ricz ꜝ❤︎⬞♪

from the top of your head to the bottom of your toes, you were soaked. you had walked through the rain clad in a jacket you’d hoped would keep the rain from seeping through, but were left disappointed instead. and as wet as a church mouse with no faith. on the right side of your face, blood mingled with the drops, until they were bright red and sliding into your clothes. but when you stood before a door, you no longer cared about it. you had one job, and one job only. 

  you waited on the doorstep for a resident, elbows on your knees, fists holding your cheeks. around you, the sky continued to weep and sob, and you daydreamed that it had just found out the sun had cheated on it with the moon. truly, you had no better hobby in a time like this. you left your phone at home; you had no money to gamble them somewhere, and you needed to pay attention to who could come in, who could come out. you shouldn’t play as anything but the homeless person begging for a crumb of bread.

  as much as whatever god you prayed to when you were small hated you, it also loved to bless you. after half an hour, the click of the entryway door was louder than the rain, so you caught it quickly. a man your age walked out, and before the door could close behind him, you slipped inside. 

  the building was different from yours. when you walked inside, you weren’t met with a courtyard like yours, but with a long hallway that ended in a staircase leading to the second floor. the only similarity was its crookedness. walls held a maturity that wrinkled the paint. the doors were so poorly assembled that they were low enough to drag against the floor. the bad attempt at beautifying this building with a rug deemed itself idiotic, because the rug had lost its color and was old enough to become one with the ground. there was even a camera in the corner, but the red light had long since lost its breath. you should find another shelter before you catch a disease from some freaky rats here. you really should. like, really, really should.

  but your brain was one small joke, or your legs were too playful and stubborn to listen. in the end, you walked deeper inside, but avoided the rug. 

  you reached the second floor. congrats! you were now one step away from humiliating yourself. if the bad smell and the peeling wallpaper of the second floor didn’t warn you to turn around, the shame bubbling in the pits of your stomach certainly should. but for some reason, you still approached the door. maybe it was the performative courage you mustered when you took a deep breath.

  you shut down your brain for a second, not wanting to hear its “No, don’t do it!!” while you raised your hand and knocked against the door. it was now or never, type shit. 

  after a bit, you heard footsteps approaching the door, and you braced yourself once it swung open. for a second, you even forgot how to breathe. 

  “What the fuck?”

  the figure before you stole all the breath from your lungs, anyway. it wasn’t what you remembered of her, but the face was too similar to believe you were facing a different person. shaggy, dirty blond locks fell messily over her round shoulders, like a waterfall that knew no control, and chopped bangs almost covered her green eyes. from the roots, you could peek at the black you recalled well and fair, a sign that blond was anything but natural. her skin, which used to be porcelain, was sprayed a tan that didn’t suit her complexion at all, yet she wore it with such confidence, you wanted to believe her.

  she has a lot more meat on her bones since you last saw her. back then, you could have counted all of her ribs. now, her pear-shaped figure was soft and healthy. she wore a black, sleeveless top with thin straps and shorts that exposed parts of her ass. at least one thing didn’t change: her fashion sense.

for some reason, seeing her again after such a long time felt like a sudden, dark cloud of melancholy had shadowed you. you began crying, just like the clouds outside. 

  “Manon, your new place is genuine shit!” 

  that took her off guard.

  “HUH?!?”

"What happened to your face?"

  the two of you were now sitting in the middle of her loft apartment, an impressively spacious room with little furniture but visibly lived-in. on far left of the cavernous room, there were stairs leading to an open second floor, typically where the bedroom was. though, from where you sat, you couldn’t make much of it aside from the chandelier. 

 right next to the couch was a dog. a german shepherd, to be precise, sleeping despite a stranger being right there, in his space. a sign he was used to people like you, coming and going, or perhaps was too old to care, if his greying fur around the muzzle said anything. his collar glinted: “Oscar.”

  at her question, you looked away and instinctively raised a hand to your wet face. a bolt of pain shot through you when your fingertips grazed the wound at the cheekbone. ah, you almost forgot about that. you had punched yourself in case she refused to let you in, planning to make some absurd story about an abusive boyfriend and having nowhere else to go. Manon was full of love, despite her filthy tongue. even if people wronged her, she still had it in her to wish to help them when they were in need. and you wanted to take full advantage of that.

but, of course, that was useless when you began crying for no reason. the funny part was that it wasn't even in your plan to do so. maybe later on, while you were sitting at her kitchen with a hot cup of tea and talking about what happened. not before you could barely greet her.

you smeared the blood on your pointer and middle finger with your thumb.

well, since you have already thought of a good story, you might as well just say it. this way, the chances of her throwing you into the rain would be lower, you thought. "I got into a fight… with my boyfriend."

somewhere between your words, her gaze softened, the tension in her shoulders eased, but only a little of it. she continued to listen while you talked, clearly wanting to hear the full tale before she decided whether you were worthy to sit in the same apartment as her.

