. There was something about her demanding demeanour that Jecka couldn’t quite shake off.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Jecka lies in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She’s sprawled on her back, her body relaxed but her mind buzzing. The pillow beneath her head supports her slightly, and the dim glow from her laptop screen flickers at the edge of her bed. On the left side, her ashtray sits, filled with half-smoked cigarettes that have long burned out, their lingering smell mixing with the stale air of the room.

She just popped a few Adderall, her focus now sharp and unwavering, the lingering effects of the drug settling in after hours of studying for the upcoming English exam. The words from her textbooks, once jumbled and hard to grasp, now make perfect sense as they flow in her mind like a well-rehearsed song.

Boredom spreads through her body like a slow burn. With one quick motion, Jecka grabs her laptop and rests it on her thighs, her fingers already itching to scroll through something, anything to break the monotony. She opens up her browser, Jecka hesitates for a moment, her fingers hovering over the keys, before typing Nicole’s name into the search bar on tumblr.

She hits enter, and the username “xXPiercedPrincessXx” is the first that comes up.

She clicks on her profile and is instantly met with the most edgy emo ass shit she has ever seen.

On Nicole‘s profile picture is a picture of her, with half her face hidden behind a cascade of dark, messy hair. Her eyes—those sharp blue eyes—stare straight into the camera. She looks pretty, but really intimidating.

Her header is a blacked-out image with cursive writing that says “Angels of Darkness.”

Jecka laughs.

This is so fucking cliché. What the fuck.

She scrolls down, and her last post is a quote that says: “Why should I care about the consequences of my actions? The world doesn’t care about me, so I don’t owe it anything,” followed by a symbol of a broken heart.

The post has a ton of likes and comments—ten thousand likes and 500 comments. Jecka clicks on the comment symbol and starts reading through them.

“Are you addressing the bullying rumors with that post? <3 I don’t care if it’s true, let the haters hate.”

Another comment says:

“Are you okay?? :(( If you need someone to talk to, we’re always here!! <3”

This girl really has a fucking fanbase on Tumblr?

Nicole posts pictures of her freshly cut wrists, dark edgy quotes, brags about her drug abuse, and posts angry rants. Really angry rants. There’s one photo where she’s sitting backward on a chair, her upper body exposed, showing her bare back to the camera. She has devil wings tattooed on her back, running down to her hips. In the middle of her spine, it says “Fallen Angel” in cursive.

Jecka shakes her head, unable to believe how edgy Nicole is... but she'd be lying if she said it wasn't kinda cool.

A few pictures with Emily pop up too, and the comments are always filled with fangirls and other famous emo boys. Nicole's basically a micro celebrity on there. Nicole even responded to the top comment of one of the pictures with Emily.

"Are you two dating? :D"

Her reply is harsh, kind of defensive.

"Dude, no, I’m not fucking gay lol ._."

Then suddenly, another post appears.

"Me and Emily are going to the MSI concert on Friday!!!! :3"

They're going too?

Jecka had tried forcing Kelly to join her, but she refused, of course. Normally, preppy girls like her aren't into edgy bands. But Jecka has taste. Just because she looks like a basic bimbo doesn't mean she isn't into some seriously cool shit.

But she'd rather go alone than risk Emily ditching her to get ecstasy from some randoms.

Jecka shuts her laptop and rests her head back on the pillow. She glances at the clock—it's already twelve. She places her laptop on the bedside table, grabs the ashtray from the bed, and pulls on her pajamas.

Jecka drifts slowly to sleep, her thoughts lingering on the concert Friday night.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Jecka’s week passed by as quickly, as fast as it started. She couldn’t think about anything except the concert on Friday.

And today, it’s finally here—Friday evening, three hours before the concert. Kelly lies on Jecka’s bed, glued to her phone, constantly agreeing and disagreeing with Jecka’s outfit choices. Jecka is standing in front of the mirror, trying to find the perfect fit.

"My ass looks good in this one," she says, admiring herself in the mirror.

She’s wearing a pair of low-waisted Miss Me jeans, the right back pocket adorned with rhinestones that form an angel-wing pattern, while the left side features delicate floral embroidery.

Her tank top is surprisingly black—a MSI band shirt she recently bought from Hot Topic. She has to fit in someway, after all...

“Are you done? Let’s drink now! I gotta be drunk before I get to Megan’s party,” Kelly stretches and pulls the vodka bottle from under Jecka’s bed.

“Duh. I need to be fucked up, maybe they’ll take me backstage.”

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Two hours pass, and they’ve nearly finished the vodka. Both of them feel the light buzz of the alcohol. They’re drunk—but not too drunk. Jecka’s mind is still sharp—not drifting off to a different reality.

Kelly and Jecka leave through the door, hugging each other goodbye before parting ways. Kelly’s heading to Megan’s party, and Jecka’s off to the MSI concert. She’s dependent on buses and trains today; she can’t drive drunk—she’ll never risk losing her license or, worse, killing someone and ending up in jail. She feels like a broke bitch—a hot, car-less, broke bitch.

The thirty-minute ride to the concert feels way longer. Maybe it’s the gross, lingering stares from the men on the train, or maybe it’s just the alcohol—either way, fuck men. You can’t even be hot in peace anymore; men will always make you feel like a piece of meat, served to a pack of hungry lions.

After a decade, Jecka finally arrives at the small concert venue. There’s a line, filled with people dressed in black, their hair messy and unkempt. Some look musty, others look cool. They all resemble cheap versions of Nicole and Emily. Jecka feels a bit out of place, but she’s a confident bitch—she doesn’t care. She’s already getting stares from several guys and judgmental looks from the emo poser girls. (Real emos don’t judge.)

She moves toward a group of guys, gives them a flirtatious look, and suddenly, she’s at the front of the line. She loves having looks-based perks.

This is taking forever—the concert should’ve started twenty minutes ago.

She sighs, fishing a cigarette from her pocket. From the corner of her eye, she spots neon streaks moving toward her. Emily stands a few meters away, just outside the line.

“Jecka!? You’re here?” Emily practically shrieks. “Come with us. Girls like us don’t wait in lines.” She grabs Jecka’s arm and yanks her out, nearly making her trip.

“Bitch, they need to scan our tickets,” Jecka mutters.

“Nah, we’re, like, famous. And you’re with us now.” A smug grin spreads across Emily’s face. “No, seriously, we’re getting in VIP for free. I know some guys.”

Jecka raises a brow.

Of course Emily knows someone here.

She’s not alone, obviously. Standing next to her, looking as emo as ever, is Nicole. It seems like she trimmed her bangs—they’re shorter now, revealing more of her face.

She’s insanely pretty. What the fuck.

“We just had to shake off some of Nicole’s fans,” Emily scoffs. “They’re scarily obsessed with this devil here.” She gestures at Nicole.

Nicole laughs and holds out some pills.

That’s the first time Jecka has seen her this happy.

“Want one?”

“What is it?”

“Ecstasy.”

Of course.

Jecka hesitates for a second, then plucks one from Nicole’s palm. Their fingers brush, and for a split second, a strange jolt of light shoots through her body. Emily stops them and hands over a shot. “We flush it down with vodka!” she screams, excitement lacing her voice.

Jecka places the pill on her tongue—it’s already starting to dissolve, the bitter taste spreading through her mouth. She throws back the shot, the alcohol burning its way down her throat.

They finally step into the concert hall, Nicole lingering a few steps behind. Nicole seems like the type to observe—always lingering, scanning the room, her eyes on everyone. There’s something controlling about her, like she needs to have a grip on everything around her.

The music pulses through the hall, the air thick with static. The speakers screech distorted guitars and grimy, pulsing synths—like a video game glitching out on acid. Emily drags Jecka by the hand, shoving through the crowd, pushing people aside without a care. “We’re VIPs, bitch!” she yells, unfazed by the annoyed protests, her voice cutting through the chaos like a whip.

Jecka feels her body loosen, a rush of euphoria surging through her like a car tearing down the highway with the speed of a lighting. It’s too good—too fucking good. Her smile stretches wide, laughter spilling out of her, her body burning from the inside like someone lit a candle in her stomach.

Emily must feel it too—her pupils are huge, the blue of her eyes nearly swallowed by black. She’s screaming the lyrics like she’ll die if she doesn’t.

Jecka glances to the side—Nicole is smiling too, arms thrown up, shouting into the chaos.

The music is raw, unpolished, anarchic—like a cyberpunk riot packed into a single venue. Every note on the edge of collapsing, but somehow it all holds together in a perfect storm of punk, electro, and pure fucking destruction. The crowd is a mess of tangled bodies, jumping, screaming, drowning in this beautiful, trashy mess.

Nicole feels Jecka’s stare and turns, their eyes locking. Her grin stretches wider.

“I’m surprised you like MSI,” she shouts over the noise. “You just seem… so normal.”

Jecka rolls her eyes, laughing.

“Bitch, I could cut myself just as much as you do—I just have better shit to do,” she says, smirking.

Nicole watches her for a second, expression unreadable. Jecka isn’t sure if she’s offended or impressed.

Then Nicole laughs, flashing all her teeth. “Well, shit. You’re right.”

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Emily’s mind is gone—she’s hopping around like a rabbit on scrupis. Her head whips back and forth, like it’s about to fall the fuck off.

Then Jecka feels something wrap around her wrist. She glances back at Nicole, who’s waiting for a moment, like she’s asking for permission before dragging Jecka out of the crowd and toward the bar.

“Wanna take a shot?” she slurs, her words thick with alcohol and drugs.

Jecka’s head buzzes, the room spinning just a little.

“Yes, bitch!” Jecka grins, the buzz making everything feel right.

Nicole turns to the bartender, her movements slow but deliberate. She seductively places a finger on her lips, eyes locked on his as she leans in. “Two tequila shots,” she purrs, a playful wink flicking from her lashes.

They take the shot, the burn settling in their throats. For a moment, they just hold on, letting the music fade to a dull hum in the background. The bass barely rumbles through Jecka’s chest now, and the alcohol starts to creep in, its warmth spreading.

Jecka feels the buzz taking over, her words slurring out more than she intended.

“You’re like, really fucking cool. Your whole look…”

“Oh, really?” Nicole smirks, her voice dripping with smugness. She moves just a little closer to Jecka, their shoulders brushing slightly.

A shiver runs through Jecka’s body, like a jolt of electricity shooting up her spine. Her skin tingles—everything feels sharper now, the ecstasy mixed with the alcohol, tensing every little sensation.

Nicole shifts again, a slight hitch in her breath.

Did she fucking feel that too?

Jecka stands up, a sudden wave of panic hitting her—she needs air. Now. Her chest feels tight, and her head is swimming. She steps forward, but her feet betray her, and she stumbles, almost hitting the ground.

But before she can crash, a strong arm catches her by the waist, steadying her. Jecka opens her eyes, she’s met with Nicole's piercing blue gaze, eyes sharp, intense, like they're reading every thought in her head.

“I—need air,” Jecka breathes out, her voice shaky.

Nicole doesn’t say anything at first. She just nods, her grip firm around Jecka’s waist, and pulls her toward the nearest exit.

Jecka's shaking, her body fighting against the wave of nausea from the combination of alcohol and ecstasy. The feeling sits heavy in her stomach, twisting it in uncomfortable knots. She focuses on the ground, she’s spacing out, trying to calm her nerves, trying to breathe through the fog that’s clouding her mind. Everything around her spins in a blur, glitching like a old 90s video game.

She’s sitting on a cold stone outside, the night air sharp against her skin. Nicole stands in front of her, cigarette between her fingers, the smoke curling up into the air. Her eyes are distant, watching the streetlights flicker, lost in her own world.

Jecka barely registers the silence, her mind too fuzzy to make sense of anything. The sound of Nicole’s slow, deliberate exhales is the only thing that cuts through the haze, pulling Jecka deeper into her own scattered thoughts.

Nicole’s voice cuts through Jecka’s hazy mind.

“Are you, like, okay?” She trails off, flicking her cigarette away. “I’m not really good at taking care of people—or caring in general.” She steps closer, holding out her hand. “I’m just gonna take you to my place.”

Jecka doesn’t really process Nicole’s words properly. She takes her hand and stumbles up, blindly following Nicole home—because for some reason, she knows she’s safe there.

Chapter Text

Jecka jerks awake, gasping like she’s been starved of air. Her head throbs—a relentless, stabbing rhythm drilling into her skull. Stab. Pull. Stab. Pull. Her entire body aches like she got hit by a fucking truck, then tossed down the highway. She rubs her eyes, vision swimming before finally sharpening into focus after a few seconds.

Where. The Fuck. Am I?

Panic floods her body. She shifts uncomfortably, feeling the weight of the blanket against her skin. Instinctively, her hands dart over herself, checking.

At least I’m dressed? That lowers the Chances of her having hooked up with some rando.

She shoves the blanket off and scans the room. Black walls. Black furniture. Band posters plastered everywhere. Vinyl records. A massive CD collection.

Jesus christ. I definitely hocked up with some Emo boy.

Her hands scramble through her pockets for her phone—nothing.

Fuck!

She slaps a hand against her face.

The door squeaks—someone’s coming in. Jecka’s head snaps up—ready for the humiliating reveal of whatever drunk mistake she’d made.

But instead, she’s met with those same piercing blue eyes she’d grown weirdly familiar with.

Nicole? What the hell.

Jecka's eyes widen, panicked—like a startled deer ready to bolt into the woods. Nicole's face is bare, stripped of her usual smudged eyeliner and dark eyeshadow. A white tank top clings tight to her frame, paired with black pajama pants. She looks freshly showered, hair still dripping water, a towel draped around her neck.

"You done gawking or what?” Nicole breaks the silence.

Jecka's face falls. What's with that bitch's attitude?

She crosses her arms defensively. "I'm just fucking confused about how I landed here, bitch," Jecka snaps, scanning Nicole's face as their eyes lock.

Nicole smirks. "Hmm... you don't remember?" Her laugh is all mocking edges. "I fucked the shit out of you, then you passed out."

Her jaw drops, lips parting in disbelief. Her brows shoot up, creasing her forehead.

This can't fucking be. I couldn’t have been THAT drunk.

Jecka’s hooked up with all kinds of people—older, every race, even ones she’d never glance at sober. Hell, there were nights she barely knew up from down. But a girl? Never. Not once. Not even a fucking thought.

Maybe in college, some distant, hypothetical future. But college wasn’t now, and this sure as shit wasn’t a dorm room.

"What—"

Nicole snorts, then bursts into laughter.

"Dude, I’m just fucking with you." She clutches her stomach, cigarette already between her fingers. "You had, like, a panic attack, and I dragged your ass here. Be glad—that’s basically the nicest thing I’ve done in years."

Jecka’s starting to think the rumors about her are true—there’s something undeniably evil bitch radiating off her.

Nicole lights a cigarette, pulls out her laptop, and opens Tumblr. She hovers lazily over the keyboard, scrolling through her dashboard. Without looking up once, she passes the cigarette to Jecka. The blonde rolls her eyes but takes it anyway.

She inhales deeply, her body instantly relaxing. She’s shifts closer to Nicole, their shoulders slightly brushing. "What are you doing?" Jecka asks, while a cold shiver runs through her.

"Just browsing. Reading comments—people are fucking weird, especially men." She clicks on one.

"I want to rape you while you slit your wrists and bleed out," she reads aloud.

Men are so fucking disgusting.

Jecka’s hand snaps out, yanking the laptop from Nicole’s lap. Nicole lets out a startled "Woah, wait—" but Jecka’s faster. Her fingers stab at the keyboard like she’s under attack.

"And I hope you get fucking raped by a whole football team while your mom watches. Go kill yourself," she types, then shoves the laptop back at Nicole, a grin spreading across her face.

"Deserved," she hums, as she takes the final drag of the cigarette.

Nicole stares at her, gaze flat—then she breaks into the widest smile. Jecka instantly mirrors it.

"Fuck, you’re cool," Nicole admits.

The blonde shrugs. Of course she’s cool—she’s the coolest bitch ever. The perfect mix of preppy and edgy. You can get fucked with her, do drugs all night, and she’ll still rock her classes like it’s nothing, always keeping her grades up.

“Duh.”

Nicole slides another cigarette toward Jecka and pulls the ashtray closer between them. That smirk never leaves her face.

"You can shower if you want or whatever," she offers, blowing smoke to the side. "Got clothes you can borrow."

Jecka's surprised—Nicole guest friendly than she thought. She's woken up in way worse places after nights out—once even broke into someone’s place with a guy she hooked up with... so yeah, a hot shower would be fucking luxury right now.

She lights the cigarette, the burn warming her fingers as she takes the first drag. "Yeah, thank you," she exhales, the words mingling with smoke.

After stubbing out her cigarette, Jecka takes a towel from Nicole and heads straight for the hot shower. The scalding water washes away last night's alcohol-sweat and caked-up makeup. Nicole even threw her a toothbrush with—which makes her feel almost human again.

By the time she steps out, the fog in her head has cleared, like she's rinsed away today’s entire hangover.

She slips on Nicole's clothes with sluggish movements—an oversized MSI shirt—damn, nice—and black pajama pants that match Nicole's own. The fabric smells faintly of cigarettes and that same cheap lavender detergent.

Jecka pads back into Nicole’s room just to find Nicole exactly where she left her—still glued to the screen, only now lying on her back with her laptop balanced on her chest.

She’s literally addicted.

The sun dips lower, painting the walls orange. Outside, just like Nicole’s room, everything is quiet. The only sound cutting through the room is the relentless click-click of Nicole’s keyboard. Jecka sighs and flops onto the bed beside her. She isn’t sure why she hasn’t left yet, but something about Nicole’s presence feels weirdly familiar. Comfortable, even. And Nicole doesn’t seem to mind either.

Jecka settles awkwardly beside her, eyes fixed on the screen.

Then—

“Wanna fuck?” Nicole asks flatly, slicing through the silence.

She doesn’t even glance up from her laptop—her gaze still fixated, like she just asked the most casual fucking question in the world.

Nicole's just so fucking bold and confident—like she genuinely believes she can do and say whatever she wants and people will just roll with it. And it somehow works, especially online. Her Tumblr followers might as well be fucking pawns, bending to whatever she says and forgiving every messed-up thing she does.

Hell, Jecka doesn't even care that Nicole might have driven someone to suicide. It's not like she's much better anyway... sure, she's got slightly more morals than Nicole, but whatever.

Nicole's intimidating as hell and stupidly pretty—and pretty girls always have power over people.

"Yeah..." Jecka mutters, not even sure why she's agreeing but—

fuck, Nicole's got power over people, including herself.

Nicole slams the laptop shut and tosses it on the bedside table. She gets up, flipping through her CD collection. "You got anything you wanna listen to?" Her voice sounds off—less confident than usual.

What the fuck am I even doing here? Jecka thinks. Jesus Christ, maybe I can just pretend this is some normal-ass college dorm.

"I don't really care. Arctic Monkeys or whatever."

"Oh... you know them?" Nicole mocks. Jecka chucks a pillow at her back. "Yes, bitch!"

Nicole presses play, the CD-Player clicks and music floods the room at a comfortable volume. ‘505’ from the album ‘Favourite Worst Nightmare’ starts playing. Not exactly the best fuck soundtrack—definitely not a song Jecka ever imagined having sex to... but then again, she never imagined ending up at Nicole's place in the first place.

Yet here they fucking are.

Nicole moves closer again, sinking back onto the bed beside her. The sun is long gone, the room swallowed by darkness except for the weak glow of the bedside lamp across the room.

"Have you ever…" Nicole starts, then hesitates.

"Only with guys."

"Me too." A pause. "Do you still wanna do it?"

Nicole’s voice is softer now—less detached, almost human. Jecka can’t believe she’s only known her for a week. It feels much longer. The song loops quietly in the background, the same melody humming under their words.

“uh huh,” the blonde hums in agreement.

Nicole instantly shifts her weight, slightly leaning over Jecka's frame. They lock eyes, breaths hitching. Jecka can't believe she's doing this sober. Nicole slowly moves down, stopping just before their lips touch - she breathes in, then surprisingly softly crashes their lips together. Jecka grabs Nicole's face and yanks her closer.

Jecka's messed around with girls before —basically every time with Kelly at some party —but this... this feels way more intimate.

Nicole's hands roam rough over Jecka's body, dragging her shirt down to expose the lace of her bra. Fingers skate across the fabric, mouths still locked wet and desperate.

One sharp move and Nicole's under the material, palm hot against bare skin. Jecka arches into it—and Nicole claims the moment to bite down hard on her lip. Blood blooms from her lip, the metallic taste rushes between their tongues.

They break just long enough to lock eyes in the dark.

"That was hot, you fucking freak," Jecka gasps before yanking Nicole back down by the hair.

Jecka yanks her shirt over her head and lets the bra hit the floor. Nicole just stares, mouth half-open like a broken doll.

Jecka's really that girl—Playboy tits, sun-kissed skin, California blonde, waist you could circle with both hands. The kind of body that makes girls like Karen want to crawl inside her skin.

The blonde laughs and lifts Nicole’s shirt over her head. This feels oddly comfortable to both of them—they are practically strangers, it should be fucking weird to them, but it dosen’t. None of it. It feels way too natural.

Jecka pins Nicole beneath her, their mouth still crashing together, sloppy and starving. Nicole's hands map every curve of Jecka's chest while Jecka’s hands roam in Nicole's hair—hard—keeping her steady. The bed creaks under their weight, Nicole's gasps are swallowed by Jecka's mouth.

Nicole’s fingers trace the waistband first—hesitant—then curl into the fabric, pulling Jecka closer by the hips. She’s clumsy, and hurried—pulling the fabric down with desperation.

”Can you, like—ride my fingers?" Nicole asks between messy kisses.

Jecka pauses, laughs.

"Why is this one of your emo fantasies?" She mocks, trailing her mouth down Nicole's neck—leaving small kisses.

"Yes—no, fuck you. In my fantasies you'd be bleeding out right now," Nicole fires back, hand clamping on Jecka's hip suddenly yanking her into motion.

"Mhf—" Jecka moans, surprised by the sudden friction.

The pink cotton of Jecka’s underwear is darkened between her thigh, she’s grinding down on Nicole's thigh, already soaked through her fucking panties—no subtlety, just shameless friction and the filthy sound of cotton sticking to skin.

Nicole finally drags two fingers along Jecka's clothed clit—rough, impatient—and Jecka gasps, hips jerking up to chase the pressure—she's already so fucking desperate.

Then she pulls Jecka's panties down and—without a warning—slams two fingers into her, knuckles-deep on the first thrust. Jecka screams, the motion too sudden—too much—but still fucking good, her back arching off the bed like she's been electrocuted.

This Emo bitch.

Jecka moves up and down, riding Nicole's fingers, chasing the friction as Nicole curves them just right—every fucking thrust hitting just right.

Nicole drags Jecka’s hand away from her hair and slides it to her throat. “Choke me.” Her voice is a dark and low, those blue eyes piercing through Jecka—another electric jolt runs straight to her core.

Jecka obeys. Her fingers lock around Nicole’s neck like a vice, thumbs pressing into her pulse point. Nicole’s breath hitches—not in fear, she loves it—as Jecka tightens her grip.

Jecka’s head buzzes, she can’t believe how hot this shit is. Fuck, she would’ve considered banging some emo bitch years ago if she’d known… All that wasted time not getting to choke a hot bitch out.

Jecka doesn’t stop—her hips move greedy now, her grip on Nicole’s throat locks—crushingly tight. Nicole’s nails digging crescent moons into Jecka’s thighs as her vision blurs at the edges. She’s on the edge on passing out.

Then—with a choked gasp—Jecka shatters, collapsing onto Nicole’s chest like a broken puppet. Jecka's grip loosens—fingers slipping from Nicole's throat. She gasps sharply, air is coming back into her lungs.

“Just as I imagined,” Nicole’s voice is ragged, her breath still fucking uneven.

“Shut up, Bitch” Jecka mumbles into Nicole’s neck.

Nicole hesitates—just a second—before pulling Jecka closer, arms locking around her back.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

They’re sprawled in bed, the blanket half-assed covering their naked bodies. A cigarette dangles between their fingertips, smoke hazing the room in a dull glow. It’s not awkward—like at all, it’s just quiet, like they’ve done this a thousand times.

Nicole’s back on her laptop, glued to the screen like a heroine junkie to the needle. Jecka lies beside her, watching, saying nothing. It’s comfortable. Probably the most comfortable and non-awkward hook up, Jecka’s ever had.

”You wanna take a picture for my Tumblr?" Nicole asks, the cigarette dangling between her lips as she speaks.

A picture? Of course she’s gotta document every fucking thing.

Jecka shrugs. Whatever.

"As long as my face is hidden... yeah, I guess." She scoots closer, mirroring Nicole’s slouched posture.

"Duh." Nicole rolls her eyes, tapping ash onto the ashtray. "Can’t risk my fans finding you." A pause. "Just a close-up. Our lips. Your neck, my choke-marked neck."

Nicole clicks the webcam on, awkwardly balancing the laptop on her knees. She adjusts the angle—zooming in until the frame cuts off just past their collarbones, their faces cropped at the lips. Jecka's cheek presses into Nicole's, their mouths a breath apart but not quite touching.

Nicole’s throat is a mess of red, purple bruises. Jecka’s mouth is half-parted, close enough to smell the smoke on Nicole’s tongue.

"What should the caption be?"

"You’re the depressed whore, not me."

"Fuck you…"

Jecka watches Nicole agonize over the post for a solid minute—fingers hovering, backspacing, trying way too hard to pick the perfect fucking symbol. She snorts, laughter bursting out before she can stop it. Nicole side-eyes her, unamused.

"Choke me till I die," Nicole finally quotes, hitting post.

Classic. Edgy as hell, but fucking fitting.

Then it hits Jecka—her phone. Kelly’s probably blown it up with a thousand texts by now…

"Have you seen my phone?"

"Yeah, it’s charging next to you on the floor."

Oh.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Jecka got five text from Kelly last Night...
‘how tehe concert!?!?’
‘Bitchhhhhu’
‘I’m drunk asf i cant really typeeez’
‘hellow you arge giving me zero updates!’
‘the paryus lqme!!’

Then from Today…
‘Jecka where are you???’
‘You haven’t responded it’s been almost a day!’
‘helllooooo bitchh pls be safe!’
‘miss u smart ass don’t die!?’

And like Fifty missed calls…

Whoops…

‘Hi, Kelly-Belly. I stayed at a friend’s place. We’ll see each other on Monday!! ;3 Love u bitch.’ She hits send and yeets her phone across the room.

Nicole flicks her cigarette ash into the ashtray. “Wanna stay another day?”

Jecka doesn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

The next days blur into a haze of fucking and smoking, tangled together like rabbits in heat. It’s weird—but the good kind of weird, the kind that leaves you grinning like an idiot and muttering "what the hell?" under your breath.

It’s weird—because two weeks ago, Jecka didn’t even know Nicole existed. They’d interacted at that fucking MSI concert for the first fucking time and now here they were—clothes off, boundaries gone, fucking the shit out of each other.

But the weirdest shit is, neither of them is gay. Like, at all. But Nicole’s hot, Jecka’s hot, so why not mix the two and see what happens? Three days in, and Jecka has already learned something about her, they are way more alike than she thought, Nicole’s scarily smart but too lazy to do shit about it, she’d rather rot on Tumblr, reblogging memes and wallowing in her own depressed-bitch emo thing.

And now Jecka’s actually on Tumblr too—no more lurking with fake accounts, she finally made a real one.

Her hand hovers over the keyboard as she mindlessly scrolls. Her dashboard is a pink explosion, Paris Hilton, Playboy bunnies, glossy fashion spreads—literally the polar opposite of Nicole’s void-black aesthetic.

Nicole posts every single thought she has on Tumblr, and her fans eat that shit up. For some reason, Jecka feels this weird pride bubbling up—because she knows Nicole, the one outside of the internet.

She basically fucked a celebrity. Well, a micro-celebrity... but still.

Jecka scrolls through Nicole's page, digging for that picture they took on Saturday. After five fucking minutes, she finds it. Squinting at the numbers.

30k likes? 1k comments?
What the fuck? It actually went viral.

She clicks on the comments.

’Is this your boyfriend!! :D’

’Uh, No! Not her getting a boyfriend too >~<‘

‘The choke marks?! SOO goals :33’

Nicole's even replied to the first comment.
‘Not your business, weirdo.’

Jecka shakes her head. For someone with such a bitch attitude toward her fans, Nicole sure has a lot of them. And now? Jecka feels like just another goddamn fangirl with all her low-key stalking.

Her phone buzzes—ripping her out of the spiral.

‘It's Nicole’

Where the fuck did she even get my number from?

Jecka quickly types back.

‘Who tf gave you my number?’

‘I went through your phone’

Jecka blinks a few times, tilting her head.

‘You’re kidding, right? I literally have a password’

There’s no fucking way Nicole has gone through her phone. Like, ever.

‘Your password is literally Jecka123’

‘HOW did you know, weirdo!’

‘You told me Friday when you were out of it lol’
‘I went through your phone because I felt like it’

Jecka groans, pressing her palm against her forehead.

‘Ever heard of respecting boundaries?’

‘I came on this earth to disrespect exactly that’

Jesus fucking Christ.

‘Why r u texting me anyway?’

‘Are u into knife play?’

Straight to the point. No buildup. Nothing. Just throwing that shit out there. Bold like fucking always.

‘Maybe. Never tried it. Sounds interesting tho. Why, bitch?’

‘U wanna come over tmr after school?’

‘Are u using me for all your little emo fantasies?’

‘Maybe’

Pause.

‘Yes or no?’

So fucking demanding.

‘Maybe’

Jecka flips her phone shut and sinks into the bed, reaching over to switch off the small lamp on her nightstand.

Slowly, she drifts to sleep.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Jecka’s slumped behind the bleachers, the hollow clang of vibrating metal still echoing like a fucked-up lullaby. Jecka sits on the cold concrete, a cigarette dangling between her fingers like a ticking fuse. The sun beams down on her skin—too fucking hot, even for August. Her tiny hot pants and short tank top do nothing against the heat crawling up her thighs, sticking the fabric to her lower back.

Nicole’s in front of her, dressed head-to-toe in fucking black like it’s October, as if heat dosen’t matter. Jecka squints up at her, waiting for the inevitable sweat stains—but Nicole just stands there, untouchable and unbothered, like the sun owes her money.

Nicole exhales a thick plume of smoke—fuzzy tendrils curling between them like ghost fingers. Her gaze is locked downward, piercing straight onto Jecka with that unreadable, heavy-lidded stare.

"How did I never see you before Nicole?" She twiddles the cigarette between her fingertips. "Kelly told me you have been here for a year already."

Nicole smirks, her face filled with smugness.

"I have remedial classes only." A laugh. "Emily and me got bored and decided to go to lunch once two weeks ago." She inhales deeply. "I usually skip most hours but I felt like sticking around Emily more." Her words twirling with the smoke.

Jecka takes a drag, ash flaking onto concrete. "Hmm. Makes sense." She lets the silence hang a second too long. "You haven't told anyone, right?"

Nicole's nose wrinkles like she smells something rotten. "No bitch, why would I? People already assume I'm gay—I’m not though." She flicks her cigarette hard enough to send sparks flying. "Emily's basically, like, my only friend.”

Jecka snorts. "Ohh... the emo Bitch without friends." Voice dripping with syrup-sweet fake pity.

Nicole's grin goes sharp as a switchblade. "Ohh... the emo Bitch that had you arching your back."

Touché.

Jecka slaps Nicole's thigh. "...Shut up! Bitch." But there's no heat behind it.

Nicole drops down onto the concrete beside the blonde. Jecka's head rolls onto her shoulder before she can stop it—muscle memory from too many drunk nights.

Nicole twitches like she's been burned. "The fuck you doing?" She shrugs her off so hard Jecka's teeth clack from the sudden movement.

"Ah! Bitch, what the fuck?" Jecka clamps a hand over her jaw, voice sharp enough to pierce through skin. "Are you fucking bipolar or something?!"

"Not bipolar... something slightly different."

Jecka's eyes narrow. "And that would be?"
Nicole flicks her cigarette ash onto the concrete between them. "Don’t worry about it."

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Jecka and Nicole don’t interact at school. The most they do is exchange glances—nothing more. It’s their little secret, and Jecka would be lying if she said it wasn’t a turn-on. It’s like one of those RedTube videos with the fucking title: "The Hot Emo Bitch Secretly Bangs the Popular Blonde Preppy Bitch."

Jecka still doesn’t know how she got into this—she wanted to try girls in college! But Nicole’s hot, and Jecka’s needy. And finding guys who don’t skeed after a minute? Fucking impossible—like searching for a needle in a haystack.

Kelly annoyed her about the weekend, but Jecka just shrugged her off. "Made new friends. I'm here now, stop fucking worrying." Of course, Kelly kept pestering until Jecka tuned out, letting the words wash over her like a waterfall.

Lately, Jecka and Emily had gotten weirdly close—suddenly running into each other in the girls' bathroom, ditching class together. Emily rambled constantly, each story wilder than the last. That Wednesday, she claimed her drug-dealer boyfriend was Cartel-linked, that she'd seen his beheading videos.

Jecka listened, nodding along while thinking.

What a batshit crazy bitch.

Emily had casually mentioned Nicole got suspended for fucking with Jeffrey—that weird anime kid who always smelled like piss. Nicole had been radio silent after monday—no texts, no Tumblr posts, nothing.

Was she pissed I din’t come to her place?

Now it's Friday again and Jecka's tapping her white nails against the button of her phone, staring at Kelly’s notification.

‘Wanna go to Megan’s today?‘

Jecka lets her head fall into the mattress, she closes her eyes, deciding if she wants to spend her weekend with another hangover
or stay home for once.

I‘m too hot to hide at home though…

Her nails clink against the buttons of her flip phone as she types back.

‘Duh. When? I sure hope Heromaine has enough alc’

The reply comes instantly.

‘YESS’

Jecka chucks her phone into the corner of the bed and flips open her laptop, clicking onto Tumblr like she’s done every fucking day this week.

Okay, maybe she’s lowkey addicted now—but it’s cool having all her interests organized for once. And the aesthetic inspo is fucking Next-level. She’s even started posting—of course she gained followers fast (nine hundred in a week), because of course, she’s a fucking 10/10.

But… most of them are dudes sliding into her DMs.

Jecka sighs and clicks the post button.

‘Going to Megan’s today!! Don’t text me i’m going to be black out drunk ;)’

Post.

Then—what the fuck—Nicole likes it two minutes later. They don’t even follow each other. Nicole’s never liked any of her shit before.

Is this bitch fucking with my head on purpose?

Jecka's phone buzzes violently, jolting her awake. She shoves the laptop off her lap and stretches to grab her phone from where it's wedged between the mattress and bed frame. Squinting at the flood of notifications, one immediately catches her eye.

'You shouldn't go to Megan's'

Jecka blinks, forehead creasing in confusion. Nicole is so fucking unpredictable.

'bitch why'

'Cause she's a major bitch I hate her'

'well I don't though lol you r weird'

Nicole reads the message but doesn't reply. Then suddenly—her phone fucking rings.

"Dude, how the fuck am I weird? I'm trying to save your ass here," Nicole snaps the second Jecka answers.

Jecka rolls her eyes so hard it hurts. "No, you're just ruining my fun. What's your deal? You ghost me all week and now suddenly want to act cool? Cut the bullshit, Nicole."

"I was busy," Nicole replies, voice flat.

"Right..." Jecka drags the word out.
The line goes silent.

After a long pause, Nicole hesitantly offers.

"You could... just come over here instead. We could get high and watch a trashy shit. Like MythBusters."

Jecka bursts out laughing. "MythBusters fucking sucks."

"No—Fuck you!" Nicole snaps. "You coming or what?"

Jecka exhales loudly, dragging her hand down her face in exasperation.

"...Give me two hours," she finally concedes.

"Cool." Nicole hangs up immediately.

Now she's back sitting next to Nicole in bed, head resting on her chest, cigarette dangling from her lips, ashtray balanced between them with the shittiest TV show playing in the background.

Nicole's staring at the screen like a gambler watching roulette—at least it's something other than fucking Tumblr that holds her attention. Jecka's practically forcing herself to sit through every painful minute.

She's much more of a different trash reality TV type of girl—she could easily binge hours of Paris Hilton doing absolutely nothing or watch the Kardashians argue over the dumbest shit imaginable.

Nicole's arm hangs lazily over Jecka's shoulder—it feels weirdly domestic, like Nicole's her fucking boyfriend or something. Jecka's phone buzzes again, forcing her to wiggle out from under Nicole's arm to grab it from the nightstand.

’BITCH where are uuuu!! I thought we were going to Megan's tgh!!?’

Oh. Right.

Jecka's stomach twists as she stabs at the buttons, trying to reply as fast as possible.

'sryy i slept i'm not feeling gooddd im staying home <33'

Nicole barely glances away from the shitty show she’s been forcing Jecka to watch.

"Who are you texting?"

Jecka ignores her, her attention glued on the screen.

'are u for real jecka u been ditching me a lot lately :('

Guilt seeps into her chest as she hurries to type back.

'noo you can come over tmw i promise and im there for the next function miss u for realsss'

Before she can hit send, Nicole shifts at the speed of a lighting and snatches Jecka’s phone from her hands.

"What the—" Jecka's breath catches as Nicole stares at the screen for a few seconds, her face unreadable. Then, with zero hesitation, she turns the phone off and throws it across the room, the phone hits the wall with a loud thud.

"You don’t need her," she says, voice flat. She’s Dead serious.

Jecka glares, tension is crackling in the air. "She's my fucking best friend. Don’t piss me off, or I’m leaving."

Nicole doesn’t move, her expression stays the same—flat like always. She meets Jecka’s fury gaze, eyes dark with something genuinely evil. "I’m your best friend now,” she spits.

Jecka lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. "I've known you for, like, two weeks."

A heavy silence stretches between them, their eyes locked in a searing glare—two predators sizing each other up before the strike.

Nicole's shoulders drop, like she’s forcing herself to relax. "I’m just looking out for you…" she murmurs. "I heard some shit about Kelly." Nicole’s fingers graze Jecka’s shoulder, a featherlight touch tracing the curve of her shoulder blade.

“I just don’t think she’s a good influence. Isn’t she, like, a major whore? God, I hate male-obsessed bitches.”

Jecka’s whole body freezes—just for a second—letting Nicole’s words crash over her.

Does she think I’m some clueless bitch who needs her fucking advice?

In one fluid motion, Jecka swings a leg over Nicole’s waist, her weight pinning her down, hands slamming into the mattress on either side of Nicole’s head. The air between them crackles, charged and intense. Jecka’s gaze bores into hers, sharp enough to draw blood.

"I don’t need a fucking emo bitch who hates herself, cuts herself, and overshares on fucking Tumblr to look out for me," she hisses.

Nicole's lips twitch. "Fuck, that was hot. Can you tell me to kill myself?"

Jecka exhales sharply, her nostrils flaring.

This fucking bitch.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

They’ve popped some Xanax and downed half a bottle of vodka. Jecka feels the slow, creeping warmth of the liquor mixing with the pills, her body slack, her mind syrupy. The sharp edges of reality have been sanded down to nothing, leaving her weightless, untouchable. Nicole could set the whole fucking room on fire, and she’d probably just blink at it, maybe hum along to the crackling flames.

The Xanax has numbed her synapses—Jecka feels untouchable, reckless, like nothing could happen to her—or stop her.

Which is probably why Nicole is straddling her lap right now, pressing a switchblade against the bare skin of her stomach.

"You’re not scared, are you?" Nicole slurs, her own voice thick with the same intoxicating haze.

“Noo…slut,” Jecka laughs, her words drawn out, slow.

Nicole smirks and drags the blade lazily across her skin. Jecka doesn’t even fucking flinch.

"Should I just carve my name into you?"

"If you do, I’d literally kill you and sell your corpse to one of your fans," Jecka hisses, her voice suddenly sharp, serious, even through the haze.

Nicole grins, pressing the blade a little harder.

"I like that you don’t just take whatever I say," she muses, tracing slow, deliberate patterns across Jecka’s ribs. "Every guy I’ve been with just did whatever I wanted. It was fucking boring."

Their eyes meet.

"I’m not a weak bitch. That’s for ugly girls.”

Nicole’s expression shifts—something darker, more calculated. She leans in, pressing the cold steel against Jecka’s throat. Her breath is warm against her ear.

"I could literally kill you right now," she whispers, voice low, teasing, but laced with something eerily real.

Jecka just laughs. She’s too fucking cool to take some sad, emo bitch seriously.

"Do it then, bitch."

Silence.

Nicole hesitates for a second, starring at her.

But—

She drops the knife and crashes their lips together in a heated, needy kiss.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Their naked bodies lie lazily on the bed, the same shitty background noise still playing—Jecka can’t believe she had sex to MythBusters. The air is thick with sweat, smoke, and the lingering heat of their bodies, mingled with the sharp scent of alcohol. Jecka’s head rests on Nicole’s stomach while Nicole exhales a slow stream of smoke, trying to perfect her rings.

Jecka’s cigarette dangles loosely between her lips as she stares up at the ceiling.

“So, what, am I your fucking booty call now?” she breaks the silence.

Nicole just shrugs, still focused on her stupid smoke tricks. “Call it whatever you want.”

Jecka scoffs, turning her head to look at her. “You’re a cold bitch.”

Nicole hums, unconcerned. “People say that.”

“They’re fucking right.”

Nicole smirks, flicking the ashes into the ashtray. "Hmh." She takes another slow drag, letting the smoke curl around her lips before she adds, "I've done worse."

Jecka raises a brow. “What, like… killed a dog?”

Silence.

A pause just long enough for Jecka to wonder.

She didn’t did she?

“Just my hamster when I was, like, four.” Nicole ashes her cigarette like she’s talking about the weather. “Little shit wouldn’t do the trick I taught him. Embarrassed me in front of my friends.” She leans back against the pillows, stretching like a cat. “So I handled it.”

Jecka watches her, expression unreadable. “So you fucking killed him?”

Nicole grins, eyes glinting through the smoke. “Yeah. He deserved it.”

“No offense, but… are you a fucking sociopath?” Jecka screams, her voice sharp as she tries to process the casualness of Nicole’s behaviour. “What do you mean you just casually killed your hamster!”

Nicole’s eyes flicker, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Geez, calm down, bitch,” she says, her tone dismissive as she rubs her temple. “If we posted a video of us making out, we’d totally go viral.”

Jecka narrows her eyes, skeptical but a little intrigued. “No.”

“Why not?” Nicole continues, her voice dripping with that playful edge. “We could be like, the sexed-up, abusive Tumblr lesbians.”

Jecka doesn’t laugh, though a faint spark of playfulness flickers in her gaze. She rolls her eyes, feigning disinterest. “Bitch. I thought you weren’t fucking gay.”

Nicole tilts her head, a nonchalant smirk spreading across her face. “I’m not,” she responds, voice flat, but there’s an underlying tension.

“Sure...” Jecka mutters, watching Nicole.

Chapter Text

It’s Saturday morning now, and they’re—like always—curled up under the dark blanket. Jecka’s head rests on Nicole’s chest while Nicole scrolls mindlessly through Tumblr on her laptop, balancing it on her stomach. Her fingers hover over the keyboard, the occasional clicks breaking the silence, while some lame grunge band plays softly in the background from Nicole’s old CD player.

This is basically routine now.

Jecka lazily dangles a cigarette between her lips, the ashtray beside her. Every now and then, she flicks the ash inside, not really paying attention to much of anything.

Jecka’s body aches, still sore from all the drugs and the mind-blowing sex. She feels used, sore, drained. The knives are still lying next to them on the bedside table—Jecka can't believe her drugged-out mind actually agreed to this emo shit.

This whole situation still feels crazy to her. Every time she thinks about it, her mind can’t quite grasp how it all started—first seeing that emo bitch in the cafeteria, then at the concert, and now they’re here. It almost feels like Nicole had planned this from the moment their eyes first met.

“What did you think of me when you first met me behind the bleachers?” Jecka breaks the silence, curling smoke into the air like ghostly fingers.

Nicole hums, still clicking through whatever she’s reading.

“I thought you were really hot. You don’t look like a bitch who does drugs, so that made you even hotter,” she says, eyes still fixed on the screen.

“Only that?”

Nicole scoffs. “What? Do you want me to say I liked your hair and the way your eyes lit up?” her voice mocking.

“No, bitch... it just all feels—” Jecka pauses. “Weirdly like fate? Or planned. Can’t decide.”

“Oh yeah, I kinda planned on fucking you after I saw you. It was like a fantasy of mine,” she says casually, as if it’s a normal thing to fucking say.

“The weird emo bitch bangs the popular blonde bullyyy...” Her tone drips with amusement, stretching out the last word.

This doesn’t even surprise me…

“You’re such a bitch,” she says, playfully pressing her head against Nicole’s chest.

Then—

Nicole’s eyes snap up, and she shifts suddenly, like a startled cat, almost knocking Jecka over.

“Bitch—” Jecka mutters, caught off guard, as Nicole scrambles to the edge of the bed, clutching that damn laptop like her life depends on it. Her back is turned to Jecka, and Jecka stays still, confused by the sudden shift. Nicole moves fast, with a force that makes Jecka’s heart race, Nicole yanks the laptop and slams it against the wall. The screen shatters with a sickening thud, and Jecka jumps, the sound too sudden—too loud.

Silence.

The sound of shattered glass lingers in the air.

“You should go.” Nicole’s voice is flat. She’s serious.

“What? Wh—”

“Fucking. Go.” Her tone sharp but unsteady at the edges.

She’s so fucking annoying.

Jecka grabs her things—whatever she can reach first—and bolts. In less than ten seconds, she’s out the door. But she stops just at the front door, her breath uneven. A sickening feeling crawls under her skin, settling deep in her bones. There’s this strange, nagging urge to stay—like if she walks away now, something terrible will happen. She hesitates, closes her eyes, and takes a slow breath. Then, before she can second-guess herself, she turns around and steps back in the room.

"Nobody tells me what to fucking do—" The words die in her throat.

Nicole’s hunched on the floor, silent sobs wrenching through her body—it sounds weirdly suppressed, like a wounded dog trying to muffle its own whimpers.

What.

Jecka freezes, unsure what to do. Ten minutes ago, she would've sworn Nicole was some cold-blooded psychopath who couldn't even say the word "crying" without bursting out laughing. But now… she looks like an abandoned dog—whimpering, desperate for any scrap of comfort, for the love of an owner who'll never come back.

Jecka takes small, hesitant steps forward. She pulls Nicole into her arms and locks them tight—like she’s afraid Nicole might run any second. Nicole stays stiff, her body trembling, silent sobs shaking against Jecka’s chest.

She runs a gentle hand down Nicole’s back, fingers tracing slow circles between her shoulder blades. The sobs shudder, then fade—each breath coming quieter now, like a storm wearing itself out.

“My dad—he fucking shot himself..." Her voice breaks. "He said it was my fault." A pause. "I just—saw something that fucking reminded me of him."

Jecka says nothing—she just continues tracing soft circles on Nicole’s spine.
“I hate him.”
Jecka pulls her closer.

“I hate my dad too.”

There’s a silent understanding between them—it’s like, they both know how it feels to come from shitty parents who couldn’t care less. Nicole’s mom is barely around; when Jecka asked about it, Nicole just shrugged and said, “She’s probably fucking her way through the whole town.” After Jecka asked about other family members, Nicole nonchalantly dropped that her brother is locked up for messing with kids.

No wonder she’s a mess. She’s got every fucking right to be emo.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

They sit side by side against the edge of the bed, shoulders barely touching, both staring straight ahead. Jecka studies the band posters like they’re cryptic messages—searching for meaning that isn’t there.

The silence is comfortable, but Nicole remains stiff, probably embarrassed she let emotions crack through.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll—”

“Kill me. I know.” Jecka rolls her eyes and lets her head drop onto Nicole’s shoulder. And this time—this time—Nicole doesn’t shrug her off.

Then a loud ring shatters the moment. Jecka grabs her phone off the bed and answers.

“Jecka!! When can I come over? I’m bored~ I wanna drink!”

Oh, right. She’d promised Kelly.

“Hey, bitch…” Jecka glances sideways, meeting Nicole’s gaze. “Yeah, you wanted to come…”

Nicole’s stare is razor-sharp—like it’s drilling into her skull. There’s something in her eyes, a silent plea, Don’t go.

Jecka sighs, defeated.

“Kelly, can we meet tomorrow? I’m not feeling good… sorry.”

Silence.

“Do you have a secret boyfriend or something? You’ve been acting weird.”

“No. Of course not. Remember? Too hot for exclusivity.”

“Hmm… I’m giving you one last chance tomorrow. You're lucky I love you!” Her voice is sharper than usual.

Kelly hangs up, and Jecka leans back again, closing her eyes. A heavy wave of stress coils in her gut.

Then—suddenly, like she could feel the tension building up, Nicole moves. Her arms loocking under Jecka’s, hauling her up. Jecka’s fingers instinctively clutch at Nicole’s narrow frame and her legs lock behind her back. How is this bitch so strong with those tiny arms? Nicole’s grip slides down to her waist, pulling her onto the bed, their bodies colliding—Nicole on top, hovering over her.

Fuck. Getting manhandled by a pretty bitch is such a turn-on.

Their eyes lock. Nicole’s breath hitches—something’s different. Her irises tremble, darting like she’s trying to memorize every detail of Jecka’s face.

Nicole leans in. Their lips meet, softer than ever, like she’s afraid Jecka might shatter. But it feels off. Wrong. Like a fucking apology. Like a goodbye.

Jecka doesn’t care—she crushes their mouths together, teeth clashing. If Nicole wants to leave, she’ll have to fight her fucking way out.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Jecka lies on her back, sweat-slicked and trembling, thighs coiled around Nicole’s head like a snake. Her eyes keep rolling back, muffled curses melting into shameless, shuddering moans.

Nicole works her clit like her life fucking depends on it—while her fingers pump inside her in a steady rhythm. For someone who claims to be straight, she sure fucks like a gay bitch. This girl has definitely done some research.

She feels the knot in her stomach slowly unraveling, her moans suppressed into pathetic whimpers. Her mind repeats the same goddamn words—don’t stop, don’t stop—like a broken record. She feels like a puppet, strings cut one by one, control slipping through her fingers.

Then—

A wave of pleasure, a gasp, and the knot finally comes undone.

“Fuck, Nicole,” she breathes out.

Nicole removes her fingers and holds them up, gesturing for Jecka to come closer. Jecka obeys without hesitation, pulling Nicole’s fingers into her mouth and licking them clean—like a god damn lollipop.

This bitch really turned me into some freak.

Nicole smirks, clearly enjoying the power she has over Jecka. Jecka pulls away, sitting up straight, her legs bouncing with excitement, like a child eager for an answer.

“Now let me fuck you.”

Her energy is contagious as she waits, barely able to keep still.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I like being in control.”

Of course.

“So you’re scared…” Jecka’s voice drips with mockery, clearly trying to provoke a reaction.

“Fine.”

She’s so predictable sometimes.

Jecka laughs, pulling Nicole’s face closer.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m just fucking with you.”

“No, I want to” Nicole looks away, she seems so vulnerable—almost cute.

Jecka pulls Nicole down on the bed, pulling her panties away. Nicole's breath hitches; she hides her face behind her arm. Jecka moves fast, suddenly eager to have that sociopath trembling at her touch.

Her tongue meets Nicole's clit, and Nicole instantly whimpers like a fucking puppy. Jecka pauses her movement for a second, a small laugh escaping her lips. Then she starts working her folds again, taking, tracing every inch with her tongue.
Nicole keeps whimpering, moaning desperately like a needy bitch. It's kinda pathetic how hard she tries to act tough, but folds like a fucking virgin.

Jecka continues moving her tongue while slowly slipping one finger in; Nicole's so fucking wet she's literally dripping down Jecka's chin.

"Fuc—" Nicole almost whimpers but stops herself.

Jecka goes faster, keeping a steady rhythm. Nicole's legs tremble around her.

She adds another finger, relentless, hitting that exact spot again and again. Nicole’s body shakes violently—god, she looks so fucking hot like this.

Then—

Nicole jerks, thighs clamping around Jecka’s head as her back arches. Jecka’s breath stutters at the sudden warmth, a slick, surprising release leaves her frozen for a moment.

"Did you just..?"

Silence.

Nicole’s a fucking squirter.

Jecka wipes her face and collapses next to her.

"That was so hot, bitch."

Nicole’s still hiding behind her arm, clearly embarrassed.

"Don’t ever mention that to anyone," she snaps, voice sharp but shaky.

Then—unexpectedly—she pulls Jecka into a hug, burying her face in her chest.
It’s the first time she’s touched her like this—in a non sexual manner.

Jecka smirks, fingers threading through Nicole’s hair. "Of course not, freak."

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Jecka left early Sunday morning. She needed time for Kelly, and spending so much time with someone drains her energy—especially with someone as cold as Nicole.