"I—uh, it was really stupid. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here." you tried to play the embarrassed damsel in distress, to downplay the so-called "abuse" you went through in hopes she'd respond to it with encouragement. something about, "No, this is serious," or "you can tell me anything."

amongst the many flaws Manon clutched firmly against her chest, there was curiosity. and giving how many cats it had killed, it would be a lie to say it wasn't another imperfection to her pile of many. it made one do a lot of stupid things. and hopefully, if curiosity were to kill her, satisfaction would bring her back.

her hand grabbed yours before you could stand up and feign walking away. "Oh, fuck off. Let you go back to that bastard? You look like shit from an ass. Seriously, talk to me."

within your history with her, there weren't many opportunities to talk about feelings. when they were, it was her who spoke, and you who listened. Ever since you were a kid, your feelings were never validated, especially when you voiced them. so you've learned to cry, shut down, or throw a tantrum when things got bad. you were never taught emotional maturity, and even now, you lack the knowledge. but you knew how to act as if you had it. it was the same with Vivian, as well.

you settled back on the couch, looking down at your lap.

"He's been dealing with a lot of issues. And I wanted to help, in my own way. I told him, for every day that goes by without him touching alcohol, I'd reward him. But tonight, he came home drunk. And…" you sniffed, despite having no tears in your eyes. "We got into a fight."

her tendency to wear her heart on her sleeve momentarily appeared, and she scooted closer to try and comfort you. you felt her hand on your back, gliding up and down in slow moves. "Aw, it's okay. Let's call the cops and lock that dickhead up."

to make a complaint about a guy who didn't even exist would make the parisian policemen laugh harder than the ocean hits the shore in the middle of a storm, and Manon angrier than ever. There was one thing she couldn't possibly accept: lies. you couldn't have her know. so, you shook your head, pushing her hand as if it was too hot for your skin. "No, Manon. I don't want to get him in trouble. He's… he has issues. Putting him in jail won't fix them. It'll just make everything worse."

you turned your head at her, eyes sparkling with desperation. or, at least, you hoped. "Do you seriously want to put me in danger like that?"

"Girl…" she sounded disappointed, but her face showed more than that. a glint of concern appeared, a bit of sadness for you, and a whole lot of understanding. "I mean, I get it. It was the same with my ex. But… like, sure, you don't wanna call the cops. But you can't go back to him either! If he punched you once, he'll do it again."

Manon was clearly talking from experience. you almost felt bad for her. but at the same time, you didn't expect more from her. she was like a magnet for horrible people, much like her mother. for a person who always voiced how much she hated her mom, she sure knew how to be like her.

but the show must go on, despite the feeling in your chest.

"I don't have anywhere else to go…" you said, but you could think of a few more friends who lived around here and were willing to welcome you into their world. "Do you think you could let me stay here with you? Just until I settle things up."

she had a moment of pondering. but ultimately nodded, unable to punish someone for their past mistakes when the present showed a totally different person. "Of course. Come here." and then she wrapped her arms around you, pulling you flush against her chest.

in the end, all of this sympathy was aimed at a void. your last relationship was a situationship with a boy who spoke so eloquently about destiny and football. nothing abusive. if anything, you were the abuser. but you weren't ready for that conversation yet.

"Also, you need to take a shower and change your clothes."

you and Manon were childhood friends. you lived in the same neighborhood back then, and when things got bad at home, you'd hang out in the park or in the middle of the street, or even trespass on the small farm right next to the neighborhood. the friendship wasn't the purest; considering she had parents who hated her from before she was even born, and yours, shortly after your first breath, it was hard to keep it healthy.

two kids who didn't know better beyond abuse, you'd bond over it. she'd display the cigarette burns on her skin to you, and in return, you'd show her the bruises on your arm from when your father grabbed you too tightly. you'd sit under a slide until dawn. then, you'd play family by the playhouse after the kids left with their parents.

occasionally, you'd stare at them. back then, you didn't know why. now, reviewing it again, you knew it was curiosity over why they weren't screaming at the child, why they smiled at them so warmly, why they held their hand instead of gripping it firmly.

but a touch on your arm would bring you back from your thoughts. little Manon, with long, straight hair as black as the night sky, smiled at you with a crooked, enthusiastic smile that was as contagious as her tempting offer to play family. you were forced to be the father; she was always the mother. you played your roles based on the things you witnessed in your own family.

"Manon," you said her name softly, almost pensively, during one of your roleplays. "Do you ever wish you had a different mom?"

"Different how?" she asked, mimicking the act of breaking an egg over an imaginary pan.

"I don't know." you took a second to look outside the plastic window, then dropped your gaze to your worn shoes. the laces were undone, but you didn't know how to knot them. so you pushed it inside your shoe, against your foot. "Like Ginger's mom."

"That's his nanny, stupid!"

"What's that?"

"It's like another mom. I have one too. Mommy doesn't like her."

"Why?"

Little Manon shrugged. she didn't know the answer either. so, you continued:

"Well, I wish I had another mom," you said as little Manon walked over with two imaginary plates and placed them on the imaginary table inside the very real playhouse. she sat down next to you on the ground, and you added, "I bet she'd tell me bedtime stories, and hold my hand, and call me pretty!"

then, the two of you began eating, and you smashed your fist against the floor and screamed at Manon that the food was too cold. "Stupid bitch!" you said, and little Manon yelled back, twice as hard.

you remember that conversation vividly. full of innocence, always wishing for something better even after you claimed you loved what you already had. during those days, a thought in your head would tell you to be grateful. now, you knew those were just your father's words engraved into your head, so you wouldn't doubt their "love."

the next day, you woke up with Manon's dog watching you slumber.

"Oh, what the fuck?" you whispered, pulling away slightly, as if the dog held a severed hand in his mouth, rather than innocently staring at you with his tapioca pearl eyes. a groan escaped past your lips as you sat up and pushed the dog's muzzle as far away from you as possible.

you didn't appreciate being awoken, especially by a nosy dog with creepy eyes panting right in your face. the dog, whose collar said his name, "Oscar," didn't budge much at your touch. grabbing the remote from the coffee table, since you slept on the couch that night, you turned on the tv to catch a news channel with the time shown in the corner. not for the news, just for the time.

however, when you found one, your previous plan dissipated.

"HUGO VIVIAN SPEAKS AHEAD OF THE DECISIVE PLAY"—was the title, and on the screen, right behind it, was an interviewer and the very man you wanted to forget for the time being, Hugo Vivian. just like every other person you left, you felt a sting of remorse, that you quickly swallowed with the satisfaction of receiving your freedom.

but his face… flushed after a match, sweat clinging to his temples, looked far too content. another sting bit at your heart, harsher, more prominent, and something much different from what you've felt in your past connections. and anger.

the reporter held the microphone to her lips. "Hugo, that was an incredible match. How are you feeling about the next play?" then turned the microphone toward him.

"Positive," he said, then smiled.

a smile that looked and felt real, a smile that wasn't aimed at you. a smile that should have been for you, not the audience. your grip tightened around the remote control.

"It is our destiny to win the next play as well. We've prepared for this. Everyone knows where they need to be."

the reported nodded. "You look remarkably confident!"

"I feel good. It's difficult not to when you are surrounded by people who make you want to play your best and good destiny."

in a flash of pure rage, you threw the remote control at the tv. it bounced back, and the tv tumbled over, hitting the ground with a loud sound. Oscar flinched and rushed away, his instincts telling him to get as far away from danger as possible.

from the open second floor, Manon stuck her head over the railing. when she saw the tv on the floor, she threw her hands in the air, "What the fuck happened?!"

you looked up at her, then at the dog. just for a moment, you forgot about Vivian as you searched for an excuse. "Your dog went insane! I think it's because he doesn't know me yet."

low blow, to blame the dog instead of taking accountability. but seriously, you weren't planning to be asked to pay for the damages—if there were even any.