Jecka’s never been the type to sleep over at other people’s places, usually only when she’s too drunk to even remember what she’s doing. But being at Nicole’s feels weirdly normal, like they’ve known each other their whole lives, grew up together, as if Nicole’s home is her second home.

"Jecka! You got some boyfriend keeping you out all weekend?" Her father's voice barrels up the stairs, all false cheer and mockery.

God, can't even breathe without his fucking interrogation.

She rolls onto her stomach, muffling her voice in the pillow. "Mom, make him shut up!"

Her mother's reply comes softer, but no less intrusive. "Honey, if there is someone... we should talk about being safe—"

"Jesus Christ!" Jecka's head snaps up. "No! There's no one! And I'd rather choke than have the talk with you!"

The floorboards creak under heavy footsteps. "Keep that gutter mouth of yours open," her father growls, "and I'll sew it shut myself."

Jecka launches off the bed, door slamming hard enough to rattle the frame. She collapses back onto the mattress, fingers fumbling for her headphones. The music blasts instantly—loud enough to drown the screams hallowing through the walls.

Her fingers dart across the buttons of her phone—click, click, click—white nails clinging like tiny knives against the buttons.

'Come in an hour. Bring alc. Parents being insufferable. Need something that fucking burns.'

The reply comes instantly.
'Yes, sir.'

Chapter Text

Twenty minutes later, Kelly kicks open Jecka’s bedroom door, two bottles of vodka clutched in one hand like trophies. Her grin—too wide, too bright—the kind that says she’s already three steps ahead of whatever disaster tonight’s gonna be.

They take five shots back-to-back—like the vodka’s gonna run away if they don’t kill it fast.

Now they’re sprawled on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Jecka drags on her cigarette, the silence sticky and warm. The liquor buzz hums under her skin, her vision tilting just enough to make the ceiling fan look funny. She can’t stop grinning.

“Missed gettin’ drunk with you,” Kelly slurs, words tangling in her teeth.

“Me too, bitch.” Jecka’s laugh comes out with a half-hiccup.

“Wanna… prank call Jeffrey?”

Jecka raises an eyebrow. “You have his number?”

“Sadly…”

“Fuck it. Let’s mess with him.”

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

"Yeah, Jeffrey~" Kelly's voice drips fake sweetness, like syrup laced with bleach. "We reeeeally want you to jerk off for us—"

A pause. "R-really?" His breath hitches, hopeful and dumb.

"Totally," Jecka snorts, muffling laughter into her palm.

"You're filming this, right?" she hisses at Kelly.

A sharp nod. Kelly's phone gleams in the dark, recording every pathetic gasp.

"Come on, say you love dick for Mommy~"
Jecka slurs, kicking Kelly's shin to keep from cackling.

"I—I love dick—"

They lose it. Jecka's whole body shatters, laughter tearing through her like a seizure. Her stomach burns—like she's been punched, like she might puke, but it's worth it.

Then a click. Dead air.

"Oh shit, he hung up," Kelly wheezes, swiping tears as she stops the recording.

"God, his voice—"

"Sounded like a dying raccoon," Jecka finishes, collapsing backward. The ceiling spins. She doesn't care.

"Send me the video ASAP, I wanna show it to someone," Jecka’s still trying to catch her breath from laughing.

"To who?" Kelly asks, raising a brow.

One thing about Kelly—she's always in your business. She wants to know everything and anything, she will ask Jecka a thousand questions until she's satisfied. And when Jecka hides something? That pisses her off. But Jecka tells Kelly everything—well, almost everything…

Kelly sends the video, and Jecka immediately clicks on the buttons over to Nicole’s contact, sharing it with the caption ‘wee messeddd withtf youir best frieand jeffrey ;)’

Nicole reads it not even a minute later, but she doesn’t respond.

What’s with her?

Jecka hates being ignored, it bruises her ego—her pride. Being ignored is for fucking girls like Karen. Who the fuck would ignore a 10/10 with a high libido? She’s never been ignored by boys.

She texts again.

‘whyyyf tf are u ignoringhd me?’

The alcohol makes it so much harder to text, her fingers hovering over the buttons like a piano—and she doesn’t even know how to fucking play.

Nicole reads it again. Still no goddamn answer.

Kelly’s in the background, mumbling to herself, probably sexting some trashy guy on her phone.

‘literally fuckkg u£!! bitchh’
‘You’re never goinf to fucke me again!! everrrr!’

Nicole reads it. A pause. She’s typing.

‘I’m busy’

So fucking flat. So fucking cold.

Fuck her. I hate this bitch.

‘fck liar loljl go kys’

Nicole reads it. Jecka’s heart is weirdly hammering against her chest, like it’s trying to escape through her ribs.

‘n!o dontt kys butd fuck iuuhh!!!!!’

She double-texts, she doesn’t fucking care if she looks like a clingy bitch.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

They’ve emptied one vodka bottle, the second already cracked open. Nicole still hasn’t answered, and Jecka’s head is spinning like a fucking wheel. She can’t even feel her limbs anymore, her vision tilting and narrowing like she’s looking through a broken lens. Left and right blur together—let alone up and down.

And tomorrow is school again.

Kelly’s already passed out next to her, snoring loud as fuck, the sound drilling into Jecka’s skull, keeping her awake.

Jecka squints at her phone, the screen too bright, the unread messages glaring back at her like a slap to the face. Nicole read them. all of them. And still nothing.

She taps out another message. Then deletes it. Then deletes another.

Fuck this. She’s not gonna sit here and be ignored like some desperate loser.

She groans, rolling onto her back, gripping the phone like it’s done something to her personally. Her fingers hover over the call button. Just one ring. Just to see.

She presses it.

It doesn’t even ring once before going to voicemail.

Jecka stares at the screen, jaw tightening.

What the fuck?

Her chest feels weird—tight, like something’s pressing against her ribs. It’s definitely the alcohol. That’s why she suddenly feels like throwing something. Why she suddenly feels like crying.

Kelly shifts beside her, mumbling nonsense in her sleep. Jecka glares at her. Must be nice to sleep like a fucking baby.

She drops the phone onto her chest and exhales sharply. The room won’t stop moving. The air feels too thick. And Nicole—that bitch—still hasn’t answered.

Jecka stares at the unread messages until her eyes start to blur. Her fingers are too tired to type anything else, her brain too foggy to think. Eventually, the weight of the alcohol pulls her under, and the last thing she sees before passing out is the screen dimming, Nicole’s name still sitting at the top.

Still no response.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Jecka doesn’t even bother checking for a reply on Monday—she’s kind of embarrassed and refuses to act like a needy whore. It’s just… alcohol always makes her clingy, especially toward people who make her feel unwanted. And fuck that, of course, Jecka wants everyone to want her. She’s hot as fuck and thrives on attention.

She woke up with the worst headache ever, her mouth was so dry it felt like someone had stuffed it with a rag and wrung out every last drop of wetness. Kelly was already awake, glued to her phone like a leech.

Now they’re back at school, standing by their lockers. The hallway is filled with the clang of metal doors slamming shut, laughter, and the sharp clack of shoes against concrete, like horses stomping through the halls. Kelly’s still lost in her phone while Jecka scans the crowd looking for a certain suicidal bitch.

Then—

Blonde hair, neon streaks. Emily's straight up running toward her.

What the hell does this crazy bitch want now?

"Jecka! I've been looking everywhere for you~ we HAVE to talk," she drags each word out unnecessarily.

Jecka rolls her eyes and crosses her arms.

"You already told me about your fucking drug dealer boyfriend, Emily..."

Emily steps closer, her gaze locking with Jecka's. This feels way too serious. Kelly's finally paying attention again.

"Wait, what's with your boyfriend?" Kelly chimes in.

"Right! Kelly, I'll tell you later~" A huge smile spreads across Emily’s face, almost swallowing it whole. "But I'm gonna steal Jecka for a minute."

Before Jecka can protest or Kelly can yank her back, Emily’s already pulling her into the nearest janitor’s closet.

"What the fuck, Emily?" Jecka snaps.

"You've been getting closer to Nicole, right?" Her voice is sharp—way too serious for her usual vibe. Jecka’s never heard her sound this serious before. What the hell?

Jecka's heart drops, her face falling.

What did Nicole tell her?

"I just saw you sending her a video or something," Emily answers her thoughts perfectly.

Jecka shifts uncomfortably, trying to figure out a way to escape this awkward situation. But she feels trapped in this cramped space. Emily’s standing in front of the door, practically blocking it. The blonde sighs, trying to come up with some half-assed explanation.

"Yeah, we got close at the concert, I guess?" she says, trying to sound indifferent.

Emily steps closer, invading Jecka's personal space. Jecka can literally feel her smoke-filled breath against her face.

"I like you, Jecka," Emily says, her voice soft. "Just... be fucking careful..." She trails off, her gaze wavering.

What does she mean? Another drug paranoia?

"Emily, what the fuck do you mean?"

Emily sighs and steps back, her body shifting—she looks vulnerable?

"Me and Nicole met on Tumblr... I was basically a fan too..." Her face falls, stripped of all her usual happiness.

“We got really close, and I... was obsessed with her—like, really fucking obsessed.” She breathes in, sharp, like the words cut her throat on the way out. “I would’ve literally killed for her if she’d told me to...” A pause, heavy enough to choke on.

“She knew I liked her, and she took advantage of that... she basically turned me into her slave. I got into serious shit because of her...” Emily sighs, she sounds exhausting like she just lived through that trauma.

“You see... Nicole doesn’t care about anything but herself. She'll use you, abuse you, and then throw you away once she gets bored.” Her gaze flicks back to Jecka, piercing through her.

“We only stayed friends because she genuinely likes me as a friend. I basically earned her respect with all my desperate attempts to get her to like me...” Her voice drops, cold and clinical. “Nicole’s a fucking sociopath. A Textbook sociopath.”

Jecka blinks, slow, like she’s trying to clear Nicole’s ghost from her vision. “Don’t let her fool you.”

Then, like flipping a switch—

"BUT anyways~ do you need some percs? I have them with me right now." Her voice shifts back to her usual, carefree tone.

Jecka stays still, frozen in time. Emily’s words hit her like a fucking waterfall.

Is Nicole getting bored of me? Is that why she’s ignoring me…? This fucking bitch.

But Jecka just walks past Emily, almost knocking her over. She slams the door shut and straight-up leaves the school grounds.

I need time to clear my head.

Her phone rings and buzzes, but Jecka doesn’t care. Everything is pissing her off. She needs time alone before she fucking snaps. Her mind already feels like a ticking time bomb.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Jecka stumbles through the front door, the weight of everything pressing against her chest. Her head is heavy, her thoughts blurry as she drags herself to her room. She kicks off her shoes and collapses onto her bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing.

She reaches for the bottle of vodka by her nightstand, unscrews the cap with shaky hands. She pours herself a generous amount and takes a deep gulp. The burn of the alcohol is sharp, but it numbs the disgusting feeling in her chest, She takes another sip, then another, and another until the room starts to spin like a fucking carousel and her thoughts blur together in a mess.

Her phone buzzes on the nightstand, but Jecka doesn't care. She’s done for today—maybe tomorrow too—maybe for the week. She closes her eyes, letting the darkness take over for a second, as the alcohol numbs her feelings.

She remembers the times when she let guys use her—guys who took advantage of her vulnerability, and left once they had her. She used to be so fucking naive, craving for attention, feeling like maybe if she gave in and did what they wanted, she’d get their affection in return.

But they never gave her what she wanted—it was never about her. They just used her and throw her away like a fucking trash bag. She wasn’t going back to the same pattern, was she? Now it sure feels like it.

Jecka lets out a bitter laugh as she grabs a cigarette. “What the hell was I even thinking?” she mutters to herself, taking a deep drag.

Nicole’s just using me like a toy.

She thought she’d grown past that shit. But here she fucking is. She had trusted Nicole, but her silence speaks for itself.

Two days pass, and Nicole’s still ghosting her. This bitch is still posting on Tumblr, ignoring her like she never existed. Jecka doesn’t care anymore; the whole situation just reminded her of a hard time—that’s the only reason she was so emotional about it. She doesn’t need that emo bitch; she’s a depressed mess anyway. Like, who even likes to cut themselves with dull razors on purpose?

Jecka’s been more active on Tumblr lately, interacting with people, commenting, and even messaging people. There’s this one guy who keeps hitting on her—he’s kind of cute and totally her type. She agreed to go on a "take me out—then fuck me" date.

‘Getting some D tonight lol!! Been so long. Wish me lucks, sluts!! :D’

She posts.

Not even five minutes later, comments are flooding in.

‘Lucky you!!! Ugh, been so long for me >~<’
‘Yess bitch!! Stay safe!!’
‘Text me when you’re back home <3’

Then another one comes in.

‘Oh what? You’re tired of me now?’

Ni-fucking-cole. This bitch is so unpredictably insane.

And instantly, her notifications are coming in like a fucking storm. Hundreds of Nicole’s little minions follow her, trying to make sense of their relationship. But Jecka's going hard—she won’t be giving in anymore. She’s too fucking pretty for this shit.

‘I don’t know you lol Weirdo’

Nicole's next reply comes quickly.

‘U sure?’

Now they’re playing cat and mouse in public? Nicole really turned Jecka into one of those Tumblr whores.

‘Really fucking sure, bitch.’

It’s silent for a few minutes. Nicole doesn’t respond anymore.

I guess she finally understands that I’m sick of her bullshit.

Then—

Jecka gets fucking tagged in a post. She clicks on it at the speed of lightning.

It’s a fucking picture of them…

Nicole’s lying on her bed, a cigarette between her lips, her black lip ring impossible to miss. The frame cuts right past her lips, hiding her face. Jecka’s practically sprawled on top of Nicole, her face buried in her chest while a blanket lazily drapes over her body. Her bare shoulders peek out—giving away the fact that she’s fucking naked under the blanket. Nicole is topless too, but Jecka’s body hides everything.

The caption reads:

‘Bitch said she didn’t know me lol :) @PlayBunnyJecka’

Is she fucking trying to ruin my date? Publicly humiliate me? Is this some kind of manipulation tactic she’s using on me?

Her hands shake as she grabs her phone and instantly calls her.

“Delete the post, Nicole!” she yells into her phone.

Silence.

“Hmm… come over, and I will, bitch.” Jecka can practically hear her smirking—she obviously loves having control over this situation.

“No.”

“Then I’m not deleting anything…” A pause. She’s shifting; Jecka hears a click. “It already has… eight thousand likes.” She’s dragging every word, clicking her tongue.

“You’re literally a fucking demon, Nicole. Jesus Christ. I hate you.” She slams her hand against her face. “I have a fucking date I have to go to!”

“I already fucking know that. Just cancel him. Why do you care about hurting a man’s ego?”

“No, it’s not that! It’s about me, Nicole. Fuck! I wanted to go,” her voice is shaky now.

The line goes silent again.

“Why?” Nicole’s voice is flat, like she can’t grasp the fact that anyone would want to go on a date with a man.

“Because he is nice to me??” Jecka snaps.

“I’m nice to you too!”

“Not really, Nicole.” She holds her breath for exactly three seconds. Inhale. Exhale.
“Nicole, would you care if I never talked to you again?”

“…I don’t know.”

Jecka sighs, defeated.

“See—”

“No—I—I would,” Nicole breathes out.

“Nicole, I will only be staying for ten minutes and then I’ll be going to my fucking date,” she hangs up before Nicole can respond.

Chapter Text

Jecka arrives at Nicole’s place twenty minutes later. She was basically speeding through the streets—not caring about any consequences. Her body is filled with adrenaline, her fingers are slightly trembling. She already texted the guy that she’d probably be coming later.

Jecka’s flip phone kept buzzing every two seconds until she finally turned it off. Nicole’s Tumblr fans were bombing her phone with comments, messages, and even fucking followers. Most of them were asking weird questions about the demon.

‘Are you her gf??? :O I thought Nic didn’t like girls!!’

‘Omg. Hottest couple ever! :3’

‘How is Nicole in bed? >~<‘

‘Why is she with u lol ur just another blonde bimbo hoe!! Emily’s much better xD’

‘Emos always end up dating the basic blonde bitches wtfff :(‘

She will fucking clear up those rumors once the goddamn post is gone.

Jecka practically barks through the door. Nicole’s chilling on the floor, eyes glued to her fucking Sidekick, clearly unbothered. She lazily lifts her gaze, meeting Jecka’s glare. A slow, nasty smile spreads across her face—it looks so fucking evil.

Jecka’s eyes burn. Her brows are practically popping out of her face with the way she’s furrowing them down. Her glare pierces through Nicole like a bullet.

“You’re here.” Nicole’s voice is dripping with amusement.

“Because you fucking forced me!” Jecka snaps.

Nicole’s face falls instantly. She looks like an angry child who just got their favorite toy taken away.

“So what? You don’t like me anymore?” Her voice is full of fake pity, a little too high-pitched, like she actually thinks Jecka is dumb enough to fall for her tricks.

Jecka sighs, trying to calm her nerves. It feels like every cell in her body is on fire, ticking like a time bomb, ready to explode any second.

“I don’t.” Her voice is flat.

Then—something shifts in Nicole’s eyes. They widen for just a second before she blinks it away. It’s like she’s scared that Jecka is outplaying her in her own game.

Jecka steps closer and lets her mini bag drop to the floor. She’s serious this time. She’s sick of this love bombing, this push-and-pull trick Nicole keeps using.

“You ghosted me for four days again.” She closes her eyes. “Now you want me to come running back like a fucking dog.”

Her voice is too calm now, and that’s what fucking scares Nicole. Anger means caring. Once the anger is gone, and all that’s left is numbness—that’s when the person has given up.

“I was busy.”

“Of course… Just delete the post, and I’ll go.”

“No!” Nicole instantly slaps a hand over her lips, embarrassed by how fucking needy she just sounded.

Jecka meets her gaze again, their eyes locked.

“You shouldn’t go out with this guy… he could be a pedophile or a fucking rapist…” Nicole continues.

“Nicole, why?” Jecka’s patience is hanging by a thread. “Is this what everything is about?”

“I don’t know,” Nicole’s voice wavers. “I just don’t want you to go.”

“Why!”

“I don’t know, okay?!” Nicole throws her hands in the air. “I’ll be, like, sa—mad if you go!”

Jecka closes her eyes. The anger is bubbling back up in her stomach, cooking her blood like a fucking boiler.

“Can you not speak between the lines for ONCE?” she snaps, stepping closer. She’s right in front of Nicole now, looking down at her.

“I already said I want you to stay with me today!” Nicole yells back.

“Why the hell would I?!”

“Because I told you to!” Nicole gets to her feet, Jecka’s breath is heavy. Nicole is right in front of her, close enough that she can feel her breath on her lips. Her scent—cigarettes and cheap vanilla lotion—fills her lungs.

She freezes for a moment, scanning Nicole’s face.

Did she get an eyebrow piercing?

No. Focus, Jecka.

“I’m not your fucking dog, Nicole!” Jecka yells back.

Nicole just tilts her head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Then stop acting like one,” she murmurs, voice smooth, taunting.

Jecka’s hands clench into fists. This girl is infuriating. Controlling. Manipulative. She’s the devil in person, a fucking dark haired Hitler.

Nicole steps closer, their toes nearly touching, noses barely centimeters apart—almost brushing. Nicole’s gaze flickers, scanning Jecka’s features before stopping on her lips for a lingering moment, it’s like she’s testing the waters. Then, she shifts even closer, exhaling sharply. Jecka can feel her breath ghosting against her mouth, a shiver runs down her spine. Her lips part instinctively, just for a second.

Nicole’s eyes slowly wander back up, locking onto hers. Her expression drops—like something just shattered inside her.

Without warning, she sinks to her knees, her face inches from Jecka’s core, never breaking eye contact. She tilts her head slightly, brushing it against Jecka’s thigh like a fucking puppy.

"You don’t need him, Jecka. I can give you a much better time…” she purrs.

Is this bitch actually insane?

Jecka exhales slowly, lowering her hand—trailing her fingers over Nicole’s lips, then down to her chin, then her throat. In a sharp motion, she yanks her by her messy hair, forcing her to look up.

Nicole hums, low and pleased. “Hmmh.”

"Go kill yourself, bitch," Jecka snaps, her voice sharp as a blade, slicing through the tension like glass.

And Nicole fucking moans.

“…Don’t stop, I’m almost there," she teases, her voice dripping with amusement as she dramatically rolls her eyes back, feigning bliss.

But Jecka holds her ground, refusing to let Nicole win this weird game they’re playing.

"Delete the post now." her grip tightens in Nicole's hair.

There’s a pause—their eyes remain locked. Nicole’s stare is unrelenting, sharp enough to cut through bone. She’s trying to break through Jecka, but it’s clearly not working.

"Geez. You're no fun..." Nicole forcefully shoves Jecka's hand away and grabs her Sidekick. She fumbles for a second, then she holds up the screen. "See? Deleted! Can we just have hot lesbian sex now?"

Jecka closes her eyes, relief washing over her. She should be at her goddamn date right now. But Nicole steals her time, lives under her skin like a fucking parasite. And Nicole loves it—loves the control—the way she always knows which buttons to fucking press. She probably did drive those people to suicide.

Jesus Christ, Jecka’s too hot for this shit—she’s a tanned, California blonde, for fuck’s sake. Maybe it’s just because the sex is too good? Or maybe she’s weirdly dependent on this emo demon. It’s like those toxic relationships where the guy does whatever he wants, and the girl still crawls back when he sobs, "I’ll kill myself if you leave."

Actually… When she thinks about it, Nicole’s no better than any men.

Jecka collapses to the ground, the tension in her body slowly dissolving as she realizes just how fucking exhausted she is. Nicole’s stressing her out, leeching on her skin like a goddamn vampire. She’s Sucking the life out of her—down to the final drop.

It’s akwardly silent, the weight of everything still lingers in the air.

"I actually kind of… ghosted you because—you know, the thing..." She breaks through the silence, her voice is uncharacteristically soft, filled with uncertainty.

"Oh, What? Because you're a fucking squirter?"

"Oh fuck, don’t say it aloud!"

Jecka snorts—then bursts into laughter. Nicole really ghosted her and pretended Jecka didn’t exist for four whole days because she was embarrassed? God, this bitch must really hate herself.

She’s so fucking stupid, Jesus Christ.

"You're so dramatic!" Jecka cackles. Then, a pause. "And I actually thought you were trying to get rid of me." Her voice drops again.

Nicole blinks, confused, before her gaze sharpens. "Why would I do that?"

"Emily…warned me."

"Jecka, no—you’re, like, really cool." Nicole moves closer, her fingers brushing Jecka’s. "I’d have to be fucking stupid to do that."

And Jecka hates how her traitorous body reacts—how her pulse jumps at the contact, like a live wire snapping to attention. Two seconds ago, she wanted to kill Nicole—to claw her fucking throat out with her teeth. But Now? She feels like a stupid kid again, wide-eyed and swallowing every apology her father ever threw at her.

She cups Nicole’s face, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Okay… but can we just not fuck today? Just...fucking hold me or something."

A pause.

"Yeah."

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Now they're curled together in Nicole's bed, Jecka sprawled on top of her like human armor—face buried deep in Nicole's chest, as if trying to disappear between her ribs. The weight is crushing in the best way, Nicole's fingers unconsciously tracing patterns between Jecka's shoulder blades. It's too quiet. Too still. The kind of closeness that feels dangerous when it's them—not heat and teeth, just this: Jecka's steady breath warming Nicole's skin, Nicole's heartbeat loud beneath her ear.

"Nicole... I think we should stop hooking up." Jecka's voice cuts through the quiet, her words muffled against Nicole's chest. "We're weirdly attached to each other."

Nicole says nothing—just keeps tracing those slow circles between Jecka's shoulder blades, fingers unwavering.

"Let’s just be normal friends who don’t fuck each other’s brains out," Jecka tries again, hating how small she sounds.

"Hmm... no."

So fucking demanding.

"Well, you’re not getting to fuck me anymore."

A loud sigh gusts above her. "Why? You miss getting dicked down? I can buy a strap if you’re that desperate."

"No—ew! Of course not, bitch." Jecka lifts her head, scowling. "Like I said, this is stressing me out. I can’t fuck someone who gives me bad energy."

Nicole's hand stills. "Now I’m giving off bad energy?" Her laugh is sharp as a razor. "Wow, Jecka. Just say you hate me."

There it is. The victim act—always so convenient.

Jecka closes her eyes, exhaling through her nose. "If you don’t change, you’re not getting me, bitch. That’s final."

“Fine." The word lands like a slammed door. Nicole rolls onto her side, putting cold inches between them. "Friends or whatever."

Jecka hums, the sound vibrating through Nicole's back where they still barely touch. Neither moves again.

Sleep comes heavy and unsatisfying—the kind where they'll both wake up still tired, Nicole's sheets are still tangled between them like a ceasefire.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

And surprisingly, they actually stick to it—Jecka keeps her word.

She spends even more time with Nicole than she did before, but whatever was happening between them physically is completely over. Nicole made another post, finally shutting down those god damn rumours.

‘LOL we are not fucking dating, stop fucking asking. You all are being weird. I’m not gay, neither is Jecka, we’re just close friends -.- I was fucking with her on purpose. Every comment asking about dating will be blocked!!! God forbid girls be close to each other lol >~<‘

And as always, her fans eat this shit up.

Luckily for Jecka, no one at her school is really on Tumblr, so the post goes unnoticed—except by Emily and Kelly of course. Kelly immediately grills her with questions like a God damn paparazzi. This time, Jecka couldn’t brush it off so easily, so she finally gave in and admits half the truth…

"Yeah, we kind of hooked up? We were really out of it after the MSI concert a few weeks ago..."

Kelly’s jaw drops so hard she looks like a fucking Scream mask.

"You fucking hooked up?!" she practically yells.

Jecka slaps a hand over her mouth. "Jesus, shut the fuck up! Don’t make it a big deal!"

But, Kelly made it a big deal—it was the only thing she talked about for a whole fucking week. Anytime Jecka didn’t text back within twenty minutes, she’d get a message like, ‘Ohh, you fucking that emo bitch rn?’

It was so fucking annoying.

Nicole and Jecka also started posting on Tumblr together, and Jecka grew quite a following. For some reason, the internet loved the emo x preppy friend trope.

Jecka and the guy are still in touch and meet up occasionally. He’s sweet—really sweet. The first guy Jecka actually thinks might not be a rapist.

Nicole doesn’t like it. She always makes comments about him, rolling her eyes, calling him boring or sketchy just to get under Jecka’s skin. But Jecka just brushes her off. She’s not letting that demon stress her out again.