Manon scolded Oscar for a few minutes. you, on the other hand, relaxed on the couch and stared at the spot where you last saw Vivian. standing next to that interviewer, smiling as if he had no weight on his shoulders. for a second, you sat in your own silence, wondering if perhaps you had overestimated your existence in his life. wondering if those tears were as fake as your whole relationship.

you didn't know how to appreciate someone. when you and Manon were in your teenage years, still clad in bruises, black eyes, cigarette burns, bleeding out of your hearts, your relationship worsened. the two of you had more friends, but the things they'd make you do could barely reach "friendship".

one evening, while the sun was setting behind you, the kids threw teenage Manon into a ditch, right next to the beer bottles and other junk. because of her mother's reputation—sleeping with other men for money, a truth that was spread from feminine mouth to another feminine mouth, pettiness seeping through since their husbands had been her clients—the kids had caught on. and they punished Manon for it, mocking and bullying her.

and you? you stood on the sidelines, watching. you listened as they called her "cum dumpster," "slut," "daughter of a bitch," and did nothing to help her.

her begging eyes still haunted you sometimes. covered in dirt, trying to hold back tears, she'd always look at you as if you'd save her from this hell. you would, right? I'm your best friend, her gaze would say. and yet… you never did. coward that you were, you continued to watch as they threw bottles at her and dehumanized her.

then, once it was done, you didn't stay behind to help her. you simply ran. you left her there, to stand up by herself or rot there, remorse gripping at your heart and squeezing it so harshly.

you haven't heard much of her since. teenage Manon stopped attending school after that. every day, you'd sit in your chair, bathing in your own shame and embarrassment, until you learned how to live with it. until you quickly became the next big joke.

you never sought her.

but one day, she sought you.

you received a message from an unknown number. an address. at the end, the person signed with "M". Manon was your only friend whose name began with M around that time, so it didn't take long to connect the dots. you screenshotted the message and continued with your life.

she shouldn't have let you in after what happened. but she had a naive heart, even when she acted tough, and she believed everyone deserved a second chance. you didn't know whether what you did was worse than the other kids' actions, but you knew she would have accepted them as well, if they were to ask for help. it wasn't a good heart; it was stupidity. but you were happy she did.

27th of July, 2023.

you approached her while she was in the kitchen. Manon was cooking eggs in a pan with a few slices of bacon. you sat at the island counter and watched her, trying to find your words. but then, you slammed your hand against the counter. she flinched at the unexpected sound.

"Cook faster, woman!" you yelled, getting into the skin of the father persona you made up when the two of you played family.

her head turned to you, eyes widened slightly, eyebrows furrowed as if you had gone crazy. but then, the softening happened, and you knew she caught on.

"Eat my shit, asshole!" she yelled back, twice as hard. you let out a laugh through your nose, smiling at her. her feigned anger switched to a smile that mirrored your own, basking in the cynical joke that was your childhood.

a few moments of silence later, after she turned her back on you and continued to cook, you found your voice. it was time to own up to your mistakes. it was the least you could do after she allowed you into her home.

you crossed your arms against your chest. "Hey, Manon… I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For leaving you that day." her body froze at your words. "I shouldn't have left you. I'm sorry."

she didn't say anything. you glanced at her shoulder blades shifting under her revealing top. her next words surprised you: "I'm kind of glad you did."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I always wanted to start my life again, away from anything close to my childhood. Just me… and OnlyFans."

"Wait, what? You started an OnlyFans?"

"How else did you think I got such a nice apartment? Scanning products?"

you were beyond speechless. but she turned to you, grinning almost teasingly, filling the silence for you. "But wow! Didn't think you were capable of feeling bad. No offense, boo, but you were unapologetic as a kid. Ripped the hair right out of my dolls' scalps. And when I cried, you punched me."

"Okay, I was ten, and I was…" horrible, you wanted to say. but it isn't a thing in the past tense. you are horrible. no wonder Vivian left.

30th of July, 2023 — Manon's apartment.

you really didn't know how to appreciate someone. rotting on Manon's couch, all you did was think. there was no other sort of entertainment around you: you had no phone, the dog was too old to play with, and the tv was out of the equation because you couldn't bear seeing him again. but no matter what you did, he was there, in the back of your mind. whenever you closed your eyes, a flash of your last conversation appeared under your eyelids.

there was embarrassment when you admitted that you missed him a lot. it was stronger than whatever you felt when you abandoned the other people in your life. fiercer, like a bad stomachache or a migraine, and overwhelming enough to make you wish to get out of the apartment and find him.

you missed his stupid talks about destiny. you missed the way his hair felt as you brushed his locks out of his face. you missed the way he'd look at you whenever you talked. you missed the certainty that he belonged to you, and you to him, regardless of the fact that it wasn't structured on real destiny. you missed manipulating the narrative and making him believe it was, however, real. it didn't even matter that he knew the whole time.

but you had a feeling he was much better without you. you were nothing but a piece of shit, a parasite that sucked the life out of everyone around you. and then you wondered why you couldn't be normal. simple: you aren't even trying to be normal. you aren't trying for anybody, even for the people you loved and loved you back.

you'd rather become one with the couch than admit that to anyone. you'd make a fool out of yourself as well if you were to admit it. in other people's lives, you always overestimated your importance. maybe Vivian was going through some shit with someone else and used you as a way to momentarily forget about it. he enabled you because he needed to get someone else out of his mind.

once again, you were seen as anything but human, and you shall remain that way.

for the next few hours, you continued to stay there, occasionally dozing off, not once standing up, even to go to the bathroom. your bladder was full. your legs were growing numb. even the old dog had more steps than you.

3rd of August, 2023 — Inside a bus.

"Do you remember that time we found a dead squirrel and we began running after kids with it?"

"Manon, we are on a fucking bus."

the two of you were, indeed, inside a bus. you were heading to what you assumed was the club Manon kept mentioning. she told you it'd be a good way to pull you out of your depressive state, but you had a feeling it would just worsen it. you sat in the back, where you could see everyone's crown, and where Manon felt the need to pop a cigarette out of her pack and light it.

you already tried to stop her, but she only told you to "fuck off and mind your own business," as if you were a stray dog begging for pets. externally, you did shut up. internally, you could only pray nobody saw her actions and reported her.

"Oh, don't act all high and mighty. Nobody cares what you say or do," she said, almost as if she wanted to bite, which made you look at her weirdly. maybe the saying was right—clothes do change how a person acts. Manon was the clear embodiment of that concept.

from the revealing yet still comfortable tops and shorts to a navy, striped, and fitted shirt that accentuated her curves, with a few buttons undone to reveal her cleavage, and short, pencil skirt, she looked like the type of girl who used to bully kids rather than being bullied. she topped it all with slouchy high-heel boots, which she said she'd use as a weapon in case any weirdo tried approaching you. but you knew she'd only find a way to fall in love with that person somehow. as much as being full of love had its perks, it also made it easy to believe every man was your soulmate, given they provided even a bit of affection. a hypocritical woman, much like her mother, says one thing, does another.

when she placed her sunglasses on her head with the free hand, her makeup was exposed: smoky eye makeup that only highlighted her green eyes, matched with dark red lip liner and red lip gloss. you would have felt intimidated next to her, if only you didn't know who she was or if you were a pussy.

"But genuinely. Do you remember the dead squirrel?" she asked again, blowing the smoke in your face.

you pulled away, flailing your hand around the smoke. "Not my proudest memory, but yeah, I do. What of it?"

"Nothing. I just remembered it," she responded, her true self seeping through as she let out an ugly and loud laugh. "Shit you not, my mom got so angry when she found out. I think my ass is still red from the spanking."

a laugh escaped before you could refrain it. "Yeah. Mine scolded me for hours about germs. She said I'll get sick and die a painful death. Wise thing to say to a child."

she snorted and whispered, "What the fuck?" taking another long drag from her cigarette, Manon blew it towards the other passengers. "Y'know, in a way, I think they contributed to my kinks."

you didn't agree with her, but neither did you deny it. instead, you turned your head and looked out the window. the bus was moving at a moderate speed, so you caught a few faces. old ladies with good fashion, two people carrying a comically long couch, a lot of striped shirts.

but among them, you saw a familiar face. a really familiar, undeniable face. burgundy hair, long eyelashes, dark eyes staring right back at you. your own widened, turning your head as the bus drove by him, and he did the same. you watched his frame grow smaller and smaller, and then you faced the front of the bus.

your heart, once in your chest, fell into the pits of your stomach, where it beat loudly and suffocatingly. you attempted to get up and get off the bus to catch him, to hug him tightly and apologize. but your friend held you down.

with the cigarette between her red lips, she asked, "What's wrong with you, boo?"