“Why are you fucking texting him when you’re with me?” Nicole snaps, irritation lacing her voice.

“Why not, bitch?” Jecka shoots back, her tone nonchalant.

Nicole yanks her phone away and holds it up, out of Jecka’s reach. “Give it back, slut!” Jecka yells, lurching for it. Nicole hides the phone behind her back, fingers locked like a fucking vice.

“No,” she replies flatly.

Jecka shifts and moves closer, now sitting in front of Nicole, their eyes locking. Then, in a sudden motion, Jecka reaches behind Nicole’s back, trying to grab her phone, their bodies pressing together in the struggle. Jecka hates how her body instantly reacts to the sudden contact—goosebumps spreading like a fucking wildfire.

After five minutes of fighting for the phone, Jecka gives up. She’s too close—too close. Their noses are almost touching. Their gazes are locked, intense, like a junkie eyeing the needle. The tension is
heavy, cutting through every inch of her body. Nicole’s eyes dart down to Jecka’s lips before she moves even closer.

Nicole smirks, her grip on the phone tightening. She doesn’t even have to try—she knows exactly what she’s doing.

Jecka should shove her away. Snatch her phone back and call her a Bitch. But she doesn’t.

She’s too focused on how close they are, how she can feel the heat radiating off Nicole’s body. The way Nicole’s lips ghost against hers like a dare.

"You sure you wanna stop…" Nicole murmurs, her breath warm against Jecka’s lips. "Hooking up?"

Jecka’s heart slams against her ribs. Her whole body is betraying her.

Her fingers twitch like they want to grab onto something. Her knees press tighter against Nicole’s, and fuck—Nicole notices. Of course she does.

Nicole’s lips barely brush hers, a breath away from crossing the line. Jecka swallows, forcing herself to breathe.

She should move. Say something. Laugh it off. But she just sits there, waiting. Waiting for Nicole to make the choice for her. Jecka’s eyes follow Nicole’s lips, and her body betrays everything she stands for.

Fuck.

Jecka crashes their lips together in a heated kiss—teeth clashing, everything frantic and messy. Nicole wraps her arms around Jecka’s back, holding her so tightly like she might die if she doesn’t. Every single promise Jecka made slips away like fucking water through her fingers.

Nicole isn’t wasting a second—her hands are all over Jecka’s body like she’s been starving for it. Jecka’s perched on her lap, grinding down hard, chasing every bit of friction. Nicole’s face is buried under her shirt, lips locked around Jecka’s nipple, sucking like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. Jecka’s a writhing, moaning mess—like they’ve been apart for years and just now remembered how good this fucking feels.

Nicole doesn’t waste time. Her fingers hook into the waistband of Jecka’s pants, yanking them down just enough before sliding in deep—knuckles pressing up against her in a way that makes Jecka’s stomach bulge. Jecka gasps, slapping a hand over Nicole’s wrist, not to stop her but to feel it, nails biting in like she can’t decide whether to push or pull.

The angle is awkward, Nicole’s wrist bent uncomfortable, but neither of them cares. Nicole’s other hand grips Jecka’s hip, dragging her closer with every rough, impatient movement. Her mouth is hot on Jecka’s neck, teeth scraping skin between ragged breaths, and Jecka arches into it, chasing the friction like she’s already halfway gone.

The bed creaks under them, the sound swallowed by the slick slap of skin, by the way Jecka’s breath hitches every time Nicole curls her fingers just right. She’s close—so close—and Nicole knows it, grinning against her throat as she fucks her faster, harder, until Jecka’s thighs tremble and the room blurs at the edges.

Jecka rides her fingers like her life depends on it—because right now, it fucking does. Every snap of her hips is electric, frantic, lightning cracking through her veins with nowhere else to go. Nicole’s grip on her hips is iron-tight, holding her steady just to watch her unravel, but Jecka’s beyond control, Nicole’s the one in fucking charge.

The bedframe rattles. Jecka’s nails rake down Nicole’s back, scratching her up like a fucking tiger. She’s fucking herself onto Nicole’s hand like she’ll die if she stops.

Nicole’s laugh is dark, breathless. “Jesus, Jecka—” but the rest gets swallowed by a moan as Jecka grinds down harder, faster, her whole body coiled tight as a live wire.

Then—

Jecka snaps, collapsing against Nicole’s body like a fucking corpse. Her forehead thunks into Nicole’s shoulder, her whole frame trembling through the aftershocks.
Nicole’s grip tightens, holding her up as she laughs, low and smug.

"Damn, that fast?"

Jecka’s groan is muffled against Nicole’s skin. "Shut uhmp—"

Nicole’s grin is wide enough to split her face.

"Missed me, huh?"

She doesn’t even try to hide the satisfaction in her voice, fingertips tracing idle circles over Jecka’s hip like she’s savoring the victory.

Chapter Text

"This was, like, the last time."

"Sure," Nicole says, voice dripping with amusement—like she knows Jecka can’t keep her word for shit.

They’re sprawled across Nicole’s bed, tangled in her black emo sheets, the glow of MythBusters flickering quietly from the TV in the corner. Nicole peels herself up, yanking her shirt off in one smooth motion. The scratch marks across her tattooed back catch the dim light, the ink twisting like scars from some divine brawl.

"Take a picture of my back," she says, flopping facedown onto the mattress. "I’m gonna post that shit—looks so edgy, people will love it."

Jecka groans but grabs Nicole’s Sidekick anyway, half-draped over her like a possessive blanket. She angles the shitty camera, trying to frame the devil wings tattoo splayed across Nicole’s shoulder blades down to her hips—it actually look like she went twelve rounds with Archangel Michael and walked away grinning.

"God, you’re such a tryhard," Jecka mutters, but she snaps the pic anyway.

Jecka stays slumped over Nicole’s back, finger lazily tracing circles between her shoulder blades.

“Guess what I’m writing.”

Nicole hums, cheek smushed against the mattress.

Jecka drags her fingertip in slow, deliberate letters: B-I-T-C-H.

“Bitch?” Nicole guesses, voice flat.

Ugh.

“Hmm,” Jecka grumbles, trying again.

“Jecka is a hot bitch?”

“This is no fucking fun,” Jecka snaps, whacking Nicole’s back hard enough to leave a pink sting. Of course she’s a goddamn pro at this.

Nicole just laughs into the sheets, victorious.

"Kelly’s throwing a party today… I’m going with Tyler." A pause. "You should come too."

Nicole’s face stays buried in the bedsheet, her voice muffled. "With who now?"

"The guy I’ve been seeing, bitch."

Jecka feels it—the way Nicole’s body locks up beneath her, muscles going wire-tight.

"So he’s your boyfriend now, or what?" Nicole’s tone is light, but her fingers dig into the mattress like she’s bracing for impact.
Jecka shrugs, the movement jostling them both.

"Nah. But he’s nice. And I want Kelly to stop fucking asking me about you."
A pause. Then Nicole rolls over so fast Jecka nearly tumbles off the bed.

"Hmm. Guess I’m going to Kelly’s then."

"Nice," Jecka deadpans, and flops directly on top of her, smothering Nicole’s dramatic eye-roll with her shoulder.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

The bass from Kelly’s shitty speakers rattles through the windows, some underground artist Kelly recently got into is terrorising the whole place. The beat is stiff, there are too many ad-libs, the vocals are too quiet, and there are way too many unnecessary beep sounds. Kelly had sworn, "He is the shit!" but it literally sounds like if Pitbull suddenly grew hair and fucking sang with his ears duct-taped to his head. So, yeah, it's fucking ass.

Jecka walked in with Tyler—hand in hand, because of course they did. Tyler’s the kind of guy who wears a cross necklace unironically and says “gosh” when he’s surprised.

Jecka doesn’t hate it. It’s cute when he does it. Him being Christian made Jecka trust him even more for some reason. Even though she used to think all Christians were pedophiles… But he makes her feel weirdly safe and treats her like the queen she is. Jecka also fucking loves how he takes care of her—treating her like a child who still needs parenting. And she loves it. Dammit, those daddy issues!

Nicole arrives twenty minutes later, already scowling, already fucking buzzed. She shoulders past Crispin which causes him to spill Alcohol on his ugly band T-Shirt, she rushes in to find Jecka immediately.

Jecka’s perched in the arms of Tyler on the couch laughing at something stupid he said.

Nicole had forgotten that Jecka planned showing up to Kelly’s with her fucking boy-toy. Her mood drops instantly when she sees who Jecka is curled up with. Her day had already gone downhill after Jecka left, with her mother coming back from fucking her way through town, and, of course, the first thing she did was piss her off—yell at her. Nicole had been so relieved to have an excuse to get blackout drunk, but now…

Her boy-toy looks really put together—blonde hair, gelled, polo shirt, a big fucking watch around his wrist, Levi’s shorts, and a fucking cross necklace dangling around his neck. He’s literally the opposite of Nicole. They look like a fucking dream couple, and Nicole hates it.

“Oh, wow,” Nicole drawls, materializing behind them like a vengeful ghost. “You two look like a fucking Disney Channel couple.”

They both look back, trying to find the voice that interrupted their moment. Jecka meets Nicole’s fiery gaze.

What’s with her again? Fuck.

Jecka feels her body tense up—an angry Nicole never means anything good. She’s scared now, but she won’t let Nicole ruin shit like always.

Tyler’s blissfully unaware, and beams. “You must be Nicole, right? He’s standing up extending his hand. “Jecka’s told me so much about y—”

“Yeah, bet she has.” Nicole’s smile is sharp enough to draw blood.

She steps closer, leans down, plucks the red Solo cup from Jecka’s hand, and takes a pointed sip—never breaking eye contact.

“So, Tyler. You, like, pray after you fuck her? Apologising to God and all?”

Tyler shifts uncomfortably. “What’s your problem? Don’t talk about sex in such a disgusting manner.”

“Cute,” Nicole mocks.

Jecka kicks her shin. “Dude.”

Nicole ignores her, straightening up.

“Hey, Tyler, you ever seen MythBusters? ‘Cause I’ve got a theory—”

But Jecka gets to her feet, cutting her right off. “We’re getting drinks.” She forcefully drags Nicole away by the elbow, hissing, “The fuck is your problem?”

Nicole fumbles and tries pushing Jecka’s hand off, but her grip is too strong. Her voice is filled with venom.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

She wrenches free. “My problem? You brought Youth Group Ken here to piss me off.” She continues.

“I brought him because he’s nice. The world dosen’t resolve around you, Nicole.”

“Oh, nice,” Nicole mimics, her voice dripping with mockery. “He literally looks like he could be your brother. I didn’t fucking know you were from Alabama—”

A crash cuts her off—Kyler knocks over a lamp. The room erupts in cheers. Nicole exhales, running a hand through her hair.

“Whatever.“

She stalks off before Jecka can even reply.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Jecka gets really touchy when she drinks—always laughing a bit too loud, letting her head fall on his shoulder, playing with his fingers, and unnecessarily whispering into his ear.

Nicole keeps watching them, drowning herself in drugs and the burning liquor. Emily’s coming later to pick her up, so she can get as fucked up as she wants.

Jecka already feels the light buzz of the alcohol, but she’s still here—still knows what she’s doing. Kelly had the idea to play a game to “spice” things up. It’s so cliché, but Jecka loves it.

That’s the reason they are now sitting on the hard floor in the living room, forming a fucking circle like a coven around a fire. Jecka’s still all up in his space, a smug grin on his face, while Nicole stands a few feet away, staring holes through Jecka’s back. Her gaze is sharp like a fucking blade, and she’s running through all the ways she can punish Jecka later for pissing her off and not acting the way she wants.

"SOO guys! We are playing the famous Kelly game!!" Kelly's voice bursts with excitement, rolling every word off her tongue like it's the best thing she's ever said. She stands in front of them, holding a red cup, looking like a fucking teacher about to give a lesson.

"It’s called Drink or Drink—honestly, those stupid games where you have to drink as punishment are ridiculous. Like, who doesn’t want to take a shot?" She paces around, acting like she’s explaining the origins of the pyramids.

"So, everyone takes a sip after a question, but the person who did the thing asked has to take two..." She holds up two fingers, grinning wide like she's just announced the greatest rule of all time.

And everyone is fucking cheering—Jecka too, because hell yeah, she’s about to get drunk and dicked down tonight.

“Never have I ever brushed my teeth!” Kelly starts, grinning like a cat who just caught a mouse.

Ugh, this bitch just wants to get drunk.

Jecka rolls her eyes but can’t help the laugh that escapes her lips. She takes two sips, the burn of the alcohol settling into her chest.

“Never have I ever drunk driven,” Megan continues, her voice slightly tipsy but calculated.

Everybody except Kelly takes one sip, she takes two. Of course.

They continue playing, each round a little more reckless, each sip a little more liberating. The alcohol kicks in slowly but surely, turning the room hazy, the laughter a little louder, the conversations more slurred. Jecka feels it too—like she’s floating, detached from everything, but also right where she fucking wants to be. Tonight’s about forgetting, and she’s more than ready to drown whatever’s left of her self-control. And the best part? She dosen’t even think of Nicole once.

Then—

Nicole steps in, slipping effortlessly into the circle, her eyes locking onto Jecka’s like a predator eyeing its prey. She sits in front of her, She’s a chilling presence that immediately sucks the air out of the room. Kelly screams, her excitement bordering on manic. "Nicole’s joining, bitches!!!"

A cold shiver runs down Jecka’s spine, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up like needles on a pine tree. It's like she can feel Nicole plotting something. She narrows her eyes, a silent challenge passing between them—don’t you fucking dare. But Nicole just smiles, that disgusting, evil smile stretching across her face, twisting her features into something almost demonic. She looks like the devil’s spawn.

“Never have I ever…” Nicole starts, her voice smooth and almost mocking, her gaze never leaving Jecka’s.

Jecka feels the weight of her stare like a physical force.

“Got high,” Nicole finishes, the words slipping from her mouth like a dare, the challenge hanging thick in the air. It’s deliberate. She’s pushing Jecka, testing her—edging her on. Jecka’s heart thunders in her chest, a rush of adrenaline flooding her veins. She barely catches her breath before it’s too late, but Nicole’s smile never wavers.

It’s fucking terrifying how much control she has over everyone in the room. The way she can bend the atmosphere with just a look. And Jecka, for the first time tonight, isn’t sure if she wants to keep playing.

Nicole's keeping it lowkey, but it feels like she's a ticking time bomb, about to explode any second—and no one knows how to stop her.

“Never have I ever fucked a friend,” Nicole says, her eyes never leaving Jecka. She’s playing the game, but she’s edging it.

Everyone takes two sips, but it feels like they’re all just waiting for the next move.

“Never have I ever…” Her gaze flicks to Jecka’s boy-toy, the smirk on her face sharpening. “…fucked Jecka.”

And She chugs her whole fucking drink in one go, loosens her grip, and the cup slips right out of her fingers—dropping on the floor like a fucking basketball after a missed dunk, the sound of it smashing against the wood echoing like Jecka’s heart. The glass splinters across the floor, and Jecka swears it’s the sound of her heart breaking.

Silence.

Everybody’s fucking staring at Jecka.

Nicole, you are the devil.

“…She’s lying,” Jecka’s voice shakes, the words slipping out before she can stop them. She looks at Tyler, and he’s staring back—he’s fucking confused.

“When was this?” he asks Nicole, completely ignoring Jecka’s frantic attempt to get him to stand up so they can just fucking leave.

“Oh, like, today? She gets needy,” Nicole shrugs, her voice dripping with mockery.

And for the second time, everyone’s jaws drops.

In one swift motion, Jecka’s on her feet,
the bass still pounds through the walls as Jecka’s hand cracks across Nicole’s face—a single, sharp snap that cuts through the music. Nicole’s head jerks to the side, her cheek already flushing red. The room seems to freeze for half a second—even the drunkest person stop mid-slur to stare.
Nicole doesn’t move at first. Then, slowly, she turns back, tongue testing the inside of her stinging cheek. A smirk twitches at the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah," she says, voice low. "That’s more like it."

Tyler’s halfway on his feet, horrified. "Jecka—what the—"

But Jecka’s already grabbing her jacket, shoving past the gawking crowd. Nicole watches her go, still grinning, still tasting blood.

"She’ll be back," Nicole mumbles to herself, like it’s a promise.

Chapter Text

Kelly somehow convinces everyone that Nicole was just talking shit, looking for her next victim to tear down. No one in the room questions it—except Tyler. He’s still doubting, still thinking.

For two days it’s silent.

On day two, Nicole texts her like nothing ever happened. Of course.

‘Can u come over?’

Jecka reads it but doesn’t reply.

‘??’

‘Bitch’

‘U still mad about Friday?’

‘They probably think I was joking anyways who cares?’

‘Just come pls’

Jecka stares at the screen. Nicole—always sets everything on fire and then acts like nothing happened. Like it was all just some inside joke only she’s in on.

She doesn’t reply.

A minute later, another message pops up.

‘Ur so dramatic lol’

Jecka exhales sharply through her nose. Dramatic. Of course. That’s what Nicole does—pushes, pushes, pushes until Jecka breaks, then calls her crazy for reacting. It’s fucking exhausting.

An hour later, Nicole starts spamming her.

‘Jecka’

‘Stop sulking’

‘I need you’

Jecka hates how the last message makes her heart jump.

Then—ping. She’s tagged in the comments of a post. It’s from some dumb edgy quote account.

‘I hate everyone but you.’

Another one.

‘You’re the human version of a perfect late-night playlist.’

And then—

‘You’re my favorite distraction.’

Jecka just stares at her phone, fingers hovering over the buttons. This bitch destroys, then romanticizes the fucking mess.

Nicole posts a picture.

A fucking picture of Jecka with the caption:

‘She’s wearing my clothes’

Jecka clenches her jaw. She knows exactly what Nicole is doing—turning this into some poetic little game, making Jecka feel like she’s the one who’s supposed to come running. Like she’s the one who fucked up.

Her fingers twitch. She wants to ignore it. She should ignore it.

But her fingers are already betraying her.

‘You are annoying’ She comments.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Then radio silence for another two days.

Nicole keeps talking to herself in her messages, Jecka read all but didn’t respond once.

‘you r overreacting’

‘what do u want me to do lol it happend i can’t change it now’

‘ending our intenseee friendship over that is stupid ;)’

‘I talked to kelly and told her she should tell the others i lied n they thought i did anyways!!’

‘Is it because of ur boy toy lol??’

‘he is just a boy who cares or r u turning into boy crazy kelly?’

‘told u she isn’t a good influence’

‘u r so weird’

‘cant we just fuck it out lollllll‘

‘we could have awsome make up sex’

‘im gonna cut myself if you dont answer’

‘just kidding ;)’

Jecka stares at that message a little too long.

It’s not like Nicole hasn’t joked about that shit before. But still.

Her thumb hovers over the keyboard. She’s not gonna give Nicole what she wants. Not yet. But the longer she ignores her, the more Nicole spirals, and Jecka knows it.

Another message pops up.

‘u dont care about me at all huh’

Then the last message from today.

‘fine be a cold bitch’

Jecka locks her phone and throws it onto her bed. She can feel it vibrating, but she doesn’t look.

She won’t. She fucking can’t.

Not until she figures out what the fuck she’s supposed to do with a devil like Nicole.

She needs someone to fucking talk to—someone who actually understands how this devil’s brain works.

A therapist, would be the best option? Someone specialized in sociopaths. But that’s a privilege she doesn’t fucking have.

So she does the next best thing—she calls the only other fucked-up person who knows just how devilish this bitch gets.

Her phone rings for the fifth time. She's about to hang up when—

"Who's calliiing~? I'm doing crack right now!"

Jecka freezes.

She's doing what now?

"It's me, Emily—"

"OHHH Jecka!" Emily's voice pitches up, dragging out each syllable like she's singing. "I'm kidding! Thought you were that creep I gave my number to last week." There's a loud crunch in the background—probably her eating chips
directly into the receiver.

"What's uuuup?"

"I—it’s about Nicole…"

Jecka’s voice cracks—halfway between a plea and a warning. The admission tastes like bile. She hates this—hates needing advice, hates being this transparent. Kelly’s the only one who gets to see her unravel, but Kelly won’t understand thus Nicole bullshit. Emily, though? Emily might actually give her the final push to cut Nicole’s toxic ass loose for good.

Silence stretches. Then—

Emily exhales, long and dramatic, like she’s about to drop the world’s shittiest wisdom bomb.

"Just fuck it out."

Jecka’s pulse spikes. Her grip tightens around the phone.

How the fuck does Emily even know they’ve been physical?

"Be serious for once, bitch!" Jecka snaps. Why did she think Emily—the human equivalent of a shrug emoji—would take this seriously?

Emily’s smirk is practically audible through the line. "But y’all are fucking, aren’t you?" A pause. "Nicole’s been pissed at everything lately. She’s been cursing your name like you fucked her mom or something"

"No, Emily—Jesus Christ! We’re not fucking."

Jecka sighs, pressing her palm hard against her eyes like she can physically shove the thoughts away. Her heart hammers against her ribs—like some steroid-pumped gym freak on a deadlift PR. "How the fuck do I cut her off for good?"

"You can't."

Jesus Christ, what fucking movie did she walk out of? Emily's talking like Nicole's some Zodiac killer who sends coded threats before slitting wrists.

"Bitch, don't piss me off right now—"

Jecka's teeth click shut. Why the fuck did she even call this burnt-out schizo? Should've just chugged vodka until Nicole's face blurred out and leaves her thoughts like a fucking dead beat father buying milk.

"Listen." Emily's suddenly alert, like she's explaining fire safety to a toddler. "Nicole's ego works two ways: either she dumps you first, or she terror-fucks your life until you’re the one wanting her back. And if she's pity enough?" A cigarette crackles. "She'll fuck you over and leave."

Jecka's flip phone creaks in her death-grip.

"That's why I'm her only friend, Bitch. She fucked over, like, twenty friendships.”

The blonde feels frustration boiling under her skin. She called for advice, not Emily's fucking psychoanalysis of the devil herself—like she doesn't already know this shit by heart.

"Just tell me what to fucking do, bitch!" Jecka's patience shatters.

"Keep ignoring her," Emily groans, "but she'll find a way to get your attention. She's, like, clinically fucking insane..." There's fumbling sounds, plastic clicking.

"Gotta go now—but text me for a threesome!" The line dies.

Great. That conversation helped exactly fucking zero. Her fault for thinking Emily might actually be useful—one decent piece of advice weeks ago clearly didn't make her Ms. know it all.

She misses the before-times. Pre-Nicole. When weekends meant blackout drinking with Kelly, kissing whoever she wanted, fucking strangers in bathroom stalls without some emo devil breathing down her neck.

Now she's trapped in this fucked-up orbit, weirdly co-depended to the bitch. Being one of the few people Nicole genuinely likes is fucking draining.

Kyler's been ghosting her since the party. It even feels like Kelly's distancing herself.

Maybe God sent Nicole as karma for all the times Jecka has fucked over these past few years. Whoever said the devil disguises himself as something beautiful... Jecka stares at Nicole's tumblr profile—was fucking right.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Jecka can’t sleep. She stares holes through the ceiling, her body stiff against the mattress. Another night of no sleep. Another week of skipped classes.

Her dad had interrogated her for twenty minutes when she tried the "free week" excuse. She could see it in his face—he knew she was lying. Knew she was wasting her life being a lazy Bitch.

And she was. But that wasn't the point.
A cold draft slips through the window frame despite it being closed. Outside, an owl cries into the darkness while wind rattles the trees. Her window’s shut tight, but the silence in her room makes every sound from outside feel ten times louder.

Nicole won't leave her thoughts. It's like an infection spreading through her fucking mind. She has taken over her thoughts like a brain tumor. Jecka’s stressed—torn between fearing what Nicole might do to get her attention—or—the part that terrifies her—the hope Nicole won't give up.

And why does Jecka even want that? It’s so fucked up. So toxic.

It’s like Nicole’s Nosferatu, and she’s fucking Ellen Hutter.

Nicole’s definitely an evil gay vampire who gives amazing head.

Her phone buzzes violently against the mattress. Jecka groans, digging through tangled blankets until her fingers close around the device.

‘Open your window’

Jecka's thumbs hover over the keyboard.

What the fuck does she want now?

She tosses the phone aside. It buzzes again.

‘I will smash your window if you dont’

A cold shiver runs down Jecka's spine. Don't tell me she's actually—She starts violently stabbing her nails against the keyboard.

‘My parents are fck sleeping go away’

‘so you actually want a broken window or what?’

With a frustrated growl, Jecka chucks her phone across the room. It hits the wall with a satisfying thud, but the irritation lingers, crawling under her skin. Unwillingly, she drags herself to the window.

Nicole’s there—standing in the moonlight, the light bleeds across Nicole's pale skin, giving her an eerie, almost translucent glow. The sharp angles of her face look carved from marble in the blue-white light—hollowed cheeks, high cheekbones, pronounced collarbones, that predatory stillness. For a chilling second, Jecka swears she can see the pulse fluttering beneath Nicole's jawline.

Jesus Christ, she actually looks like a fucking vampire tonight.

A oversized graphic tee is hanging off her bony frame, dark low-rise jeans barely clinging to her hips. Her ponytail sits higher tonight, exposing much more of her face.

Fuck.

Jecka's been binging Skins all week to drown out the noise in her head, but now—now Nicole looks like the vampire version of Effy Stonem. Same reckless smirk. Same I'll-burn-us-both-down energy.

They're basically the same fucking person.

A heavy silence lingers in the air. The rustling of leaves and the whisper of wind echo through the darkness, creating a haunting atmosphere—as if nature itself is warning Jecka not to make a mistake. A shiver runs down her spine as a cold breeze creeps up the windowsill, leaving goosebumps scattered across her skin like raindrops on glass.

"Let me in, bitch." Nicole's voice cuts through the silence, sharp as blade.

Jecka exhales through her nose. Of course. She steps back from the window, already defeated. Nicole never gives up—and Jecka always has to give in.

Lucky for her, Jecka’s bitter.

I never took down that fucking ladder away after the last time I snuck out.

Jecka hears the clicking of metal—each step louder than the last. Clink. Clink. The sound syncs with the voice in her head screaming, "You're making a mistake."

She hates Nicole. Hates her for every humiliation she put her through. The fucking post. The party. All of it. Maybe Nicole really is a masochist—no, a sadist who gets off on Jecka's suffering.

Jecka keeps her back turned, but she feels Nicole's gaze anyway—those icy blue eyes crawling over her skin like teeth leaving invisible marks.