"I—um…" you didn't know what you should say. so you let your voice trail off as you looked behind yourself again. the distance was massive, and you couldn't make much of it. but you had a feeling he wasn't there anymore.

you turned your head back to her. "Sorry. I thought I forgot something at home."

why were you here? was it truly as Manon said, to get you out of your unhealthy comfort zone, get a fresh breath of air? standing there, however, among sweaty bodies and tipsy figures, it felt far from fresh. you rocked slightly to the rhythm, bobbing your head so you'd look passionate about the song. but truly, you were still searching your pockets for fucks to give.

parties weren't your type. clubs, even less so. they were all just a waste of time if you had no intention of hooking up or getting wasted. just dancing was something you could have done at home, too. but no, Manon just had to drag you here. and to make matters better, she wasn't even there with you. she went off somewhere with a guy. you could bet a few euros she was currently pushing her panties to the side.

but again, life was full of surprises, so when you felt a hand on your arm, you tensed. then, you relaxed when you saw her face. she looked… different. her eyes were in a haze. her nose was puffy and running slightly. nevertheless, you still followed her when she pulled you away from the crowd.

quickly, the setting changed into something more luxurious. a huge, round couch awaited you, but it was filled with a few ugly boys who barely touched puberty and girls who were only there to get a few bucks or cocaine.

and speaking of, the table was full of it. you stood by the entrance—or exit—and your gaze followed Manon's retreating frame as she headed to one of the guys on the far end of the couch, practically sitting on his lap.

"Come on, boo, have a taste!" she giggled as the guy went for her jaw.

you felt uncomfortable. even more so when one of the other guys raised a cup and yelled, "Yes, Boob! Weird ass name, by the way."

in the end, you sat on the floor by the couch and eyed the alcohol bottles and zip-locks on the table. for some reason, there was even a rose toy, which you had no energy to comment on. and while the noise blurred your thoughts, somehow you were still brought back to a man with burgundy hair and gorgeous eyelashes. you felt your heart ache. which was weird, because he was neither dead nor taken.

he was simply… happy, without you. and as much as the mature side of you told you to move on, for this was just another case where your avoidancy had taken over, you wanted to find him and take him back into your world. you wanted to make him part of your every minute, until you had fulfilled your duty as a parasite.

when the thoughts got louder, you grabbed the black card from the table, slid a bit of cocaine in front of you… and you did the worst thing you could have done.

increased heart rate, agitation, sweating, dilated pupils—those were a few effects of cocaine, and right now, you were feeling all of them at once. you felt like you were gliding instead of walking. the best and only synonym you could find that wasn't middle-school level to characterize the sensation was euphoric. the visuals were better than your normal ones, feeling brighter, nearly blinding. you could never have imagined the world could be this nice.

you pushed through crowds. you needed to get outside to see the whole world in this new filter. you needed to see if the moon would resurrect you, or if it would whisper sweet nothings to you. you wondered if it would take the face of Vivian Hugo. or stay its boring, rotund way all throughout the 90 minutes of euphoria.

when you finally got out of a door, which you couldn't quite read the sign on, you found yourself in the back of an alley. suddenly, your limbs felt like jelly. was there something in the air? was it love? was it cocaine? hehe

you tilted your head to look at what the alley had in store for you, and that's when you saw him. his shadows stretched wider, almost imposingly, and his frame was silhouetted by the light coming from behind him. what was the source of light, you couldn't tell. you only liked to watch, not tell.

so, you approached him for a closer look. as the light behind him spilled across his face, you finally had it. it was him. it really was him. your Vivian. in the flesh, standing right there in front of you.

your hands cupped his cheeks so he wouldn't try to run away again. "I'm sorry, Vivian. I shouldn't have said those things," you began, pulling his face closer to yours. "Don't go leaving me again. Don't be happy without me ever again. It's a disgusting sight. What are you without me, huh? Nothing. That's the truth."

Vivian grabbed your arms. he didn't say anything, which was unusual, because he would have uttered something about this being destiny, that his finding you in this alley was meant to happen. none of that. he only guided you somewhere. where, you couldn't tell. things were too blurry, too sharp, too much...

"Get off!" a voice yelled from somewhere. you got pushed back, landing against a row of trash cans, knocking them over. the next few moments were blurry, as you silently accepted your fate and lay on the ground as if you had fallen over a staircase.

in reality, Manon had jumped onto the unknown man who had tried leading you into his car. she threw a few punches to his jaw and neck, with as much force as she could muster while intoxicated. when the man finally fought back and threw her on the ground, he pepper-sprayed her and ran off.

"Oh, son of a bitch!" she grunted in pain, clenching her eyes tightly, yet still feeling the burn of the pepper. her manicured hands attempted to wipe it off, but to no avail. "He done killing me! [Name], get me to a hospital! Can you hear me?! Get me to a fucking hospital!"

from the ground, you groaned back. "Euuughhhh, I want Vivian…"

"What?! What is Vivian?? Are you talking about Veev?! Bitch, I'm fighting for my life, and you wanna vape!?"

least to say, the whole night was a mess.

when you got to the hospital, you were put in the waiting room. one or two doctors came to check if she had any allergies to the pepper spray; the rest were nurses. then, at some point, your nose began bleeding, most likely from the cocaine… or getting knocked into a pile of trash? you didn't know, but you knew the hospital didn't fancy either you or Manon.

thus, you sat there in silence, contemplating life decisions and why on earth you decided to snort, while she wondered why she didn't pay attention to you more than a stupid boy who only wanted what was in her panties. somewhere in the corner, a tv played an enthusiastic ice skater talking about how perfect her rich life is.

at some point, you were given a water bottle by a nice, old nurse and given a few pieces of advice on how you should try smoking weed next time. you only thanked her with a polite smile before side-eyeing Manon, who was still pressing the mouth of her own water bottle against her eye, ruining her makeup even more.

"I'm sorry, Manon," you mumbled.

she groaned. "Stop apologizing."

right after, she removed the bottle and opened her eyes. they were bright red, as if she had been crying for hours. "I brought you into this mess."

"I could have been more careful."

"You literally can't when doing coke, but whatever. It's fine, boo. At least nothing happened to you."

you pulled the tissue from your nose, before throwing it on the empty seat next to yours. you shoved another soon after.

"Yeah… or you. I mean, on a serious note? You could have gone home with one of those weirdos. I'm pretty sure they recently renewed their ID, too."

"Ugh, stop. I'm literally never doing coke again…" she groaned in exasperation, putting her head against her hands. you laughed at her reaction. then you watched her for a few seconds, getting lost in your thoughts again.

you were glad you returned to her. whenever she was around, things just felt… easier. different from how they felt with Vivian, but only because you were around someone who dealt with the same issues as you. your childhoods weren't that far apart. you faced the same verbal and physical abuse, and while the outcome of it was different, you were genuinely, without doubt, happy to be back with her.

"I don't know how I could have left you like that," you spoke, a bit melancholy, with disappointment creeping through. the memory of your mistake made you want to apologize over and over, until your tongue twisted in your mouth. then, you'd move to paper.

there were so many things she wanted to say in that moment, unbeknownst to you. but none came out. instead, she only placed her head on your shoulder. "Aw. Look at you. You've changed so much. You're soft as fuck. Don't worry, one day I'll get my revenge and leave you, too."

you scoffed. "I'm trying to be serious, Manon."

"Don't care. You still suck," she chuckled, flashing her teeth, still slightly crooked but beautiful nonetheless. a few seconds of silence, then Manon added, "By the way, if you could kill yourself, how would you do it?"

"Is that how you really wanna start a new topic?"

"Come on. I'm curious."

"Alright, well… I'd probably jump off a building."

"Wow, that's fucking boring. I'd chop my limbs with a chainsaw then swim in an ocean full of sharks."

"Nah, you'd probably overdose."

"Shut the fuck up."

5th of August, 2023 — Manon's bedroom.

the room was dark, save for the faint glow of the lamp on the nightstand. you were brought here, to the second floor, to talk about some things that happened to her right after she abandoned school. she was lying on her side, head propped up by her hand, and she looked different. a real person who no longer possessed a mask. her rawest form.

at some point in her story, Manon looked down at the sheets, seemingly deep in thought. when her green eyes snapped back to yours, she spoke, "Hey, [Name]. No matter how shitty life gets, suicide should never be an option."

your eyebrows furrowed at her take, not knowing where it came from, considering the earlier discussion had nothing to do with it. "What an odd thing to say," you scoffed.