The floor creaks as Nicole steps closer, moving her arm around Jecka's shoulder, locking her in a vice grip. And she hates how her body relaxes, her muscle loosen, how her head falls into Nicole's neck. Jecka sighs as Nicole's breath hits her skin. She can feel the warmth on her neck, Nicole's lips moving closer to her stretched neck—this actually feels like Jecka's giving herself to a fucking vampire but—there's no biting, Nicole gently wanders over Jecka's skin, her lips brush the column of her throat, featherlight.

No teeth. No blood. Just the slow drag of Nicole's mouth along her pulse point, deliberate as a ritual. Jecka's eyelids flutter shut.

Nicole leaves a small trail of kisses on her pulse, Jecka should push her away but she can't—she fucking can't. Nicole's hypnotizing her like a siren.

"I hate you.." Jecka mutters.

"I know," she breathes against her skin.

Nicole pulls Jecka onto the bed,positioning her into her lap. Jecka's face burrows deep into Nicole's neck.

"I brought ecstasy...wanna get high and pretend nothing matters?"

Jecka's slipping.

"Yeah."

Chapter Text

It’s 2 AM, and they’re tangled in Jecka’s bed as if time has already dissolved—limbs loose, voices hushed, the world outside the sheets reduced to static. Tomorrow doesn’t exist here; there’s only the glow of the laptop screen and their bodies pressed together like they depend on each other. Jecka rests on Nicole’s chest—the ecstasy makes it feel like a soft, plush pillow she’s sinking into.

She’s wide awake, her eyes—owlish. Her heart pounds against her ribs, slamming against her chest like a god damn alarm. Her body’s on fire, flames racing up her skin it’s like she’s been doused in gasoline and set lit. She feels the warmth radiating from Nicole’s body much more intensely than usual—she feels every breath, every inhale and exhale, she’s hyperaware.

Nicole’s hand traces small circles down her spine, her touch featherlight, each pass lifting another weight from her mind.

Goosebumps spread across her skin like a fucking wildfire.

Being in her arms always feels so nice, fuck.

Jecka presses even closer, overcome with the urge to crawl inside her skin and live there forever. Her anger is long forgotten—there’ll be time for that in the morning.

Then—

Nicole flips them over, hovering above Jecka’s tanned frame. Her gaze is intense, eyes burning through her skull, turning every doubt to ash. Jecka feels her breath ghosting over her lips—the tension is insane, the drug making everything feel ten times more intimate.

"Jecka…" Nicole breathes against her mouth.

Jecka’s heart pounds twice as fast, hammering against her ribs like it’s trying to escape.

"Nicole…"

Nicole shifts closer, their noses brushing. Jecka blinks—and then their lips meet in the softest fucking kiss ever. Jecka’s arms loop around Nicole’s neck, their eyes closed, just feeling everything. Nicole’s hands roam softly through her hair, fingers tangling gently before pulling her even closer—like she can’t stand even an inch of space between them.

Jecka breaks the kiss, just for a moment—just long enough for them both to tug their shirts over their heads and toss them aside. The air is cool against their skin, but it doesn’t matter, not when Nicole’s body is right there, warm and wanting, pressing back against her like gravity.

She’s so soft—Nicole’s being so fucking soft, and Jecka devours it.

Nicole fumbles with the clasp of Jecka’s bra, fingers clumsy with want, until it finally gives way and drops onto the bed, revealing bare skin—Jecka’s tanned body glowing in the dim light. Nicole’s breath catches, like she’s somehow forgotten just how fucking perfect Jecka looks. She hesitates for a heartbeat, then brushes her fingertips over Jecka’s chest—so soft, so careful—and Jecka instantly moans as Nicole’s warm hand meets her exposed flesh.

Jecka can already feel how wet she is between her thighs, probably soaking through her pajama shorts by now. The drug magnifies everything, every touch hitting like a fucking tsunami.

Their lips never break apart, fused together like they need it to breathe. Nicole’s hand trails slowly down Jecka’s stomach, leaving goosebumps on every fucking inch. Every touch is deliberate, unhurried—so different from the rushed way they’ve fucked before.

Nicole works the knot at the waistband of Jecka’s shorts loose with teasing slowness, then pulls her shorts down, just past her knees, the fabric dangling there. The cool air brushes against Jecka’s clothed folds, and her breath stutters—fuck, she’s so wet already. Nicole’s fingers drag over her clit through the soaked fabric, the wetness making every tiny movement so much more intense.

She swirls slow, maddening circles, like she’s afraid Jecka might shatter.

Then, without warning, Nicole slips her hand beneath Jecka’s panties, pushing them down to her knees—now she’s fully exposed.

Jesus Christ. Sex on ecstasy must be heaven.

Nicole pauses, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with her. Moonlight catches her gaze, turning her eyes bright blue, she’s piercing through her. Nicole doesn’t look away once as she moves her hand lower, fingertips ghosting over Jecka’s entrance—just teasing—before sliding inside, painfully slow. Jecka’s breath hitches with every inch, her body clenching around Nicole’s fingers as they sink knuckle-deep.

Jecka’s head falls back, lips parting in a silent gasp as Nicole starts moving—thumb brushing her clit in time with each thrust. Her legs lock around Nicole’s back, pulling her closer, tighter. The eye contact is too much, Nicole’s stare burning into her, making her dripping wet. It’s so much more intimate than any other time they’ve fucked.

Nicole’s hand moves at a steady pace—slow, deliberate, letting Jecka feel every thrust deeper, fuller. It feels too good—too fucking good—tears welling in her eyes as the sensation overwhelms her completely. Her whimpers dissolve into shaky sobs, each movement sending another shockwave through her. They’re both wrecked, both so far gone it’s almost unbearable.

"Fuck—Jecka, I’m seriously about to come just by looking at you," Nicole breathes, voice ragged.

Jecka doesn’t respond, just keeps whimpering, high-pitched and desperate, like she’s slipping further away with every second. Nicole never breaks eye contact, never lets her look away, and Jecka swears she might explode from the intensity alone.

Then Nicole moves faster.

"Jecka, I—God, you’re so fucking beautiful—"

And Jecka snaps. Her whole body jerks, back arching sharply before she collapses like a broken doll, trembling violently as Nicole works her through it, drawing out every last pulse of her climax. Her muscles twitch like she’s been electrocuted, oversensitive and shuddering.

Only then does Nicole finally slip her fingers free, sinking against Jecka’s chest, both of them breathless and fucking ruined.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

The room smells like sweat and smoke.

Jecka rests on her back, the the pink bed sheets tangled around her hips, one arm draped over her forehead. Nicole sits beside her, propped against the headboard, the tip of her cigarette glowing like a tiny warning light in the dark. She takes a long drag, holds it, exhales slow—the smoke curls toward the ceiling in lazy circles.

Jecka watches her from the corner of her eye. Nicole’s profile is sharp in the dim light, her lips slightly parted, the cigarette dangling between her fingers like an afterthought. There’s something almost unfair about how good she looks like in this afterglow—messy-haired, bare-skinned, her collarbone still flushed from earlier.

“Give me that,” Jecka murmurs, voice firm.

Nicole side-eyes her but doesn’t argue, passing the cigarette without a word. Their fingers brush—just a fleeting touch—but Jecka feels it like a spark. She brings it to her lips, inhales, lets the burn sit heavy in her lungs before exhaling through her mouth. The nicotine buzz mixes with the ecstasy high, leaving her limbs loose and her thoughts syrupy.

“You’re staring, Bitch” Nicole says, not looking at her.

“You wish.”

“Liar.” Nicole’s mouth twitches, but she doesn’t push it.

Jecka takes another drag, then offers the cigarette back. Nicole’s fingers close around it, their hands lingering a second too long.

The world around them stays dead. No cars, no voices, just the quiet crackle of paper burning down to the filter.

"What are we even doing, Nicole?" Jecka breaks the silence, her voice quieter than she intended.

She had sworn to herself she’d stay strong, that she wouldn’t give Nicole what she wanted again. What is it about her that people can never get enough of? Is it her sociopathic charm? That way she makes destruction look like an fucking invitation?

Jecka feels trapped in this cycle, like there’s no escape from Nicole’s clinging claws. And the worst part? She knows Nicole could be so much worse. Fuck, Nicole had told her once, voice dripping with something between a threat and a confession, "I’ve never been this nice to anyone before. You should consider yourself lucky."

And here Jecka is—still here, despite knowing everything.

Nicole exhales smoke through her mouth, watching her with half-lidded eyes. "We're doing whatever the fuck we want," she says, like it’s that simple. Like Jecka’s question doesn’t claw at the fragile thing between them.

And Jecka wants to believe her. That’s always the fucking problem.

Jecka thinks—no, hopes—that Nicole can change. That she could become better, better for her. That somehow, against all the fucking odds, they could have something normal. Something healthy.

What’s the something she wants, anyway?

Fuck, she doesn’t even know anymore.
The thought lingers, bitterly. Because if it’s not just friendship, then what is it? What is it, that she wants? And if it is just friendship—why does it feel like she’s standing at the edge of a fucking cliff, waiting for the fall?

Jecka knows Nicole would catch her—but not without dragging her through the mud first. Not without making her stumble, letting her trip, making her earn it.

Hell—Nicole would even be the one to push her in the first place, just so she could yank her right back at the last second. Then she would smirk, and hiss

"I fucking saved you."

Like it was a favor. Like Jecka should be grateful.

Nicole grabs Jecka's hand, pressing it to her lips. "I hate being apart from you, Jecka." Her mouth ghosts over Jecka's palm as the cigarette burns forgotten between Nicole’s fingertips.

"Just stop the bullshit, Nicole."

Nicole pulls her hand closer, her grip tightening as she tilts her head slightly. Then, without hesitation, she fucking bites down—sinking her teeth deep into the skin, sharp and deliberate.

"What the fuck—" Jecka jerks away.

"Now I imprinted on you." She smirks. "You can't leave me anymore."

The claim hangs between them—desperate, possessive, stupid. Jecka stares at the reddening mark.

Jesus Christ, is she still high?

"You’re so fucking stupid," Jecka mutters, her voice laced with irritation as she closes her eyes, exhaustion is taking over and she’s drifting away.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Three weeks pass, and Nicole's been weirdly different to her ever since the Ecstasy night. It’s not a huge change—she didn’t suddenly turn into Emily Dickinson, writing love poems in the dark. But for Nicole? Even this small shift is a lot.

She’s not as dismissive anymore, she actually talks to Jecka about things now. They don’t just have sex every time they’re together—now they actually sit around, watching shitty TV shows and just exist together. Jecka even got Nicole hooked on Skins, and this bitch genuinely thinks Effy is her long-lost twin.

I should’ve never shown her that God damn show…

It almost feels like Nicole is trying to be better, like she actually learned from her fucking mistakes for once. It’s like, she finally understands that Jecka could still leave her at any fucking moment.

"Love, love, love—what’s it good for? Absolutely nothing," Nicole sings, dragging out the last word like she’s performing for a crowd.

Yeah. She’s really obsessed with this Show now.

"Nicole, you’re not fucking Effy." Jecka rolls her eyes. "Jesus Christ, I regret showing you…”

Jecka’s lying on the hard carpet in Nicole’s room, staring up at the black-painted ceiling. A cigarette dangles between her lips—long burned out, but she doesn’t care.

Nicole’s sitting at her desk, fumbling with an Amazon package, digging through her drawers for something sharp. Jecka doesn’t pay her any mind, too lost in thought, eyes still stuck on the ceiling like it holds all the answers.

Then—zzip. The sharp slice of a blade tearing through the packaging tape.

Nicole screams.

"Yes!" Pulling Jecka out of her brain fog.

She looks up, finally meeting Nicole’s frame. "What shitty thing did you waste your money on this time, bitch?"

Nicole doesn’t answer. She’s too focused, fingers fumbling with whatever she’s holding.

"Bitch—" Jecka starts, but the words die in her throat as a persistent nnnwrhh seeps through the walls—it sounds like something between a dentist’s drill and a dying fluorescent light.

She pushes herself up from the floor, stepping closer to get a better look. The metallic surface of the thing in Nicole’s hands gleams under the dim light. It looks rugged, a little worn—probably secondhand.

"A tattoo gun?" Jecka raises a brow.

"Yeah, bitch."

"Why?"

"Why not?" Nicole hisses, grabbing Jecka’s wrist and pulling her onto her lap. Now they’re both squeezed into her shitty desk chair, the tattoo gun still clutched in Nicole’s hand as she studies it, turning it over like it holds some kind of hidden meaning.

"I’m tattooing Emily tomorrow."

Does this bitch even know how to tattoo?

"Nicole, you can’t even draw a straight line," Jecka laughs.

"That’s why I’m gonna spend the whole day learning, duh." Nicole spins them in the chair, grinning. "Wanna witness my artistic skills in action?"

Jecka freezes, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Nicole’s never invited her to hang out with her and Emily before. Probably because the two of them are always up to some crazy emo bitch shit—probably something illegal or morally fucked. All the other times, Nicole had practically shoved her out the door before Emily even arrived

She definitely fucking changed.

"Duh," Jecka replies.

Nicole pulls her in closer, resting her head on Jecka’s shoulder, arms wrapping around her waist.

"Cool," she hums against Jecka’s neck.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Jecka spends the rest of the day watching Nicole tattoo on fake skin, flipping through edgy designs. Nicole noted that Emily wanted a tramp stamp—something with a heart—so she mashed two designs together and actually came up with something pretty solid.

Nicole perfected the design at least ten times, before finally stamping it onto the fake skin and going in with the tattoo needle. The first few attempts were shaky—not awful, but definitely not perfect. By the fifth try, it was already looking decent, and from there, she just kept improving. Turns out Nicole was weirdly good at this. Jecka had doubted her at first—because she’s seen her struggle in art class—but apparently, the bitch had a fucking hidden talent.

By the last attempt, the design was almost perfect, but Nicole patience was done.

“I’m gonna keep practicing tomorrow till Emily gets here,” she mumbled with a shrug before pulling Jecka back onto the bed.

It’s funny how Nicole just assumes Jecka’s staying over.

At this point, Jecka’s parents are convinced she has a boyfriend—she even had to fucking suffer through the safe sex talk with her mother. Nicole’s mom is never around. (Which is probably why Nicole’s so bony—the bitch doesn’t eat.)

Jecka has yet to meet her…

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Emily arrives late as usual, strolling in like she owns the place. She doesn’t say hi, doesn’t hesitate—just brushes past them and throws herself onto Nicole’s bed like she’s been there a thousand times before.

Her gaze drifts lazily around the room, eyes half-lidded, heavy with a familiar, dreamy haze—she looks blissfully, undeniably high. Her eyes land on Jecka and she almost screams.

“Oh my god, Jecka! You’re here?” Emily practically launches herself forward, pulling Jecka into a tight hug. “This is, like, the first time we’ve hung out outside of school! I’m so excited~”

Jecka stiffens, giving her a couple of awkward pats on the back before subtly trying to peel away. But Emily doesn’t take the hint—if anything, she squeezes harder.

“Emily, let her go,” Nicole says flatly, not looking up from the tattoo gun as she adjusts the needle.

With an exaggerated sigh, Emily finally lets go—but not before lingering, hands resting on Jecka’s shoulders just a moment too long. Her smile stays bright, but her eyes sharpen, locking onto Jecka’s with a silent intensity. A warning. A reminder.

Like she’s still silently reminding her exactly what kind of terror Nicole brings.

Emily flops back onto the bed, kicking her legs as she fishes a cigarette from her jacket. “Sooo, what’s the design gonna be, babe?”

Nicole scoffs, gaze still focused on the needle. “Don’t fucking ‘babe’ me.”

“Ugh, you’re always so mean,” Emily whines, kicking her feet. “Bet if Jecka called you babe, you wouldn’t—”

“You want the tattoo or not?” Nicole cuts in, voice sharp enough to make Emily freeze mid-sentence. She exhales a dramatic plume of smoke, defeatedly.

Jecka snorts.

Emily shoots her a deathly glare.

“Lie down. Shirt up. I’m almost ready.” Nicole’s tone leaves no room for argument.
With an exaggerated sigh, Emily obeys—pulling her shirt off like she’s peeling away some great burden.

Jecka blinks. The hell?

Emily’s back has a tattoo too—angel wings, intricate and dark, a near-mirror of Nicole’s own… except Nicole’s resembles a devil.

Emily notices Jecka’s stare, and grins. “Oh, this? Nicole and I got ’em done a year ago at some sketchy shop. Well—We got them for free.” She drags out the last word, there’s still this smug grin on her face. “Basically dated the artist.”

Of course, she dated the fucking artist…

Nicole finally stands, dragging her desk closer to the bed—the surface wrapped in fresh cling film, three black ink capsules lined up on the right, a roll of paper towels on the left. Damn. For Nicole’s standards, this is practically surgical.

She yanks a pair of plastic gloves from the drawer, then plugs in the tattoo gun. It whirs to life with a sharp, electric buzz—like a hornet trapped in glass—then she kills the power and sets it back down.

"Come closer, bitch."

Emily whimpers and scoots forward until Nicole looms over her, arm positioned.

"And what am I supposed to do?" Jecka chimes in.

Nicole glances up. Their eyes lock.

"Just sit there and look pretty," she smirks.

Bitch.

"Fuck you," Jecka mutters. But her heart is beating.

Nicole leans in, pressing the stencil against Emily’s skin. She burns the ink in, then peels it back with slow precision. A pause. Then a satisfied hum. She grabs the gun again.

The needle punches into Emily’s pale flesh in rapid, rhythmic bursts—bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt—the sound metallic, relentless. Beneath the high-pitched whir, there’s a deeper tired growl, which makes it obvious that the gun is definitely worn out.

Emily doesn’t even flinch. She lies there, limp and numb, like she’s getting a fucking massage.

Jecka chugs her phone from her back pocket, nails scraping over the screen as she unlocks it.

Still nothing.

Kelly had been ignoring her for a fucking week. No texts. No hallway gaze. Nothing. And now Jecka had been glued to Nicole’s side at school for the past three weeks…

Her thumb hovers over Kelly’s contact, teeth grinding.

Should I just text again?

Fuck it.

‘Kelly why are you ignoring me?? Is everything okay? I know I’ve been spending time with Nicole a lot… I didn’t mean to ditch you.’

Jecka rereads the text twice before hitting send, her thumb hovering just a second too long.

Jecka’s gaze flickers back to Nicole. She’s fixated on piercing through Emily’s flesh—quick, sharp, and maddeningly precise—like a splinter slipping beneath the skin. She’s already done with almost half of the design. It’s simple, but still edgy. It fits Emily perfectly.

Of course it does. Nicole always knows.

Then—a pause. Just for a moment. Nicole’s hands stills, her eyes snap up to Jecka’s. A smirk spreads across her face, she winks, and smooth like fucking always—she’s back to work, the machine’s buzz still filling the silence.

Jecka hates this. Hates how her chest tightens. Hates how stupid it is that a glance, a wink, can make her heart jump out of her chest.

Chapter Text

Emily stretches, rolling her shoulders like getting a tattoo was the most exhausting thing she’d ever done. Her tattoo lies right over her back dimples. The design consists of bold, black, interwoven curves and sharp, pointed edges—It’s typical tribal style. The centerpiece of the design is a heart-shaped, flame-like emblem—just like she wanted.

"Okay, bitches, what’s the move?" Emily sings, swinging her legs over the bed.

Nicole barely glances at her, her gaze already fixated on Jecka, waiting for Emily to take the hint. "Dunno," Nicole mutters, spinning the empty ink capsule on the desk. "Maybe go home?"

Emily snorts. "No! Let’s have fun~" She tilts her head. "Or? You two got plans?"

Jecka doesn’t answer, just raises a brow at Nicole.

What is she thinking again?

Emily looks at Nicole, then back at Jecka. A smirk spreads across her face, and she rolls her eyes.

"So fucking obvious," Emily teases, grabbing her phone from the bed. "Alrigh‘, well—"

But then the door fucking clicks.

Nicole stiffens instantly. She doesn’t even look at the door before standing up, grabbing her hoodie, and nodding toward Emily. "Let’s go."

It feels like there’s a silent understanding between them—information that Jecka is missing. A sickening wave crashes through her. What the hell?

Why do I hate that there’s something between them I can’t grasp?

"Ugh," Emily groans, pulling Jecka out of her thoughts. "I hate your mom." She’s standing up too.

Jecka blinks, confused. She hasn’t met Nicole’s mom before, hasn’t even really heard about her—well, except that she’s a bitch. A whore. She sighs and looks at Nicole, her eyes filled with confusion.

Stop leaving me in the dark, they plea.

Before Nicole can even say anything, the door swings open, revealing a figure. She looks tired. A little too thin, just like Nicole. Her eyes flick over the room like she’s searching for something, but when she sees Jecka, her face settles into something unreadable.

She leans against the doorframe, her expression flat. "You kids better not be drinking in here."

Nicole scoffs. "Like I’d waste my time drinking in this house." She brushes past her mom, pulling Jecka along. "We’re leaving."

Emily stumbles behind them, mumbling a small "Wait—"

Jecka forces a polite "Hello" as she passes, and for some reason, it really feels like she’s meeting a boyfriend’s mom for the first time. Which is stupid. Because they aren’t fucking dating.

Right?

The night air carries the day’s warmth, thick with the scent of blooming flowers. It’s surprisingly quiet for this hour, the crickets and cicadas humming in harmony with the wind. Summer always weirdly smells like grilling—cooked meat, oil, benzine.

Nicole’s still clinging to Jecka’s hand, her gaze burning holes through her front door like she’s trying to fire shots through it.

"So what are we doing?" Emily asks, fishing a cigarette out of her pocket. "McDonald's? Park? Steal shit?"

"Steal shit," Nicole replies immediately.

Jecka smirks. "Fun."

Maybe hanging out with these crazy bitches is gonna be funnier than I thought…

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

The gas station is mostly empty when they walk in. Jecka leads the way, heading straight for the counter with a sweet, flirtatious smile. The guy behind the register barely looks older than them—probably some underpaid college student.

"Heyy," she purrs, leaning against the counter.

He blinks. "Uh. Hey?"

Behind her, Nicole and Emily move fast to the liquor section. Emily scans the aisle until her eyes land on the vodka. She grabs the bottle and passes it to Nicole; it easily slips under Nicole’s hoodie—like they’ve done this a hundred times before. Emily’s already stuffing another can of something into her jacket pocket.

"You work late often?" Jecka asks, showing a bit of cleavage while tilting her head, making sure to keep his attention on her.

He shrugs. "Yeah, I guess."

"That’s soooo tiring," she sighs dramatically. "I could neverrrr."

Nicole brushes past her on the way out, and that’s the fucking cue.

Jecka grins, pushing off the counter. "See you around."

Before the guy can even process what just happened, she’s out the door, walking fast, catching up with the others.

Nicole snorts. "He’s so stupid."

"I’m just a pro, bitch," Jecka smirks, bumping her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let’s go." Nicole grabs her hand again, and Jecka hates how fast her heart is fucking beating.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Nicole is leading them through the streets, the weather is still warm, beaming on their skin like a second layer. Their feet crunch over broken tiles, the old remains of the train rails stretching into the dimness, weeds clawing up through the tracks, they move slowly, past rust-eaten benches and peeling departure boards, the air is thick with the smell of old metal and greenery.

The spot seems frozen in time, tucked behind an abandoned building. The pavement is all cracked concrete, the walls spray-painted. It’s all hidden, like a secret.

Nicole drops onto the ground like her bones are too heavy, pulls out the bottle, and takes a chug so deep it’s almost violent. She passes it to Jecka without looking.

Emily flops down, legs splayed. “Crazyy you brought her here,” she says, grinning like it’s a joke. “Took me, like, a year to even be near this place.”

Nicole doesn’t answer. Just stares at the bottle in Jecka’s hands. The liquor burns, but Jecka doesn’t flinch. She passes it back. Nicole’s fingers brush hers—lingering like always.

“Used to come here after we moved,” Nicole says suddenly, her voice stays flat. “When my dad fucking—” She lights a cigarette, and exhales hard. “Didn’t go to school for a month. Just sat here. “It was the only thing that made me feel…” She trails off, jaw clenched.

But she looks back at Jecka. “…Save”

Jecka’s heart is slamming against her ribs. She wants to reach out. Make her feel save.

But she doesn’t.

Emily grabs the bottle, tips it back with a sloppy laugh. “Let’s fucking drink the depression away, whores~”

Emily keeps talking—some story about a guy from school, a party, whatever—but the words dissolve into static. All Jecka hears is the click of Nicole’s lighter, the slow drag of her inhale.

Jecka feels it every time Nicole looks at her. Every time their fingers brush.

A slow build. A quiet kind of gravity.

She’s still talking, but Jecka doesn’t hear a word. Nicole shifts closer. Their knees touch.

Then Nicole leans in, smoke curling from her lips. “Having fun?”

Jecka’s stomach drops.

Fuck.

She is.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

They get back to Nicole’s place, passing by her mother in the dimly lit hallway. The air feels thick, like something unsaid lingers between them. Nicole’s mother barely glances up from her cigarette, exhaling a slow, tired breath.

“Who’s she?" she asks, voice flat.

“My girlfriend,” Nicole hisses.

Jecka freezes.

Her what?

Her face burns instantly, and she’s thankful for the shitty lighting. She opens her mouth—whether to protest or laugh, she doesn’t even know—but before she can say anything, Nicole tugs her forward, leading her toward her room like nothing happened.

The second the door clicks shut, Jecka lets out a breath, but—Nicole pulls her in, arms wrapping around her. She’s holding her tightly, like she’s holding onto something she’s terrified of losing.

Jecka lets herself sink into it. That’s all she ever wanted, a Nicole who lets her in—lets her fucking feel. For a moment, there’s nothing but the quiet whisper of the wind, the moon shining through the curtains, painting white over Nicole’s bed, the steady rhythm of their breathing. It feels surreal—too perfect.

The calmness before the storm.

Then—

Jecka’s phone buzzes.

Her stomach sinks before she even looks.

She knows it’s Kelly.

‘Jecka tbh idk if we should stay friends. I talked to Nicole after the party incident, and she told me I deserve better. She said I try to help and fix the shit she did even tho u talked bad about me to her. She told me everything.’

Jecka’s heart drops to her feet.

She looks up, slowly as ever, meeting Nicole’s gaze.

And there it is. That flicker in her eyes. That split-second recognition—like she already knows what the text says. Like she’s been waiting for this moment.

Nicole’s face falls, but there’s no guilt. Just the sharp realization that she’s been fucking caught.

Jecka steps back, never breaking eye contact. “What did you tell Kelly, Nicole?” Her voice is razor-sharp, slicing through ice.

Nicole tenses. “N—Nothing.” The sharpness caught her off guard.