"Let's be honest, girl. Our lives were fucked up. Still are, sometimes. We've almost never lived a peaceful day. Don't you wish you could find a night where dreams are dreams, not nightmares?"

you laughed bitterly. of course you did. actually, you used to have that when Vivian was around. thinking about it made you not want to answer.

at that, she only sighed. "Life gets better, babe. You are, and will never be alone. You are loved. If you are gone, you'll be missed. I'll definitely miss you if you were gone."

"Ah, don't say that…"

"Why, because of a mistake you did when you were a kid, eager to fit in? I told you, I forgive you. Don't let that shit weigh you down. You're much better now than you were before. You've really changed," she brought a hand to your cheek. "You've become a better person."

for some reason, you couldn't get that out of your head. a better person…

7th of August, 2023 — Manon's apartment.

you were awoken by Oscar, once again. but this time, it was still night outside. the sun hadn't yet risen, and by the clock Manon bought you, you could see it was almost 2 in the morning. at first, you tried to push him away from you, beckoning him to get back to his bed and sleep. then, you thought he needed a walk outside.

with that, you stood up from your couch and walked over to the coat rack, where the dog collar and leash were. but before you could even reach it, Oscar barked to get your attention. he had one paw on the first step leading to Manon's bedroom. "Oscar, no. Come here," you whisper-yelled, but the dog played stubborn, and rushed up the stairs.

you clicked your tongue in annoyance but ultimately followed. however, as you faced the stairs, a sudden chill crept down your spine.

you chose to ignore your instincts. you began climbing the stairs to her bedroom. Oscar was waiting for you at the last step, watching you with big, awaiting eyes. before you could barely graze his fur, he ran into her bedroom, and you clicked your tongue again.

final step. the sensation doubled when you saw the bed was empty.

"Manon?" you called out, yet no response. Oscar was waiting for you around the bed. you approached him.

and that's when you saw her. lying unnaturally still on the ground. on her side, with her hair cascading all over the floor around her. her back was facing you. for a moment, you believed she had fallen from her bed. but when you moved closer, you just… stopped thinking.

foam bubbled at her mouth. green eyes were wide open, unblinking and lifeless, staring at a single spot in the room. in her hand, a bottle of pills. your mind couldn't register what you were seeing. you stood there as if you were made of stone.

the dog took a few steps closer and smelled her body. then he whined and pushed her body with his paws, trying to convince her to get up and play. you grabbed Oscar before he could do it the second time.

"Come on, Oscar. Manon is sleeping."

the park was quiet, suited for the late—or rather early—hour you decided to take Oscar for a walk. it was colder than one would expect from august. and the quiet was eerie. the silence filled you with dread. you almost expected someone to jump from the trees and tell you your whole life was a huge reality show for the rich to laugh at. but nothing. just reality.

just you, Oscar, and your own thoughts.

as soon as you reached the lake in the middle of the park, you pulled out her phone. you dialed a two-digit number and waited for it to answer.

it rang once. then twice. by the third ring, someone picked up: "SAMU 75, j'écoute."

you told the woman on the other side everything. when she asked for the address, you spilled. by the time the call ended, you threw the phone, aiming for the middle of the lake. shall the fish appreciate it, now that the owner was no longer.

the silence settled again. and the realization of your loneliness was sharper than a knife, twisting in your chest. you dropped to your knees and let out your first sob, ugly and long, and wailing. your fingers curled against the grass, ripping a few strands. "No… Noooughhh… This can't be happening...!"

but it can. you were completely alone now, save for the dog sitting a few meters away, watching you.

all alone once again. aching. lost. abandoned by everyone.

in the end, she had gotten her revenge. she left you, just as you had left her. and now, you were suffering just like she used to. this… all of this pain, she had felt it the same way. abandoned by the people she adored most, left to take care of herself from scratch, and beg for a scrap of love and affection to fill the gaps. this was true revenge.

"Why did you leave me, Manon…?!" you punched the earth, over and over again, as if it were the one that killed her. "Why does everybody fucking leave me?! Am I really that fucking bad to be around?!"

at some point, you couldn't feel your hands. at some point, you screamed so loud that your lungs burned and your throat could barely keep up.

first, Vivian was gone. and now, so was Manon. was being your friend really a curse? but what could you possibly say about being your lover?

you were truly just a parasite. a walking, talking bad luck who ruined people's lives just by being in them. what good were you, really?

"No—No...! This isn't real... please... I'm gonna be sick..."

you had fully shattered as a human being.

to be continued... ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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