“What. Did. You. Tell. Her?”

Nicole’s jaw clenches. The silence stretches too long. She knows she fucked up—there’s no need for shitty excuses anymore. Her facade finally breaks, her face shifts.

“Fine! I lied! I told her you talked shit about her! Happy now?” She throws her hands up, running them through her hair. “You don’t need her! Why do you even care? God, Jecka—”

Fuck you.

“She is my best fucking friend since fifth grade, Nicole! I grew up with her! And you—you just—” Jecka’s voice wavers, rage pulling at every nerve. “It’s like you’re trying to take everything good in my life.”

“I already told you—you have me! You don’t need Kelly!” Nicole’s voice rises, something desperate, something wild. “I just want protect you, Jecka!”

“Protect me?” Jecka lets out a bitter laugh, her hands trembling. “Protect me? God, Nicole—you’re the only one hurting me.”

Nicole goes still.

Something shifts in her expression—something cold. The warmth in her eyes vanishes completely, replaced with something cruel, something Jecka doesn’t even recognize.

“You don’t mean that.” Nicole tilts her head, voice light, almost amused.

Jecka’s throat tightens. “I fucking do.”

She turns for the door, but before she can reach it, Nicole moves. As fast as ever.

She’s in front of her in a second, blocking the way out.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving.” Jecka hisses back.

“No.”

Jecka moves to push past her, she’s so fucking sick of her bullshit. Jecka takes one step, but Nicole grabs her by the wrist—hard—too fucking hard.

The force knocks Jecka off balance, sending her stumbling back. She hits the floor with a dull thud, pain shooting up her spine. For a split second, she’s too stunned to react.

What the fuck just happened?

Nicole stands over her, breathing heavily.

And there—just for a moment—something flickers in her eyes. Something dark. Something genuinely evil.

It scares Jecka. She’s fucking scared.

Her wrist still stings where Nicole touched her, a dull, aching burn, and suddenly, she realizes she’s trembling.

Then—just as quickly as it happened—Nicole drops to her knees.

She clings to Jecka, burying her face against her shoulder, arms wrapped so tightly around her it almost hurts. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice cracking. “Just—don’t leave. Please.”

Jecka is frozen. The shock still lingers in her veins.

But—Nicole’s apologizing. For the first time. That has never happened before.

So Jecka swallows hard, pushing down the fear, pushing down the anger, and slowly—hesitantly—wraps her arms around Nicole in return.

Comforting her.

Like none of it even happened.

Jecka you stupid bitch.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Jecka wakes up without Nicole by her side. Her hand stretches across cold sheets before she's even fully conscious, fingers curling into empty space. The throbbing headache comes second—a dull stab behind her eyes that tastes like cheap vodka and unfinished conversations.

She squints at the sunlight cutting through dark curtains. They hadn't even drunk that much. Jecka sighs as she grabs her phone, staring at the empty screen, debating what the hell to text Kelly.

The fight still lingers in her bones, leaving her disoriented. Nicole’s reaction had been... off—too aggressive? She can’t quite place it, can’t shake the feeling that something was different this time. Nicole’s always had a short temper. Maybe she was just feeling vulnerable yesterday?

Maybe the thing about her dad was getting to her…

Fuck it. If Kelly isn’t going to fight for their friendship, why should she? How did she even believe Nicole in the first place when she was the one who warned Jecka about her?

She rubs her eyes, trying to shake off the exhaustion.

The door clicks open. Nicole stands there holding two bowls like some fucked-up domestic fantasy, the morning light catching the sharp angles of her collarbones.

"Are we seriously eating cornflakes again?" Jecka's voice comes out rougher than she intended.

Every time she stays over, they barely eat—just cigarettes all day. But on rare occasions, old, stale cereal.

"Fruit Loops, bitch,” Nicole smirks.

The bed dips as she sits, close enough that Jecka catches the stale cigarette smell clinging to her skin. Jecka takes the bowl, their fingers brushing—the contact lingers a second too long.

The cereal is stone hard. The milk might be expired. But Jecka eats it anyway.

Jecka doesn’t even know if she’s mad, disappointed, or just exhausted—she’s so used to Nicole’s bullshit. Yeah, lying to Kelly was fucked up, but maybe Kelly was the real idiot for buying into Nicole’s bullshit. Maybe Kelly was just looking for an excuse to cut her off anyway.

Her gaze flicks over to Nicole, she’s awkwardly perched at the edge of the bed, eating her cereal like someone has been starving her. Her other hand is busy with her Sidekick, flipping through God knows what.

Did she seriously call me her girlfriend in front of her mom? I thought we weren’t fucking gay.

Could I even like this fucking devil... romantically?

Nicole looks up, their eyes meeting, and Jecka’s heart is hammering, like she’s just guzzled three energy drinks in a row.

Fuck. Maybe I’m really falling for her…

"Nicole..." Jecka's fingers dig into the sheets. "Why did you call me your girlfriend yesterday?" The word linger between them, foreign and heavy.

Nicole doesn't look up from her Sidekick. A shrug rolls off her shoulders like it's nothing. But it's fucking everything to Jecka. "Didn't think you would mind." The click of buttons fills the silence. "You're always around. It makes sense."

Jecka's pulse beats in her throat. "Makes sense?"

The mattress shifts as Nicole flips onto her stomach, sheets pooling at her waist. Her gaze locks onto Jecka's—unreadable. Challenging like always.

Jecka's nails bite into her palms. Why does she think she can just label… this? Since when does anything between them even even make fucking sense?

"Ohhh, so you don't want to be my girlfriend?" Nicole's voice drips with false lightness as she turns away. "Fine."

Jecka's hand shoots out, fingers circling Nicole's wrist. "No—fuck! Stop twisting my words!" The crack in her voice betrays her.

Nicole yanks her arm back with enough force to make the bedframe rattle. Jecka flinches before she can stop herself.

The reaction lingers between them, settling around them like a thin layer of ice.

Nicole goes still. Too still. "Are you scared of me now?" Her brow raises, but something flickers behind her eyes. Something gritty. "You're acting weird."

Jecka's stomach drops.

Why the fuck did I flinch?

Nicole’s expression drops again, her eyes flickering briefly with frustration before she rubs a hand over her face, exhaling like she's trying to shake off the words she doesn’t know how to say.

"I’m sorry." She says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m just... bad at talking about feelings and shit." Her eyes flicker to Jecka, then away, like the act of looking too long might make it too real. "I really like being with you?"

She leans back slightly, making a vague gesture with one hand as if trying to pull her words together. "It doesn’t have to be anything huge. We can date, but like, not in a... gay way?"

“Nicole, dating a fucking girl makes you pretty fucking gay, bitch,” Jecka laughs, the tension between them loosening. That familiar, twisted comfort settles back in, like nothing’s changed.

“It’s not gay if we keep wearing socks, bitch,” Nicole smirks, her voice laced with that same defiant playfulness.

And fuck, Jecka can’t help but pull her closer. The tension between them is undeniable.

“So you’re my girlfriend now or what?” Jecka’s voice is soft, but the question hangs in the air, lighter than it should be.

“Yeah…” Nicole’s response is simple, almost casual, but there's a flicker of something uncertainty beneath it.

Without another word, Jecka grabs Nicole by the collar, pulling her in. Their lips crash together, desperate, raw. Nicole’s always been the one to get exactly what she wants, and now, she has Jecka fucking too.

And Jecka's always been too weak to deny her.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Being Nicole’s girlfriend didn’t change much for Jecka—not really.

Nicole had already been changing on her own, so in a way, everything stayed the same. The only real difference was how dependent they’d become on each other.

They spent every single fucking day together, to the point where it felt wrong when they weren’t stupidly tangled up in each other’s mess.

Nobody knew about them, well except Emily—not that there was any reason to tell. Kelly was already pissed, and it wasn’t like either of them had a crowd of friends waiting for the announcement anyway.

Emily’s reaction was exactly what Jecka imagined, a dramatic shriek, followed by, “I fucking knew you could melt this ice block!” as she pointed at Nicole. Nicole just rolled her eyes and pulled Jecka into a lazy back hug, clinging to her like some deadbeat boyfriend who had nothing better to do.

But Nicole was changing—slowly, in ways only Jecka noticed. She was softer now, more open, like she’d finally stepped around her own fucking ego and let Jecka all the way in.

And Jecka still didn’t know what it was about Nicole that kept pulling her deeper and deeper. Maybe it was the way she never backed down, the way she owned every room she walked into, or just the fact that nothing with her was ever simple. Boring just wasn’t her fucking thing.

Nicole didn’t make her life any easier. If anything, she made it fucking harder. Jecka felt like a moth circling a flame, helplessly drawn to the heat even though she knew it would burn her in the end.

Nicole had started talking about her past—about her father specifically. Their relationship was seriously fucked up. He used to beat her Mother, and when that stopped being enough, he turned on Nicole. “He fucking hated women,” she said, like it was just a fact. “And I was an angry Child.”

Her brother never got hit. But Nicole… Her father hated her—literally despised her. She never understood why. There was always something—some invisible crime—that set him off. And yet, when he fucking shot himself, it still hit her like a train.

The abuse started when she was four. By seven, she was in therapy because she “wasn’t acting right.” She’d been a angry
child—throwing things, screaming, lashing out.

No fucking wonder she turned out like this.

Nicole is possessive in a way that should’ve been suffocating, but Jecka couldn’t bring herself to care. She’d noticed it early on—that sharp, protective edge—but lately, it was intensifying. Nicole was like a spark hitting dry grass. At first, you barely noticed. Then, all at once, there was nothing left but fire.

But Jecka?

She was still falling. Hard.

It was embarrassing, really. Nicole is a monster, a walking red flag, the closest thing to the devil Jecka had ever met—but she was fucking addicted to her. And the prettiest devil ever.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

“Stop staring. She doesn’t care.”

Jecka sits uncomfortably on the hard cafeteria bench, Nicole’s pressed close beside her—their shoulders brushing just enough to be deliberate. Nicole always has to invade her personal space, even though months ago she swore, “I hate physical touch. All that domestic shit is for men who hate themselves.”

But Nicole hates herself too, so maybe it fits.

Across from them, Emily eats the cafeteria’s mushy, half-cooked food like it’s a five-star meal. Jecka’s gaze keeps drifting forward, landing on Kelly, who’s laughing with Megan and that gay little freak Ari. It’s been almost two months since they last spoke. Seven years of friendship, gone—just like that. Kelly acts like Jecka doesn’t even exist anymore.

All because of Nicole’s stupid fucking mouth. Jesus, Kelly, I thought you were smarter than this. And fuck Nicole for always ruining things.

“I’m not staring,” Jecka hisses under her breath.

Nicole’s fork clatters against her tray—that sharp klrrk making Jecka’s jaw tighten.

“This is your fault, bitch.” She shifts away, putting cold distance between them. The absence of Nicole’s body heat feels weirdly noticeable.

“We already talked about this!” Nicole snaps back.

Dating didn’t magically make their fights disappear. Nicole was still a self-absorbed sociopath, and Jecka was still a stubborn bitch who refused to back down. Of course, they’d keep clashing—until eventually, the tension pushed them right back into each other’s arms (or legs) because fighting was just another kind of foreplay for them.

“Guysss, stop fighting~” Emily rolls her eyes before turning to Jecka, suddenly animated. “There’s this party on Saturday. Some of my Tumblr friends are going. You should come. It’ll be a bunch of emo kids, but, like, the fun kind. You’d fit right in.”

Nicole picks her fork back up, stabbing at her sad cafeteria potatoes.

“Half those people fucking hate me,” she muses, voice dripping with amusement as she leans into Jecka’s space again.

“You’re coming with me, right?” The words are a whisper against Jecka’s ear, warm and commanding. The irritation flickers, then fades—because somehow, Nicole’s presence always overrides her anger.

How the fuck does this bitch do that?

“I never say no to a party.”

Nicole grins, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “That’s why I fucking like you.”

“It’s gonna be so funnn~” Emily sing, already lost in her own excitement.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Nicole’s sprawled across Jecka’s pink bedsheets, aggressively stabbing the buttons on her Sidekick. Every few seconds, she hisses “Fuck!” and kicks her legs like she can physically fight the pixels on her stupid screen.

Jecka’s parents tolerate Nicole… barely. She never said they were dating, but her dad took one look at Nicole and shook his head, muttering something about “bad influences.”

Typical. Pretending to fucking care now to make up for being a shitty father her whole life.

Her mom, surprisingly, liked Nicole. Said she reminded her of her own “emo phase” back in the day.

Jecka’s standing in front of her mirror, adjusting the tight white tank top with “Whore” scrawled in cursive across the chest. Her denim skirt barely covers her ass.

“I don’t know… I’m not gonna fit in,” she sighs, turning slightly to check herself out.
Behind her, Nicole remains focused on her shitty little game.

“Bitch!” Jecka snaps.

Nicole startles, her Sidekick slipping from her hands and hitting the floor with a dull thud.

“Don’t fucking scare me like that!”

She pushes off the bed and moves over, wrapping her arms around Jecka’s waist from behind, in a back hug. Her lips ghost over the curve of Jecka’s neck.

“You look good to me,” she murmurs.

“You’re not fucking me in this outfit.” Their eyes lock in the mirror.

“Ugh, you know me too well.” Nicole rests her chin on Jecka’s shoulder.

“Wear my shit. And didn’t your mom buy that temporary brunette dye ‘cause your dad has a thing for dark hair? We could make you emo for a night.” A slow grin spreads. “Fuck, that’d be so fucking hot.”

Jecka closes her eyes for a second, considering.

If this ruins my hair…

Fuck it.

“Let’s do it, bitch.” She whirls around, throwing herself into Nicole’s arms. Nicole barely catches her, stumbling back until they both crash onto the floor.

Nicole’s eyes lock onto hers, pupils swallowing the blue—like Jecka’s the only thing worth looking at. And for a second, Jecka freezes, realising…

This bitch really likes me.

Then she leans in. Their lips meet once, twice—slow, teasing—before Jecka finally deepens the kiss.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

“Stop moving, bitch.”

Jecka sits naked in the bathtub, cigarette dangling from her lips, while Nicole clumsily sprays temporary black dye into her hair. She stripped down to avoid staining her clothes—not that Nicole minded the view. Jecka’s a 10/10 and worth looking at.

The dark dye needs twenty minutes to set, or it’ll smear everywhere, so being in the bathtub is the safest option.

Jecka watches Nicole’s focused expression—the way her tongue pokes out slightly between her teeth, the faint crease between her brows. She looks almost sweet like this. Like someone who hasn’t been personally handpicked by Satan to ruin Jecka’s life.

She exhales smoke, then leans in to press a quick kiss to Nicole’s cheek.

“You’re cute.”

Nicole flushes, caught off guard. “I’m not bitc—okay, done!” She cuts herself off, stepping back to admire her work.

Jecka grabs another cigarette, a smirk spreads across her face.

“We’ve got an hour before the party. Pick me an outfit while I sit here.” She stretches, sighing. “Gonna close my eyes for twenty minutes.”

Nicole doesn’t answer—just nods and slips out of the bathroom.

Chapter Text

The night air hangs thick with cigarette smoke and dollar tree perfume as they walk toward the party. Emily had the brilliant idea to walk to the shitty function, because—apparently “the way is, like, only twenty minutes longgg!” But they've been walking for over an fucking hour now.

Jecka's black boots click against the pavement, her newly dyed hair (a result of Nicole's shaky hands) falling in loose waves over her shoulders. Nicole had picked out a black mini skirt, a studded belt with glitter stones, and a gray graphic tee plastered in white angel wings. She’s wearing cuffed bracelets, on her left arm, and on her right, a striped hand cuff.

Nicole’s walking close by her side, their arms brushing with every step—just enough to feel each other's warmth.

Jecka's stomach twists with nerves and excitement. She's never been to an emo party before, let alone one where half the crowd supposedly hates Nicole. But with Emily bouncing ahead, rambling about Tumblr drama, and Nicole's electric presence at her side, she feels... safe.

She sneaks a glance at Nicole. The streetlights catch the sharp angles of her cheekbones, her expression unreadable like always. But there's something in the way her fingers twitch toward Jecka's hand—like she's resisting the urge to grab it.

"You're staring," Nicole murmurs without looking.

"Shut up, Bitch" Jecka bumps their shoulders together, but Nicole doesn't budge, just smiles lazily.

Emily rolls her eyes, and spins around, walking backward with a grin. "You guys are so fucking gross. Just hold hands already."

Nicole flips her off, but Jecka catches the way her lips twitch.

Jecka fumbles with her fishnets, not sure if they’re fitting or if she just looks like another fucking emo poser. She’s a confident bitch, but this whole makeover thing is new.

Fuck, I hope I still look hot!

"Stop preening," Nicole says, flicking ash from her cigarette. "You look hot."

Emily’s skipping ahead, her platform boots clacking against the cracked sidewalk. "I can’t believe you’ve never been to a real emo party. What did you even do before us?"

Jecka’s thoughts drift back to Kelly—the mall hangouts, parties at her place where she’d get so fucked up she didn’t even know left or right. Their conversations, their stories about first-time experiences with guys they only knew from each other. The memory cling in her throat.

Nicole’s fingers brush against hers, a silent question. When Jecka doesn’t pull away, Nicole laces their fingers together, her pulse jumping at Jecka’s wrist.

"You good?"

Jecka squeezes back. "Better now."

The neighborhood decays around them as they walk—dark suburban streets, cracked windows, and overgrown lawns. Trash piles up, and an abandoned shopping cart lies in a driveway like it’s the norm.

Emily stops before a ranch-style house where the bass vibrates through the walls. Light leaks from every window, silhouettes of bodies pressed against cigarette burned curtains. Someone's spray-painted "POSER FREE ZONE" across the garage door in shaky letters.

Nicole drops Jecka’s hand to light another cigarette, the flame emphasizing her sharp features. "Remember," she says through smoke, "if anyone gives you shit—"

"I know, I know." Jecka rolls her eyes. "Let you handle it."

Jecka’s not a bitch to keep her mouth shut when someone messes with her, but this scene is different from the usual. Here, she could actually be worried someone might pull a knife and fucking stab her. Those famous Tumblr bitches are crazy.

The door’s already wide open, and some people are sitting outside smoking, others are on the roof, talking about some trashy shit. One guy in the corner is hitting an already smashed car with a baseball bat like he’s in a fucking rage room.

Heat slams into Jecka as they walk in—she’s immediately met with body warmth, and the bad beer breath that makes her fishnets stick to her thighs instantly. The living room swirls with black clothing and poorly-dyed hair, everyone moving to the music like some fucked-up Satanic ritual.

Emily straight up pulls them into the kitchen, grabs a vodka bottle, and purrs them shots, "Party time, bitches~" She screams while clinking their cups together. Nicole and Jecka lock eyes as they drink—they know it means bad luck otherwise.

Jecka’s eyes roam the room, scanning the crowd until they land on someone who’s already staring at her. A guy with messy black hair and thick eyeliner is walking toward her. Jecka instinctively shifts closer to Nicole, seeking her warmth.

"Holy shit," he breathes, eyes roaming over Jecka’s body. "You're like, the hottest person here."

Jecka feels Nicole tense beside her even before she processes the compliment.

"Thanks," she says automatically, suddenly hyperaware of Nicole’s fingers hooking into the loops of her skirt. “You can leave now.” She gives him a look that still doesn’t makes him take the fucking hint.

“Wait, can you—”

But Emily interrupts him, shoving two red plastic cups into their hands. "Here’s more!" She purrs, the liquid inside smelling like straight-up alcohol with a hint of something mixed in.

The guy comes back, trying to hand Jecka a shot, but Nicole’s quicker, plucking it from his hands and downing it in one go. "She doesn’t fucking do tequila," she hisses, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Jecka opens her mouth to protest—she absolutely does tequila—but the guy’s already backing away, hands raised in surrender.

The next two hours of the night blur in that familiar party way—drinks magically appearing in her hand, strangers shouting compliments over the music, and Nicole’s constant presence at her back like a Vampire. When a guy with a pink buzz cut compliments Jecka’s eyeliner, she actually hears Nicole hiss under her breath.

Jecka’s fitting in better than she expected. No one here thinks she’s a poser, and she’s socializing with the crowd like this isn’t her first Emo party. Right now, she’s mid-conversation with a group of punks.

The guy in front of her has a spiked mohawk, a leather jacket with way too many patches, and platform boots that probably make him twenty centimeters taller. The rest of the group consists of girls with half-shaved heads, fishnets, and about a thousand facial piercings.

Totally not Jecka’s usual type of people. But does she care? Not at all. She’s holding her own in the conversation like she’s been a punk girl her entire life.

“You should totally get some piercings!” one of the girls shouts over the music, grinning.

Emily has long since vanished, doing god knows what. When Jecka suggested looking for her, Nicole just shrugged and said, “This bitch is always doing that, don’t bother.”

Nicole’s standing across the room now, chatting with a group of girls. But her gaze keeps flicking back to Jecka.

Their eyes meet at the perfect moment, and Nicole shifts. She downs her drink in one go and slips through the crowd, heading straight toward her.

The energy changes instantly—like a lightning strike.

Nicole wraps her arms around Jecka’s waist from behind, pulling her close with a possessive grip, a cigarette dangling between her lips. Jecka pulls her lighter from her skirt pocket, flicks it open, and lights the cigarette for her. The warmth of the flame briefly warms Jecka’s face as Jecka brings it to Nicole’s lips.

“You’re Nicole, right? I’ve seen your Tumblr posts!” a pink-haired girl practically screams, excitement lacing her voice.

Silence.

Nicole turns her gaze toward the girl, piercing through her like a bullet with those perfect eyes. She says nothing. It’s like she’s trying to make the girl squirm. Ten seconds pass. Then Jecka nudges her in the stomach.

Nicole finally speaks.

“That’s nice. I haven’t seen yours,” she scoffs.

The mood shifts. An awkward, tense silence creeps in. Nicole’s presence is like some erratic force—crashing into a room and leaving everything mutated.

“Are you two, like, dating?” another girl pipes up, clearly trying to cut through the tension.

“Obviously, ho,” Nicole hisses.

She’s so unbearable sometimes. What the hell.

Jecka forces an awkward smile, waves the group off, and quickly drags Nicole into the nearest bathroom.

"You're being fucking ridiculous," Jecka says over the music, pulling Nicole into the bathroom, pressing her against the wall. The cold feels comforting against her palms as she cages Nicole in.

Nicole’s pupils dilate, her breath coming fast. "Don’t act like, you don’t like it," she smirks.

And Jecka doesn’t deny it, as she crashes their lips together in a heated kiss.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Nicole pulls Jecka out of the chaotic mess, stumbling onto the porch. They slump onto the hard concrete, the sudden silence making Jecka’s ears buzz. Somewhere beyond the trees, a train cuts through the cold night air. She gulps in deep breaths—the crowd had been suffocating her. It’s like Nicole has some fucked-up instinct, always knowing the exact moment to drag her out.

Nicole’s knee bounces as she fumbles with her lighter, the flame flickering against her sharp features. "I’m probably not going to graduate," she says suddenly.

Jecka blinks. "What?"

"My grades are fucked." Nicole takes a slow drag, exhaling smoke through her mouth. Her hands tremble just enough to notice—she seems nervous, uncomfortable.

"But maybe I can get better at tattooing? Open my own shop someday."

Jecka’s gaze drops to the concrete as she pulls a cigarette out of Nicole’s pack. She thinks about the graduation in four months, of college, shared rooms, those creeky steel bunks.

Fuck. I have to go.

"I’ll go to college," she says carefully. "Maybe out of state, depending on my grades. I don’t know… yet."

Nicole’s jaw clenches. For a long moment, there’s only the sound of crickets and distant party noise. Then, so quietly Jecka almost misses it—

"I’ll be anywhere you go."

And Jecka’s breath fucking catches. But before she can respond, the opening chords of ‘Back to the Old House’ bleed through the front door.

Nicole’s head jerks up. "Fuck. This song."

Jecka stands, tugging Nicole to her feet. "The Smiths!"

They stumble back through the door straight to the crowd. Jecka pulls Nicole closer, wrapping her arms around her neck. Nicole's hands settle firmly at her waist, drawing her closer until there's no space left between them. The music pulses around them, but all Jecka hears is the hitch in Nicole's breath as their foreheads press together.

The refrain hits, and Nicole's voice comes out shaky around the edges as she murmurs the first line against Jecka's lips.

"I would rather not go, back to the old house"

Jecka feels the vibration of the words where their chests touch. She answers by tightening her grip on Nicole's shoulders.

Their eyes lock, and for a moment the party disappears. There's just Nicole's dilated pupils, and the way her bottom lip softly catches between her teeth.

"And you never knew, how much I really liked you” Jecka continues.

Nicole's grip turns almost painful as she whispers.

"Because I never even told you—"

The music turns static and Nicole freezes. Her hands are still on Jecka's waist. She hesitates, her next words stumble on her tongue.

"Jecka, I—I think I love you."

The world stops. Jecka can feel Nicole's pulse racing beneath her fingertips, Nicole blue eyes are bluer than ever, piercing straight through Jecka’s heart like an amor.

She knows Nicole hates expressing her feelings. She knows Nicole has a way of twisting emotions into something sharp, something that’s confusing, untouchable.

And yet—

Nicole’s voice is soft.

Her pulse thrums beneath Jecka’s fingertips, racing like she’s waiting for a hit that might never come. Her hands tighten, not like they’re holding onto Jecka but like they’re bracing for impact. Like she’s just thrown herself off a cliff and is waiting for the crash.

Jecka has never seen her like this.

She should say something. Do something. But her body moves before her brain catches up.

She yanks Nicole closer, fingers twisting into her hair, and she kisses her.

And—fuck.

Jecka can’t help but whisper against her lips.

"I fucking love you too."

But even as she says it, her hands slide from Nicole's shoulders to her chest, creating just enough space between them to breathe, she feels her pulse racing against her skin. The moment stretches, it feels perfect—too fucking perfect.

And Jecka fucking prays nothing will come crashing back.

Chapter Text

Jecka wakes up with a light headache the next morning. Although she drank quite a bit, for the first time in her miserable life, she doesn’t have a headache that feels like an fucking execution.

The morning sun shines brightly through the half-closed curtains as she stretches across Nicole’s bedsheets. She still feels sore, her body slightly aches from yesterday.

The space next to her is empty again, Nicole’s probably already up, purring expired milk into their cereal. Jecka yawns and grabs her phone from the bedside table.

Her nails scrape over the buttons as she looks through her messages. Kelly’s fucking message is still left on read, slamming against her face like a wet towel.

Jecka didn’t respond to her, why should she? This bitch doesn’t care about her, so she dosen’t either.

Then—

Her phone buzzes against her palm, and it’s—fucking Megan?

Maybe I still have other people to hang with besides Nicole.

‘Jeckaa, we haven’t talked in months! Miss ya. I heard what happened with Kelly, wanna talk about it? Thought you needed a friend besides this bitch Nicole and her slave Emily.’

Jecka grins as she types back.

‘Megan, bitch!! Missed your Harry Potter ass <3 U wanna meet up today?’

The next reply comes fast.

‘sure!! just come to my place whenever’

‘yes bitch’

Jecka tosses her phone aside and looks up—only to flinch slightly when she finds Nicole standing right in front of her, holding two cups of orange juice like she’s been there the whole time.

“Bitch, don’t scare me like that,” she rolls her eyes.

Nicole watches her for a moment, like she’s trying to piece something together. The leftover makeup from yesterday still clings to her pale face.

"Who were you texting just now?" she asks, voice light.

"Megan." Jecka rolls onto her back, grabbing her phone again, and holding it above her face. "She wants to hang today."

Nicole’s fingers harden around the cups. "I hate Megan."

Jecka snorts. "I don’t fucking care, bitch."

Nicole’s still staring down at Jecka, her expression unreadable. She hesitates for a second, then hands her the glass.

Without a word, Nicole sinks onto the bed beside her—the mattress dips under her weight, and she lets her head fall gently into Jecka’s lap.

“I’m going to Emily’s later, some of her friends want me to tattoo them.” The words come out soft, deliberate.

Jecka’s eyes light up. Is Nicole finally doing something good for herself?

“That’s so fucking cool, Nicole!” She smiles brightly, voice filled with excitement. “You will be the fucking best tattoo artist in this shitty town.”

Nicole smiles, but her jaw clenches. "You should come with me, bitch…” She pauses. “…watch your hot girlfriend tattoo, and then we can have steamy sex in Emily’s bathroom.” Her grin widens. “The ultimate foreplay.”

Jecka snorts, but her stomach flips—she already made plans. She can’t make the same mistake again, neglecting all her friends because of Nicole—she’s already seen how things ended with Kelly.

"I can’t this time, Nicole. I don’t wanna lose another friend." She runs her fingers through Nicole’s hair.

Nicole’s hand moves closer, cupping Jecka’s chin. Her thumb strokes the edge of Jecka’s jaw—gentle, possessive. "Right," she murmurs. "Just don’t let her fill your head with bullshit."

Nicole sighs and bounces back up. "Cereal?" she asks, already heading for the kitchen.

“Yeah—" Jecka starts, but her words die in her throat as Nicole leaves out the door, her footsteps pounding down the creaking stairs, heading straight for the kitchen.

Nicole comes back five minutes later, grinning from ear to ear like she just made a fucking five-star meal. She hands Jecka a bowl and drops back onto the bed, fingers fumbling for the remote.

The DVD player is still playing the same thing, the soft hum of the TV blending with the quiet atmosphere.

They eat their cereal in silence, the familiar scenes of Skins flickering on the screen. They’ve been rewatching the first three seasons on repeat—because Nicole said, “The rest fucking sucks, and I love Effy.” Nicole’s glued to the screen like a baby watching Teletubbies.

“I think I’m the perfect mix of Tony and Effy Stonem—I’m like their third sibling,” her words mush around the cereal.

Jecka laughs and nudges her shoulder.

“Bitch, you three are just all demons—that’s what you have in common.”

She lets her head drop on Nicole’s shoulder, letting her body warmth sink in. Nicole’s such a cold bitch, but her body feels perfectly warm against her skin.

Jecka still can’t grasp the fact that the same Nicole she saw, for the first fucking time in the shitty school’s cafeteria is the same bitch, who is cuddled up beside her like in some messed-up domestic dream.

How did this sociopathic devil, who literally acted like she was using her just for sex, end up being this… soft? Nicole’s still a fucking mess of a shell, but the difference is undeniable. She isn’t even as suicidal anymore, which is a huge fucking change considering she’s… emo. Jecka’s gaze wanders over Nicole’s sharp features.

Am I some kind of God? A bitch who can change even the worst type of people?

Nicole’s arm draps around her shoulder’s, pulling her even closer. Her gaze is still fixated on the TV.

Fuck yeah, I am.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Nicole leaves two hours earlier than Jecka, giving her the chance to get ready in peace without having to hear Nicole’s endless commentary while she fumbles around her Sidekick.

Jecka spends so much fucking time at Nicole’s place that she’s already got makeup and clothes scattered around everywhere.

Her parents don’t even bother her anymore—her dad’s just happy she finally has a boyfriend. Jecka had simply shown him a picture of Tyler and said, “Yeah, we’re dating!” to get them to stop asking her the same fucking questions.

She types out a quick message to Megan and heads straight for a hot shower.

‘I will be there in two hours!!’

She washes off yesterday’s emo makeup and lets the water run through her hair, working her way to rinse out that shitty dark dye. The stained water pours down her body, straight the floor.

It’s coming out better than I thought.

She steps out of the bathtub, wrapping a towel around her body, her hair is still dripping wet, falling onto the flow like raindrops. Jecka catches her reflection in the mirror, a weight lifts from her chest.

Still a hot blonde bitch! Thank god.

An hour and a half later, Jecka’s perfectly put together. She grabs her car keys and pounds down the stairs, a strange excitement buzzing in her chest. She might love Nicole, but jesus christ, spending all her time with her is fucking draining.

There’s something about their dynamic that eats her up, pulls at her energy, makes her feel like she’s drowning in it.

But Megan? Megan may be annoying, but she doesn’t make her second-guess every little thing. It’s the escape she sometimes needs.

The front door handle jams under her grip as she pulls it.

Weird.

She rattles it again—still nothing—then again, it’s still not fucking moving.

Is the door locked?

No can’t be. It has to be stuck. She yanks harder, jaw clenched. Her pulse kicks, her breath hitches like her lungs forgot how to function. Her fingers twitch against the door handle, nails digging into the cold metal.

It has to be locked from the outside.

She yanks her phone out, panic is crawling up her throat, leaving her slightly trembling against the buttons as she calls Nicole.

The line goes straight to Voicemail.

What the fuck.

The air thickens. Each inhale comes shorter now like she’s breathing through a pinhole. Her ribs feel too tight around her heart, squeezing every last breath out of her lung—it feels like someone is strangling her.

Jecka hates being locked in; it’s something she can’t fucking stand. Her father used to lock her in her room for hours if she didn’t behave to his standards; “be a good girl, and listen to your parents.”

He never physically abused her like Nicole’s father did, but he was emotionally cruel. He made her feel unworthy of love before she even had her first heartbreak.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! What am I supposed to do!

It feels like the walls around her are tightening, drawing her in closer. Her vision is blurry, her breath catching in shallow gasps, and suddenly she feels like a child again, locked in her own room, begging her parents to release her.

“I’ll behave now, I promise, just let me out!”

She slaps her hand across her face. When did she start crying?

Did Nicole lock the door on purpose? She wouldn’t fucking do that, right? Maybe the door is fucking broken! I don’t know!

Her fists clench to her hair as she drops to the floor, sobbing violently.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Three hours later Nicole strolls in with a pack of cigarettes in her hand.

"Brought your—"

Her words die in her throat as Jecka jumps straight into her arms.

The weight of her body presses against Nicole’s fragile frame, Jecka’s hands gripping onto her tightly, her fingers clutching the fabric of her shirt like she might die if she lets go.

Nicole's breath catches in her throat, her gaze softening for a split second before she forces her usual calm composure, her jaw clenches. Her arms don’t wrap around Jecka instantly—like she’s still catching up, still thinking. Jecka’s breathing is erratic, her body trembling against Nicole’s.

"Why was the door locked,” she breathes against her neck, her voice shaky.

Nicole blinks, then freezes. "What?"

"I—I couldn’t leave, Nicole."

Jecka’s voice cracks, and Nicole’s body tenses against her like a wire snapping to attention.

"My mom texted me, she stopped by," she whispers. "She didn’t know you were here. She always locks up." A pause, then a sigh—measured, like she’s rehearsed it. "I should’ve told her.“

She pulls Jecka even closer, wrapping her arms around her back, tighter.

“It’s okay—it’s not your fault… for once,” Jecka mutters into her skin, her voice muffled. Her body is slowly beginning to relax, but something in her chest still won’t leave.

Nicole pulls her back onto her feet, leading her straight into her room like it’s muscle memory. 

There’s still this unsettling feeling—laying deep in her bones, a feeling Jecka can’t quite shake off—like the air hasn’t settled in since she came in. Nicole seems lighter. Happier. There’s something flickering in her eyes when she turns—like static on a broken screen. 

Nicole’s sitting in front of her, starring at her with an unreadable calmness.

“What about Megan?” she breaks the silence.

There it is. That flicker again—something in her tone like a challenge. Like she’s testing something, and waiting for conformation. 

“I’m not going anymore, she’s probably mad anyways.”

Jecka’s gaze stays locked on Nicole. She studies her like she’s trying to find the pieces—waiting to catch her slipping. Every tilt of her head, the twitch of a smile, the way her fingers tap the edge of the bedsheet—it's all calculated.

Then—

Nicole fucking smiles.

And Jecka’s heart drops to her stomach.

“Would’ve been a waste of time anyways.”

Nicole pushes herself to her feet, pulling Jecka up with her again. She moves like she’s already won. Like the outcome was never a question. She gently tugs them both onto the bed, fingers threading through Jecka’s hair.

“Let’s watch your Paris Hilton shit,” she murmurs, lips grazing her temple.

The screen flickers to life.

Jecka watches the light spread across Nicole’s face—the slight smirk, the half-closed eyes, the ease. She seems so fucking relaxed.

Something cold settles in Jecka’s chest.

But she doesn’t say anything.

And Nicole doesn’t even notice the change.

Chapter Text

It’s been five days.

Five days since she was trapped.

Five days since Jecka cried on the fucking floor like a child.

Five days of trying to make sense, of whether Nicole is sabotaging her or not.

Now they’re outside again. Same routine. Same trashy Hot Topic. Same cold feeling in Jecka’s chest that hasn’t left since the moment she heard the lock click shut.

It’s supposed to be a chill day. A normal, non-toxic, no-fighting type of day.

Hot Topic smells like synthetic leather and overpriced eyeliner. The kind of scent that clings to your clothes even after you leave. It’s the perfect fucking place for girls like Emily.

Jecka’s leaning against the wall by the belt aisle, flipping through her phone. Her lip gloss is slightly smudged, but she looks good, like always. She’s wearing a low-rise denim skirt, a white baby tee that reads Fuck Ken, Barbie’s Single—she’s feeling better and hotter.

Nicole is two aisles away, fingers skimming over the chains and studded collars. She hasn’t said much since they walked in, just quietly wandered, brows furrowed, biting the inside of her cheek like something’s on her mind, like always. Jecka noticed it right away—Nicole’s off. Not angry. Not sulking. Just… off. Like she’s running on autopilot again.

“You’re not gonna get anything?” Jecka asks, voice casual, eyes still on her screen.

Nicole hums. “Maybe.”

There’s a long pause. The kind that stretches a little too far to still feel natural. Jecka finally glances up.

“You okay?”
Nicole looks over her shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jecka blinks. “Jesus, I was just asking.”

Nicole shrugs. “You’re the one acting weird.”

Jecka frowns. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know.” Nicole picks up a lip ring and twirls it between her fingers. “You’ve been different lately.”

Jecka laughs, short and humorless. “Bitch, if anyone’s been acting different, it’s you.”

Nicole doesn’t answer right away. She just tosses the lip ring back into the tray and walks toward Jecka, slowly, like a cat cornering something. Her expression is unreadable, her arms crossed.

“You texted Megan again,” she says finally. It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

Jecka straightens up. “I told you I was talking to her again. She’s my friend.”

“She wasn’t your close friend two months ago, when Kelly left.”

“Because you made me fucking feel like she wasn’t,” Jecka snaps. “Now I’m realizing maybe that was fucking stupid of me, to neglect all my friends.”

Nicole raises an eyebrow. “You think I made you stop talking to her?”

“You didn’t have to,” Jecka says, arms crossed. “You just made me fucking feel like I don’t have friends, so I believed it.”

Nicole stares at her, then scoffs under her breath. “Right. Because I’m the evil mastermind, manipulating poor little Jecka.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant,” Nicole says quietly.

She’s close now, standing directly in front of her. Too close for a public fight. Too close for Jecka to breathe properly. There’s a twitch at the corner of Nicole’s mouth like she’s trying to hold back a smile—or something darker. Her voice is low and sharp when she speaks again.

They often have stupid arguments in public, but this time it feels more serious. Nicole’s been acting off, way more short-tempered than before. It feels like she’s noticing that Jecka’s finally catching on to her bullshit.

“Maybe you like having someone to blame. Maybe it’s easier for you to paint me as the problem instead of admitting you’ve been a shitty friend to everyone around you.”

Jecka goes still. That hits too close. That’s the kind of shit Jecka says to herself, in the mirror, when she feels like a worthless whore. She blinks once, then twice. Her throat feels dry.

Nicole treating her like any other bitch—usually, she saves her mean comments for the fucking freaks.

“I’m leaving,” she says. Her voice is flat. Cold.

Nicole freezes.

“You’re really gonna fucking walk away over that?” she murmurs.

“Yeah, bitch,” Jecka says. “I fucking am.”

She doesn’t wait for a response. She turns on her heel, grabs her purse, and pushes past the rack of clearance shirts like she’s storming the stage of a show she didn’t wanna be in. Her shoes hit the tile with force. Her hands are trembling, but her face is blank.

The car ride home is dead silent.

Jecka refused to drive, so Nicole had to step the fuck up.

Jecka stares out the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. The streets blur past in streaks of orange streetlights and early evening shadows, but she doesn’t see any of it. Her stomach’s churning, heart hanging somewhere between her throat and her ribs. Nicole doesn’t say a word.

Until they pull into the driveway. Until the doors click locked instead of unlocked.

Jecka’s hand hovers near the handle. Nicole speaks first. Soft. Too soft.

“Let’s just fucking… talk?”

Jecka turns slowly. “Are you gonna let me out?”

Nicole doesn’t answer. Just stares straight ahead through the windshield like she’s scared to look at her.

Then, quietly, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Jecka laughs, but there’s no playfulness in it. “You do that a lot, huh? Say shit you don’t mean. Or mean it, then act like you don’t.”

Nicole finally turns to look at her, eyes glassy. There’s something haunted about the way she moves, the way her hand reaches for Jecka’s without touching. She’s unraveling, but only in that tightly, calculated way Jecka has started to recognize. Nicole usually doesn't fall apart—she just strategizes her guilt.

“You think I’m trying to hurt you?” she whispers. “I’m just scared you’re pulling away. You’ve been different ever since you started talking to Megan again.”

Jecka flinches at the name. “So this is about her?”

“No,” Nicole breathes. “It’s about you. You matter to me. Nothing else”

The next part is said so gently it makes Jecka shiver.

“I love you, Jecka.” Nicole’s voice breaks, just a little. Enough to sound real.

It’s not the first time she’s said it. But it still lands with the same dizzying weight. And this time, she leans in—finally, slowly—hands reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind Jecka’s ear. The gesture is tender. Almost too tender.

Jecka swallows hard.

“You lock the door just to say that?” she murmurs.

Nicole lets out a breathy, nervous laugh. “No. I—Dude, I just didn’t want you to leave while you were angry, Jecka.”

But Jecka opens the door anyway. Walks up to the house without another word.
Nicole follows close behind. Jecka feels her presence like a breath on her neck. She lets herself fall backward onto Nicole’s bed, her eyes flutter shut.

Then—

She feels Nicole coming closer, resting her head on Jecka’s lap and wrapping her arms around her legs.

“Let’s just get high or whatever, I don’t wanna fight,” Nicole’s voice is muffled in her lap.

And Jecka’s heart is racing again, slamming against her rips like a bulldozer—her body is always betraying her in every fucking way.

I really can’t escape my feelings, huh?

She sighs and runs her fingers through Nicole’s hair.

“I love you too,” she finally gives in.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

The warm water of the bathtub feels gently around them, the light buzz of the Percs settling deep in her veins, softening the world into something hazy and perfect. Nicole’s body is a warm, comforting weight behind her—her pale, scarred thighs enclosing her hips, her is breath hot against the nape of her neck. A shiver runs through her, and she instinctively clenches her legs together, biting back a moan before it can escape.

Fuck.

She’s a whore for this—meant to crave Nicole’s fucking touch, her approval, the way those blue eyes strip her bare with just one look. A needy fucking whore, just for this emo bitch.

And God, she doesn’t ever want to stop. It feels so good being finally that fucking attracted to someone.

Nicole doesn’t miss the way Jecka shivers under her touch—doesn’t miss the sharp hitch in her breath as she pulls her closer, erasing every inch of space between them. Her lips brush Jecka’s ear, as she whispers.

“Are you okay?”

It’s a murmur, low and dripping with something that makes Jecka’s stomach twist. Her voice cracks when she answers.

“Y—yeah,” but the heat flooding her skull betrays her, her ears are burning red.

Nicole’s hand slides down from her waist, fingers resting possessively over Jecka’s abdomen. Her mouth, traces along the curve of her neck—not quite kissing, just the pressure, teasing. Each graze lingers just long enough to steal Jecka’s breath all over again.

Her hand travels lower, fingers slipping between Jecka’s thighs with a confidence that leaves no room for hesitation. The first brush against her folds draws a sharp gasp—Jecka’s hips jerk forward instinctively, but Nicole’s free arm locks around her waist, holding her in place.

“Still okay?” Nicole murmurs, her lips ghosting against Jecka’s pulse point. There’s this challenge underneath again. A dare.

Jecka’s answer is a suppressed moan, her nails digging into Nicole’s thighs.

Jesus christ, how does she—?

Nicole’s touch is deliberate, testing, circling almost there. And Jecka fucking burns for her. She drags her teeth over Jecka’s collarbone, drinking in the way her breath hitches.

“Tell me.”

“Mmhm,” Jecka hums, the sound barely more than a breath.

A single fingertip presses in, just enough to make Jecka’s thighs tremble.

“What do you want?”

Jecka’s hips roll forward, chasing the pressure, but Nicole holds her still with the arm locked around her waist. 

“I— fuck—” Her words come surpressed as Nicole’s teeth find her neck, biting down just enough.

“Bitch, you know what I want.”

“I don’t.” Another finger slips in, slow—too slow. 

Fuck. We should’ve started with that talking through it shit a long time ago.

“Touch me, bitch.”

Jecka’s voice is steadier than she expected, she’s demanding, not a plea. Nicole smirks against her neck and obeys, adding two fingers without warning.

Jecka jerks, the sudden pressure overwhelming, her body trembling against Nicole’s. Her eyes squeeze shut, her head rolls back with pleasure.

The water sloshes violently as Nicole moves, the tub rocking hard enough to spill onto the floor. Neither of them cares. Jecka chases the friction like she needs it to breathe, hips rolling desperately. Nicole’s other arm locks around her waist, keeping her in place, while her fingers work faster—deeper—and Jecka’s fluids mix with the bathwater.

“You’re so hot, fuck—” Nicole’s moan in her ear. “I’m sorry, for being a bitch, but look at you.”

Jecka whimpers, the apology sending a fresh jolt of heat through her. God, Nicole apologising might be her new kink.

“Fuck—I’m gonna cum just from this.” Nicole isn’t lying; Jecka feels the shakes wracking her body, the way her thighs clamp around her.

Blindly, Jecka reaches back, fingers finding Nicole’s clit despite the awkward angle. She doesn’t care—she wants this—rubbing fast circles as Nicole’s fingers move into her, their rhythm is perfect.

Nicole crashes their lips together. It’s messy, desperate, teeth and tongues and shared gasps, and it’s all too fucking much.

Then—

Jecka breaks first, back arching as her climax rips through her. Nicole follows a second later, shuddering against the tube, their bodies locked in perfect sync.

“Fuck, this was so hot,” Jecka breathes out, finding her voice again.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Jecka’s towel is barely hanging on, her wet hair is sticking against her neck as she rifles through Nicole’s drawer for pajama shorts. Nicole is already in bed, propped against the pillows in one of her oversized tees, legs bare, fumbling with her sidekick like nothing happened. Like they didn’t just fight in a fucking mall and just end up fucking in the bathtub instead of talking like always.

Everything should feel normal again.

But it doesn’t.

“I still smell like sweat,” Jecka mutters, tugging on a pair of sleep shorts. “The sex was way too steamy.”

Nicole hums like she’s listening, but her tone is distracted. “You looked hot, though.”

Jecka doesn’t answer. She pulls her tank top over her head and catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror—damp collarbones, the faintest red mark on her neck. She touches it lightly, then glances at Nicole.

Something in her chest twists. She doesn’t even know why. It’s the quiet, maybe. The calm that feels more like a held breath than actual peace?

She crawls into bed next to her, she still feels sore, Jecka rests her head back against the headboard. Nicole doesn’t move toward her, she’s fixated on tumblr with that same flat stare. They sit in silence for a moment.

Then Nicole speaks, way too casually.

“So… when are you seeing Megan again?”

Jecka’s stomach drops. This shit again?

She tries to keep her voice neutral. “I don’t know. Why?”

Nicole shrugs. Doesn’t look up. “Just asking.”

Jecka sits up a little. “Why are you asking like that?”

“Like what?”

“That tone. Like I did something wrong.”

Nicole finally puts her Sidekick down. “I didn’t say you did. But I feel like, you’re texting her a lot. Isn’t seeing her at school enough?”

“So?” Jecka snaps. “She’s my friend.”

“Sure. Your friend,” Nicole echoes, voice razor-thin. “You didn’t even mention her once until last week.”

Jecka’s blood starts heating. “Yeah, because I was too busy being glued to you every fucking second of the day.”

Nicole scoffs, jaw tightening. “Don’t act like I chained you to me.”

Something in that makes Jecka pause. Her voice is suddenly quieter, sharper. “No. You didn’t.”

Nicole stares at her, lips parted like she’s about to speak—but Jecka’s not done.

“You just got weird every time I wanted to go somewhere. Acted all passive-aggressive if I made plans without you. Locked me in the fucking house—”

The second it slips out, her voice catches.

She hadn’t meant to say that. She even hadn’t let herself think that.

Nicole freezes. Just for a second. Then her face hardens.

“My mother locked you in,” she says, voice slicing through ice.

Jecka looks at her. Really looks.

And everything just clicks. 

The too-calm apology. The timed return. The way Nicole had her phone the whole time, even though it went to voicemail.

Her mouth opens, then closes. Her throat is dry like someone just burned a candle inside her.

“You fucking did,” she whispers.

Nicole sits up straighter. “That’s not what happened.”

“Then what happened?” Jecka demands. “I want to hear it from you. Why the door was locked. Why you didn’t pick up. Why you showed up acting like my fucking saviour.”

Nicole’s jaw clenches. Her eyes flash—not with guilt. With panic.

“Maybe, I just wanted you to wait for me,” she says.

“So you trapped me?”

“You weren’t supposed to feel trapped!” Nicole snaps, her voice louder now. “I just didn’t want you to go!”

Nicole moves like she’s going to touch her, but Jecka jerks back.

“Don’t.”

“Jecka—”

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

The words ring in the room like a slap.

Nicole goes still.

Her face twitches once—then hardens again. But it’s the kind of hard that’s held together by threads.

“I love you, Jecka,” she breathes. “Do you even realize how much I fucking care?”

Jecka’s voice shakes. “Caring doesn’t look like this.”

Then—

Nicole lunges forward, her movement sharp and sudden—no hesitation, no tenderness. Her fingers clamp around Jecka’s jaw, pressing in with force, nails biting in, just enough to break through her skin. It’s not some playful grip. This is control. A silent demand. Her eyes are speaking. Don’t move.

And Jecka’s breath hitches, her body instinctively tensing, but Nicole doesn’t move away. Her thumb digs into the edge of Jecka’s jaw, forcing her mouth slightly apart, while her other fingers curl possessive and with pressure against the sharp line of her bone. There’s something scary in the air between them—not affection, not even anger, but something real and undeniable, tearing on the edge of violence.

For a moment, neither moves. Then Nicole exhales, slow and calculated, her gaze locked onto Jecka’s like a weird challenge.

And that’s it.

That’s the moment.

Everything snaps into focus. Every red flag.

The first week they knew each other, when Nicole snatched the phone from her hand, yanked it against the wall, and convinced her that Kelly wasn’t a real friend.

The moment she slammed her own laptop into the wall, watching it splinter—just because she couldn’t handle her own emotions.

The shit with Tyler, how she humiliated Jecka in front of everyone, just to get back some twisted sense of control.

That fucking time she refused to let Jecka leave, yanking her back by the wrist and shoving her when she tried to walk out the door.

Locking her inside, stopping her from meeting a friend—all because Nicole decided she didn’t like her.

Fuck.

Every time Nicole sobbed, apologized, swore she loved her. Every time she flipped the truth until Jecka felt like the crazy one.

The pain in her jaw. The fear in her chest.

It all makes sense now.

Jecka doesn’t flinch. She stares right back into Nicole’s eyes and says, quiet as a breath.

“Fuck you.”

Nicole blinks.

And Jecka shoves her off, stands up, and grabs her bag without looking back. Her heart is pounding. Her legs are shaking. But she’s moving. Finally. For the last time.

Chapter Text

Jecka can’t feel her legs. She’s running blind through the streets, the harsh yellow streetlights carrying her through the dark alleys. Her eyes burn, the tears won’t stop falling. She fucking hates this. This shit is so humiliating. How did she let herself get fucking abused by a bony emo bitch?

She literally doesn’t deserve me. God, I literally gave her my everything like some pathetic lover girl.

Jecka used to be the kind of bitch who put up with way too much bullshit—before she turned seventeen, she was one of those embarrassing girls who let her boyfriend treat her like crap and just smiled through it.

But at seventeen, her brain finally developed, and she realized who the fuck she was. She was the one doing the manipulating now, the one playing with boys fragile egos just because she could.

She’s turning nineteen this year. So how the fuck did she end up acting like her sixteen-year-old self all over again?

Love really does fucking blind you.

She’s never been genuinely in love before Nicole. Jesus Christ—how did her first girlfriend end up being one of the worst people she’s ever dated?

And Jecka still fucking loves her. With every inch of her pathetic soul.

The hold Nicole has on people is terrifying. Consuming. She felt it the moment their eyes first met—that pull. That gravitational force. Like they were meant to collide no matter what.

Nicole cracked her open and left her bleeding, desperate for more. More of this fucked up toxicity that made her head feel like it was splitting, but her heart—her heart burned with passion.

Jecka feels a drop hit her nose. She stops for a moment and lifts her hand up.

Is it going to fucking rain now?

And Jesus Christ, God answers with the biggest rain shower ever. Water pours down over her body, her clothes clinging to her skin, and she looks like a stray cat—trembling, crying, and fucking soaked.

She crosses her arms in a pathetic attempt to warm herself, and her legs keep moving. Instinct carries her to the only person who’s seen her in every fucked-up situation.

Before she can stop herself—she’s standing in front of Kelly’s door.

She hesitates for a second, breathes out slowly, and knocks.

Six times. She knocks exactly six times before the door finally creaks open.

Their eyes meet. Jecka’s pupils are shaking, darting across Kelly’s features like she can’t believe she’s actually here.

Kelly’s hand grips the doorframe. Her eyebrows shoot up to her forehead, and her eyes are wide like she’s just been told she’s terminally ill.

“Jecka? What are you doing here?” she finally breaks the silence, her voice soft, touched with disbelief.

Jecka blinks a few times. Her body relaxes just a bit, her arms drop to her sides again—but the tears keep spilling down her cheeks.

“You were right,” she breathes. “I shouldn’t have messed with Nicole.”

And then she drops into Kelly’s arms.

Jecka feels Kelly tense for a moment, startled—but after a slow exhale, she wraps her arms around Jecka’s back and pulls her inside.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Kelly’s busted TV flickers in the darkness, the only real light in the room coming from a small table lamp casting a soft, hazy glow. Jecka likes this kind of dimness—it makes it feel like she doesn’t have to face reality. Like maybe all of this is just some dumb dream, and any second now, she’ll wake up in Nicole’s arms.

Fuck.

Jecka stares at the flickering screen, eyes wide, not even blinking. The static feels like a perfect representation of everything going on inside her head.

I love her.

The broken screen crackles back to static white.

I fucking hate her.

And again.

Kelly has wrapped a big towel around Jecka’s back. Her clothes and hair are still soaking wet, dripping onto the floor—but she doesn’t care. Neither does Kelly. Kelly’s always been there for her, through every fucked up situation. Kelly just gets her.

“Jecka what’s going on?”

Kelly shifts closer on the couch, turning to face Jecka. She studies her for a moment, then reaches out, gently taking Jecka by the jaw to guide her face toward her. But Jecka flinches—like she’s been burned. Kelly blinks, confused, and quickly slides off the couch to kneel in front of her. Now they’re eye to eye. Kelly’s breath catches in her throat. She’s really looking at her for the first time—and suddenly, she can’t believe she didn’t see it sooner.

“Your face—did Nicole do this?”
Jecka has never heard her speak so softly.

Jecka brings her fingers to her jaw, gently tracing along the skin. She can feel it now—a slight bruise already forming. Probably from Nicole’s nails digging in. There’s a red flush beneath the surface, just along her jawline. It’s a little swollen. Still finger-shaped.

This is humiliating.
I fucking hate her.

Jecka swallows hard and looks away. She hates feeling small.

“We—we were just arguing…” Her eyes drop to her hands. “That emo freak has a short temper?” she tries to laugh, but it comes out awkward and hollow.

Kelly doesn’t blink. Her expression stays firm, eyes serious, brows drawn tight.

“Are you two…?” Kelly hesitates.

“Yeah.”

“Do you love her?”

“Fuck.” Jecka closes her eyes in irritation. “Why does it fucking matter!” Her voice rises louder than she intends.

But Kelly doesn’t flinch. She stands up slowly, still looking her dead in the eyes. Jecka has never seen her like this—so calm, so steady.

“Because she clearly doesn’t love you.”
Her voice is cold. It cuts straight through Jecka’s chest.

“How would you fucking know—” Her voice cracks. “You weren’t even there.”
Her fists clench. She hates this. Being talked to like she’s a clueless bitch. Like someone else knows her life better than she does.

“You pushed everyone away because of Nicole. And you know it.”

Of course she knows.

But admitting it? Owning up to how badly you fucked up? That’s the hardest part. Especially if you’re a stubborn-ass bitch like Jecka.

Kelly speaks again before she can say anything.

“You’re dependent on that bitch, Jecka. And she’s clearly trying to posses you.” Kelly sighs, and gently takes Jecka’s hand, interviewing their fingers together.

“I’m sorry I was stupid to believe that emo bitch.”

“I’m sorry too,” Jecka breathes, falling into her arms. “I missed you, bitch.”

“Me too.”

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Kelly hands her a towel and some clean clothes. Jecka doesn’t say anything—just walks straight to the bathroom and turns the shower on as hot as it’ll go.

The water hits her like a blanket. Heavy and warm. It clings to her skin, melts into her muscles, gives her a temporary sense of comfort. Like she’s rinsing the panic out of her bones.

But her mind drifts, again and again, back to the pretty demon.

Nicole loves her. She knows it. She feels it in her fucking bones.

It’s just… Nicole doesn’t know how to love in the proper way.

And Jecka’s not going to be the one to teach her. Not anymore. Not when it costs her this much. She has too much self-respect for that.

I love her but I can’t keep trying to fix her.

Fuck.

She lets the water pour over her face like it might drown the ghost of Nicole. Like it might wash away whatever version of herself let this happen.

Was she really in an abusive relationship She already knows the answer. She’s done enough reflecting today to stop pretending otherwise.

Jecka steps out of the shower. The bathroom is full of steam—the mirror is completely fogged, the air too thick to breathe. Her head is pounding. The towel wrapped around her torso feels soft, grounding, as she wipes a patch of the mirror clean and stares at her reflection.

For the first time today, she really looks at herself.

Jecka gently lifts her fingers to the red mark on her jaw. It feels tender, and it stings a little under the pressure.

Nicole always had a strong grip. Too strong.

Then—

She hears Kelly’s voice cutting sharp through the wall.

“She doesn’t want to fucking talk to you—stop calling her, bitch!”

Jecka’s heart slams against her ribs.
Jesus christ. She forgot to check her phone.
Nicole’s probably been blowing it up with texts, calls, God knows what else.

She exhales shakily and runs a hand through her wet hair.

Nicole’s so fucking complicated.

She treats me like a princess one moment and then acts like a fucking animal the moment she feels threatened.

Every girl used to fantasize about having a boyfriend who was possessive. Like, “If I can’t have you, no one can” type shit.
But actually having some emo bitch with one friend and zero impulse control obsess over you?

That shit’s terrifying.

Nicole wants to be the only constant thing in my life. She’s been trying to isolate me from the beginning.

And honestly? Jecka wouldn’t even be surprised if Nicole had this weird obsession with her before they even talked.

After awkwardly pulling on the clothes Kelly gave her—some oversized hoodie and shorts that dosen’t match—Jecka steps out of the bathroom and heads straight into the living room.

“Give me my phone,” she sighs, holding out her hand.

Kelly raises an eyebrow. “Are you gonna text Nicole?”

“No…?”

Kelly doesn’t push it. She just shrugs, grabs the phone from the table, and hands it over before dropping back into the couch.

Jecka's nails click against the buttons as she unlocks it. And then—damn.
Her notifications are flooded. Over a hundred messages. Fifty missed calls.

This bitch is actually insane.

She scrolls. And scrolls. And scrolls.

‘Jecka where are u?’

‘I’m sorry I didn’t mean to grab you like that.’

‘I just get so angry sometimes u know…’

‘I love u and I miss u rn’

‘I literally love u sm forgive me’

‘Jeckaaaaa’

‘I’m starting to worry’

‘You aren’t gonna leave me are you?’

‘Did I hurt u? I didn’t mean to :(‘

‘Kelly’s such a bitch wtf! I just wanna talk to you’

‘Call me when u got ur fckn phone back’

‘Jecka?’

‘I love u’

And then more. Dozens—hundreds—of the same thing:

‘i love u’

‘don’t leave’

‘i love u’

‘pls don’t go’

‘pls‘

‘ur the first person who has me begging like a pathetic virgin’

Jecka stares at the screen, her chest tightening with something she can’t quite name. Guilt? Pity?

Love?

She doesn’t even know anymore. All she knows is that her phone feels like it weighs twenty pounds in her hands.

Should I call her? Give her the final closure?

Fuck it.

Her fingers hover over the button—and then she clicks call.
The line doesn’t even ring once.

Nicole picks up instantly.

“Fuck, Jecka! Tell Kelly to fucking piss off—”

“Nicole.” Jecka cuts her off. Her voice is sharp—razor sharp. It slices through whatever rage Nicole was about to throw.

Silence.

“What?” Nicole tries to sound steady, but her voice is trembling.

“I’m leaving you.”

“Jecka, please don’t believe any of the bullshit Kelly or Megan—or whoever—said.”
Jecka can practically hear her roll her eyes. “No one understands our fucking connection, Jecka. I would literally kill for you.”

“I know, Nicole…”
She runs a hand through her hair. “But you’re not in the right space to date. I can’t fix you, Nicole.”

“You—You don’t mean that, Jecka.” Nicole’s voice is cracking now, choked and muffled. Small sniffles come through the line. She’s trying not to cry. Trying to hold it together.

Jecka’s heart splits right down the middle. God, she hates how much empathy she still has for her.

Her lips tremble. Her grip on the phone tightens as her eyes fill with tears.

“I love you so much, Nicole.”
A whimper slips out. “But I respect myself more than I love you.”

“Jecka—”

“No, Nicole. Not anymore.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. But the tears don’t stop.

“You have to let me go.”

And then—she hangs up.

Chapter Text

Three months pass since the call—the breakup? It doesn’t even feel like the right word. It was a cut. A tear through reality. Straight through her beating heart.

Nicole stole her heart, rammed it through a wall, picked the pieces back up and patched them back together, over and over and over again.

Jecka spent the time trying to heal. The first few weeks were the worst. She’d been so dependent on Nicole that everything felt like heroin withdrawal.

Cold sweats. Shaky hands. A deep, aching emptiness that lodged itself in her chest and refused to fucking move.

She would wake up drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, ripped out of dreams where everything was still okay between them.

Nicole’s voice echoing in her ear—sweet and maddening. Her fingers on Jecka’s face, soft before they tightened—then she’d whisper “I love you” like it was a promise.

In those early days, Jecka barely left the house. Her room turned into a depressing emo grave, blinds drawn, room dark, and music blasting loud enough to drown out every thought of her.

She played the same three sad Lizzy grant songs on repeat, and let them bleed through the walls—Not caring about her father yelling downstairs.

Some days she cried until her face went numb, and her eyes were so swollen, she couldn’t even see. Other days she just stared at the ceiling, replaying conversations like they were movies with different endings if she was delusional enough.

Jecka hadn’t even known Nicole for half a year—how the hell had she taken over her whole fucking life? It was her first heartbreak, and she still fucking cringes at herself for acting this pathetic.

Kelly texted a few times. Megan, too. Jecka ignored them at first. Not out of spite—she just didn’t know how to be a person again. How to be without her—how to fucking live. For weeks, Nicole’s name hovered on her screen like a ghost.

The unread messages stacking up. At first apologetic. Then desperate. Then quiet, Nicole had actually given up.

And then, the call.

It was Emily, her voice thin and trembling through the phone. Nicole had OD’d. She’d been found just in time, taken to the hospital, then moved to a clinic. Until graduation. “She’s okay,” Emily had said. “For now.”

Jecka had just stood there, holding the phone to her ear like it weighed a hundred pounds. She didn’t cry. She didn’t say anything. Just hung up and sat on the floor for an hour, staring at nothing. It wasn’t guilt. It wasn’t relief.

It was something way messier, something that settled deep into her bones, leaving her trembling like a leaf in the wind. It was Something that made her want to scream and call her and run to her and never see her again—all at once.

And then… she moved forward.

She started meeting Kelly again. Short hangouts at first—Kelly did save her that day, but it didn’t mean things weren’t still awkward between them. Eventually, the silence between them softened. Megan joined once or twice.

They never talked about Nicole directly, but the ghost of her was always there, grazing at her thoughts like a spirit drifting through empty rooms.

Jecka got a tattoo—a tramp stamp. Doubled her clothes consumption, and rearranged her room. She did all the small things, to make her feel a little bit better. To fucking proof that she still had control. That she was still real, and a person without Nicole.

And still—every now and then, usually when the sky turned dark, or a certain song played too long—Jecka would feel it again. That pull, that hold, that awful, aching gravity.

Like some part of her was still stuck back there, still waiting in Nicole’s room, still hoping she’d open the door and say something loving and cruel all at once.

But she didn’t go back. She stayed strong, and focused on other things.

The last few weeks had been the easiest. Finals were just around the corner, and Jecka actually took the time to bury herself in her textbooks—anything to keep Nicole’s voice from creeping back in. Anything to finally close that chapter for good.

College was the goal—she couldn’t stay stuck in this stupid town like Nicole, not with those stupid people. She was meant for something bigger, something more than this.

And still—

She decided to take a year off before going to college. She didn’t even know why she wanted that, but something deep inside, something too honest to ignore, told her to stay. To stay just one more year.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

The Winter passed in a blur, and now warmth is creeping back in. The trees are slowly turning green, and flowers are beginning to bloom. The air smells like mud and things coming back to life.

Jecka’s standing on the stage, staring out at the crowd. She’s wearing a purple gown, diploma in hand, and the sun is beaming down on her skin. Kelly’s standing next to her, a soft smile on her face. And for once—Jecka’s smiling too.

The stage is small, set up on the football field, draped in purple cloth. Dozens of folding plastic chairs stretch out in front of her. A cheap banner flutters behind the podium—“Class of ’09.”

Her principal is standing at the podium, speaking into the microphone, but her voice is all static—Jecka’s not listening. She’s zoned out, eyes still locked on the crowd. Her mother keeps waving at her, and right next to her are Kelly’s parents. Her dad keeps yelling, “That’s my girl!” and Kelly’s just rolling her eyes.

Then—

Jecka’s breath catches as her eyes lock onto a figure in the distance. Sharp blue gaze, cigarette dangling between her lips—and Jecka would even recognise those features from a mile away.

Her heart slams against her ribs. Her lungs feel like they’re closing, like they forgot how to breathe. She moves her hand to her throat—just to make sure she still is.

Kelly notices the shift in her and gently nudges her side.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” Jecka chokes, barely getting the word out.

The figure shifts, then disappears behind the bleachers. And for a second, Jecka wonders if she imagined it—just another trick her brain’s playing on her.

“Now, a student will be giving a speech! A round of applause for Jecka!”

Applause erupts from the crowd, echoing across the field. It’s loud, messy, full of whistles and cheers. It instantly snaps her back to reality.

She stumbles awkwardly through the crowd of students, almost trips as she steps onto the podium.

Nicole’s presence is already pulling at her, draining her, making her fucking nervous.

She takes a breath a slow, deliberate—and lets herself relax before she begins.

“This school fucking sucks, and I’m glad I’m finally free.” Her voice rings out over the mic, half-laughing, half-serious. “Also, our gym teacher’s a pedophile. Bye, whores.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence—then the students behind her burst into wild applause, some of them whistling, others just cheering because someone finally said it.

Jecka grins, heart jamming in her chest, and before she can step away from the podium, Kelly throws her arms around her.

The parents in the front rows glance awkwardly at each other—but then, they start clapping too.

But Jecka doesn’t care. She’s already stepping off the stage, walking away toward the crowd of people.

Her mother instantly pulls her into a hug, while her father awkwardly smiles at her. Good. It’s not like she wants a hug from him anyway. Kelly is following close behind, her parents standing right next to hers.

Jecka zones out again, her gaze drifting to the bleachers as their parents sink into chatter.

Her eyes catch her—Nicole, still standing against the bleachers, half-hiding from the sun.

Her body reacts before her mind catches up. She’s about to move closer when Kelly catches her by the wrist.

“Are you sure?” she mumbles.

Jecka just nods, pulls her arm away, and walks over.

Behind the bleachers.

Where they first met.

Nicole’s leaning against the wall, half-shadowed by the bleachers. She doesn’t look like she did three months ago. Her hair’s lighter—almost brown? And it’s undeniably longer. Her cigarette’s burning low between her fingers, like she doesn’t care if she gets burned.

“I liked your speech,” she says, breaking the silence, voice low. A smirk tugs at her mouth. “Very… you.”

Jecka crosses her arms. “Didn’t think you’d show.”

Nicole shrugs, turning her head away. “Didn’t think I would make it either.”

Silence.

Then, softer. “You look good.”

Jecka swallows. Her throat’s tight. “You don’t.”

Nicole chuckles, raspy. A tint of bitterness. “Fair.”

The wind stirs around them, soft and sticky with the upcoming summer.

“I thought about you every day,” Nicole says, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “In there. The clinic. You were in my head more than anything else.”

Jecka flinches. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Say shit like that.”

Nicole steps closer—just an inch. “Right. I’m sorry.” She closes her eyes and exhales. “I’ve been on medication—it’s kind of weird…” Her voice wavers. “It makes me feel shit—like guilt? I guess I feel more human.”

Jecka blinks. Her heart is still ramming against her chest like a jackhammer pounding against concrete. She keeps her mouth shut, just staring straight into those blue orbs.

Nicole fumbles in her pockets and fishes out a cigarette, handing it to Jecka. Her brow raises, but she takes it anyway. Their fingers linger a bit too long—an old habit. And even that touch makes her skin jump with goosebumps.

“How have you been?” Nicole tries again, flicking her cigarette onto the concrete. And Jecka can’t help but smile, her cold facade already cracking.

“Good—better.” She tugs a strand of hair behind her ear.

“That’s good—really good.”

Nicole shifts awkwardly. Jecka’s never seen her this nervous before. She looks more like a scared kitten than a flesh-eating vampire.

“I love you—no, fuck,” she groans, slapping a hand over her face. “I didn’t mean to say that... the medication makes my head all mushy?”

Jecka snorts, and a laugh escapes before she can stop it. God, Nicole looks pathetic—actually pathetic. But Jecka’s heart is still pounding, and she can’t help but think.

I still love you too.

Jecka steps a little closer. They’re only a few feet apart now, and the tension between them is crackling back to life. That pull between them will never really stop.

“I’m staying here,” she says, breaking the silence again. “Just for a year—until I figure out what I want to do…”

Nicole’s eyes instantly brighten, her face softening as she drops on the concrete floor. Jecka follows her, their shoulders gently brushing together.

“You know… I met you a week before we actually talked here at the bleachers…”

“What?” Jecka raises a brow, confused.

It’s a dark summer night, the heat is still clinging to the pavement. This is routine, since she moved here. She’d been walking aimlessly every night for months, headphones in, empty eyes scanning the same old streets. She didn’t even know what she was looking for—what she was doing. Maybe nothing. Maybe an escape.

Then—

She hears a crash, just a few steps behind her.

She turns around, more annoyed than alarmed. Some girl just hit the sidewalk stumbling through the alley. She’s blonde. Glitter is smudged around her whole body. It looks like she’s laughing or crying—Nicole can’t really tell. She’s mumbling to herself like some drunk head.

Nicole watches, but she doesn’t move. It’s not her problem. She’s already walking away. Let her fall. Let her choke on her vomit. She doesn’t fucking care.

But Nicole turns her head for the last time, and the girl looks up. Their eyes lock. Just for a moment. Brown eyes, blown wide—she looks like a startled puppy. Her pupils aren’t focusing, but she looks straight at Nicole.

“Bitch… are you real?”

Nicole’s head snaps back and she freezes.
Something weird slams against her chest. She moves her hand up to her heart, and she fucking hates how it’s beating.

“Where are your friends?” Nicole asks flatly.

“Kelly... Megan... dunno. They left me,” the girl slurs, and giggles like it’s a fucking joke.

Nicole stares at her. Her body’s small, her clothes barely cover her. Her makeup’s smeared, mascara running down her cheeks. There’s blood on her knee. She smells like alcohol and expensive perfume.

Fuck. Why should I care?

But Nicole bends down and lifts her up anyway.

And Jecka leans into her touch like it’s natural. Like they’ve done this before. Like she’s safe here.

“You’re warm,” she mumbles, already half-asleep.

Nicole doesn’t respond. She fumbles her phone out of the pocket of her hot pants.

“What’s your password?”

“Jecka123,” she slurs.

Jecka? And what a dumbass fucking password. Typical blonde.

Nicole scrolls through her contacts until her eyes land on ‘Me.’ She clicks on it and—just like she thought—there’s Jecka’s address listed.

Nicole carries her the whole walk home. She could drop her. She could leave her on someone’s lawn. But she doesn’t, and she doesn’t know why.

The way to her apartment was faster than Nicole expected—it was only ten minutes. Ten minutes filled with Jecka in her arms, mumbling “thank you” into Nicole’s neck over and over again.

She hates how every breath against her throat made her heart stutter and her skin erupt in goosebumps. She feels weird—she’s never had such an intense reaction to a person before (unless it was a negative one).

Am I turning into a fucking kind bitch?

Nicole doesn’t even know why she’s helping taking her home. And what kind of fucked up friends are Megan and Kelly if they just left her like this? Not that Nicole cares, of course.

Nicole spent five minutes looking for Jecka’s keys, which—because of course—were hidden in her bra for some stupid reason.

The stairs creak under their weight, and Nicole wonders why she has so much strength despite her fragile, tiny arms. 
Maybe all the cutting gave her muscles?

Nicole gently leads her to the bed. Jecka falls onto her back laughing, staring up at the ceiling. Nicole’s standing in front of her, not really sure if she should just fucking leave. And not even knowing why… she doesn’t.

Then—

Jecka shoots out her arm, grabbing Nicole’s wrist and pulling her down. Nicole instantly trips and falls onto her,  her hands lay around Jecka’s head, eyes wide, hovering over her barely covered body.

Nicole’s heart is jamming against her ribs like it’s about to jump straight out, her pupils darting all over Jecka’s face.

What the fuck.

Jecka just stares into Nicole’s blue eyes like a wolf under a full moon.

“You have pretty eyes,” Jecka slurs, lifting her hand and softly tracing Nicole’s cheek. “They’re piercing straight through me.”

Nicole doesn’t answer—she’s too busy trying to get her fucking heart to stop acting like it’s about to explode. Their eyes stay locked.

“Can I kiss you?” Jecka’s gaze drops to her lips.

And Nicole’s body is fucking trembling. How does this girl she met twenty minutes ago make her body act all weird? How does this stupid blonde bitch make Nicole lose her composure? It feels like she’s losing control over her body, like it’s acting before her mind can catch up.

Nicole nods—before she can even think about it. Jecka instantly pulls her down by the hair and softly smashes their lips together. They meet in a needy fucking kiss, teeth slightly clashing.

And this—this is the moment Nicole realizes something.

For the first fucking time, there’s something she thinks she might need.

This—this feeling. Her skin burning, her heart pounding, and the urge to fucking devour, to worship this bitch she doesn’t even know.

How does she fucking do this? She must be a god or something. Fuck.

After five minutes, they pull apart, breathing heavily like they just ran a marathon. Their eyes meet again. Nicole swears Jecka can hear her heartbeat.

After what feels like years, Nicole finally rolls off her and drops onto the bed beside her, staring at the ceiling. Jecka shifts, and Nicole glances to the right just to see Jecka fumbling with the buttons of the CD player on the side table.

What is this stupid blonde up to again? I should just fucking leave.

But Nicole’s thoughts get interrupted by the sound of the CD playing—the chords of a song from every cliché romcom. Jecka practically jumps to her feet. She laughs—sharp and unrestrained—then holds out a hand like a dare.

“Dance with me.”

Nicole raises an eyebrow. “To this?”

What movie did she just crawl out of? This is so fucking stupid. We don’t even fucking know each other. Isn’t she scared? I could kill her if I wanted to.

Elvis croons through the tiny CD player on her table, low and warbly. Wise men say, only fools rush in... It’s too fucking cliché. She hates it.

“C’mon,” Jecka slurs, grabbing her wrist before she can say no. “You look like you need distraction.”

“From what, bitch?”

“Yourself. Probably.”

Nicole hesitates for a moment, her brows furrowing, her gaze slowly dragging from Jecka’s hand up to her face—and fuck, she has that stupid drunk smile on her face that tells Nicole she’s not going to let this go.

She’s not gonna remember this tomorrow anyway. 

Fuck it.

Take my hand, take my whole life too...

And just like the lyrics say, she takes Jecka’s hand, letting herself be pulled closer until their chests touch.

They sway. Awkward at first, bumping knees and tripping over each other’s feet. Jecka’s a little too drunk to care. Her head tips back when she laughs again, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed. She smells like cherry lip gloss and vodka.

“You’re really bad at this,” Jecka mutters.

Nicole scoffs. “And you’re stupid.”

For I can’t help falling in love with you...

Jecka smiles. She doesn’t say anything. Just tightens her grip on Nicole’s waist—just barely. Just enough to feel real.

They keep dancing.

And even though they just met, even though it’s fucking stupid and too fast and too much—Nicole fears this might be the beginning of something.

And Nicole might fucking ruin her.

But she doesn’t care.

There’s something she fucking wants now.

“So it wasn’t that guy who carried me home,” Jecka whispers.

“What gu—no. It was me,” Nicole catches herself mid-irritation.

“So that’s why you didn’t want me to hang out with them.”

“Yeah…”

“Oh.”

Jecka feels that weird sensation spreading through her chest again—like her heart is breaking all over. Like she’s getting tangled up in the what if again.

“If we met on different occasions,” she says softly, not quite looking at her. “Like on your first day of school—”

She pauses. The thought hangs heavy in the air, full of all the things they’ll never get back. Nicole doesn’t speak, but her eyes flicker—Jecka catches it.

“We could’ve been friends…” Her voice cracks slightly, but she pushes through. “Maybe more. Someday.”

Jecka doesn’t say you ruined it. She doesn’t have to. It’s already written in the fucking space between them.

Her head drops onto Nicole’s shoulder, and it all feels so fucking familiar—comforting, dangerous.

“Fuck,” Nicole breathes, voice splintering. “I would’ve loved that.”

“Me too—bitch.” A sob escapes her fucking lips.

Jecka fumbles her phone out from under her gown, checking the time.

Shit. I have to go.

She gets to her feet and extends her hand. Their eyes meet again, and Nicole instantly takes it, pulling herself up.

Then—

Nicole looks at her, really looks at her with those same piercing blue eyes, that confident, maddening smile, and fuck—she’s still beautiful.

And Jecka knows, she fucking knows, she’ll never stop falling. Not when Nicole’s always going to be the one pushing her, and always the one pulling her back.