that boy is corrupt

valarr told you not to see him anymore in the soft, reasonable voice he always used when he wanted to sound like he was being kind.

"i care about you," because of course he did. "that’s why i’m saying it now instead of waiting until this becomes uglier."

you tried to explain. tried to tell him that what you had with aerion was old and tangled and real in a way nobody else seemed to understand. valarr’s jaw tightened once, just once.

"i know what he is to you," he said. "and i know what he isn’t."

you told yourself that was it.

you told yourself you were done.

you told yourself a hundred things, all of them neat and sensible and completely useless because the next night you were in aerion’s trailer again.

the window was still sticky from the humidity. the air inside was warm, stale, familiar. his couch still sagged in the middle. the kitchen light still buzzed like it was one bad breath away from giving out. everything about the place looked exactly like it always had, and exactly like it never should have mattered to you as much as it did.

aerion opened the door in a sleeveless shirt and work jeans, looking annoyed until he saw your face. then as always the annoyance changed.

"you okay baby?" he asked.

that was the thing with him. he could be cruel, arrogant, impossible. but when he looked at you like that, like he’d already decided your feelings were more important than his pride, it undid everything. you shook your head and he stepped aside immediately.

you told him about valarr in fragments. about the argument. about the way he’d said it was unhealthy, like your life was a bad pattern he could spot from across the room. aerion leaned against the counter and listened, arms folded, expression darkening with every sentence.

"of course he did," he muttered when you finished. "he’s always actin’ like he knows what’s best for you."

you almost laughed. "and you don’t?"

he gave you a flat look. "not the point."

you should have left then.

instead, you sat on the edge of his bed while he rummaged around for a beer and finally handed you a glass of water. that was the way he got you. not with grand gestures. with small, practical ones that felt more intimate than flowers ever could.

that night you stayed until after midnight. you talked about nothing and everything. the school you’d almost quit. the way your mother kept hinting at "good news" whenever valarr’s name came up. the life that seemed to be waiting for you in polished hallways with polished people and polished lies.

aerion listened with his eyes on you the whole time.

at some point, sitting there in the dim yellow light of his trailer, with his knee brushing yours and his voice low and rough, you thought maybe you had been wrong about everything.

maybe it was him. maybe it had always been him.

not because he was easy. he wasn’t. not because he was polished. he wasn’t. not because he fit neatly anywhere in the life your family had made for you. because he didn’t.

because he was real. because when you were with him, you did not feel like a display, you felt like a person. that thought lodged itself in your chest and would not leave.

over the next few weeks, you started seeing him more. not less, more.

it was reckless, and probably obvious, and maybe even pathetic, but every time you tried to pull away, something in you dragged you right back.

maybe the material things didn’t matter. maybe the house on the hill, the embroidered napkins, the old money and old expectations, none of it mattered at all.

you had what you needed or at least that was what you wanted to believe.

and then you found the cigarette, stained with lipstick.

it was in his ashtray, tucked under a bent receipt, not yours. not even close. you don’t smoke.

you stared at it longer than you meant to, while aerion was outside fixing a loose headlight bulb on his porch.

for a stupid moment you thought maybe he’d had friends over, trailer park bbq? then you realized you were coming up with excuses, all the things, the nail, the lighter, and the perfume all coming back to you.

and suddenly the air in the trailer felt wrong.

aerion came back in, wiping his hands on a rag.

"hey you wanna run by the liquor store and get some ice cream?" he asked, and when you didn’t answer his eyes flicked to the ashtray, then to your face, and something cautious entered his expression.

"who was here?" you asked.

he went still.

"just some friend from town."

"some girl...?"

he shrugged, too casually. "yeah."

you stared at him for a long second. "you brought her here?"

his jaw flexed once. "it’s my trailer." that was not the answer, you knew it and he knew it. "does it matter?" it mattered more than you wanted to admit.

it mattered because you had been quietly, stupidly, painfully rearranging your entire heart around him. it mattered because you had started to think maybe love could be enough if it was honest. it mattered because now you were standing in his trailer with a broken nail in your hand and the humiliating realization that maybe he had never been imagining forever at all.

you laughed once, but there was no humor in it. "you know what? no. it doesn’t."

his face changed in a way you didn’t know how to name. defensive, maybe. offended. wounded, even though he had no right.

"you got valarr waitin’ around up there like some damn saint so…don’t look at me like i’m the only one with dirt on my hands."

the room was suddenly too small.

you had been carrying your own guilt for weeks, telling yourself it was your fault for coming back, your fault for wanting something impossible, your fault for believing him when he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room.

and now here he was, implying it was all equal. as if your boyfriend’s existence erased the ache of finding someone else in his bed.

it was hypocritical. that was the ugly truth of it. you knew it. you felt it.

you had valarr. you had no right to be hurt but hurt you were, deeply. you turned away before he could see your face.

"i should go."

aerion’s hand shot out and caught your wrist. not hard. not gentle either. "no c’mon."

"let go."

"no baby listen-"

you yanked your arm back, and his expression changed, something stubborn and angry and afraid all at once.

"you don’t get to run off every time it gets real," he said.

"real?" you repeated. "you mean like the girls you keep bringing here?"

his jaw tightened. "they don’t mean anything." so he admits it, multiple girls. the words were supposed to help. they made everything worse.

you looked at him, really looked at him, and felt your heart pulling backward inside your chest. "you didn’t tell me because you thought it wouldn’t matter," you said quietly.

he didn’t answer. you took a step back, and he didn’t stop you this time and by the time you got home, your hands were shaking so badly you could barely open the front door.

you went straight to your room and sat on the edge of your bed in the dark, staring at your phone until the screen blurred. you hated yourself for crying. hated yourself for feeling betrayed when you were, by every measure, in no position to claim betrayal.

you had no claim. you had no standing.

you had a boyfriend who wanted a future. but you also had aerion, who wanted you in the only way he knew how, recklessly, selfishly, half feral. and you hated that some part of you still wanted that more than anything.

the next day you tried to act normal. you went to class. you answered your mother politely. you smiled when valarr texted and asked if you were all right.

but aerion’s silence, his casual refusal to explain, to apologize, to even pretend your feelings mattered, felt like the final proof that maybe he never wanted what you wanted. commitment.

by the fourth night, you couldn’t stand it anymore.

not the not knowing. not the waiting. not the humiliation of caring this much about someone who could make you feel wanted and disposable in the same breath. so you called him and he answered on the second ring.

"what?" no hello, no warmth.

you stood in your room holding the phone too tightly. "can you meet me at the beach by the marsh?"

"now?"

"yes. where we used to go."

"what’s this about?"

"just come."

he laughed once, and it sounded tired. "you’re serious."

"yes."

that made him quiet for a second too long.

"alright," he said at last. "i’ll be there. in a few." then the call ended. you told yourself you were doing the right thing, that this was the moment you would finally stop drifting between worlds. you told yourself you were going to tell him the truth.

that you loved him. that you had chosen him, that none of the shiny things mattered the way he did.

the beach was empty when you got there.

the marsh beyond it was all black reeds and whispering water and wind that carried the smell of mud and salt. the sand was still warm from the day. the sky above you was clean and moonlit, the kind of night that made everything feel like it was waiting for a confession.

you sat down on a driftwood log and pulled your knees to your chest.

the phone in your hand stayed dark. no text. no call. no truck lights cutting up the road.

at first you told yourself he was late, he was coming.

then, much later, when the sky had gone even darker, you told yourself maybe something had happened. maybe he’d gotten held up or maybe his truck broke down, maybe he was coming and just hadn’t answered yet.

and by the time your eyes finally started to close, you understood with a clarity that made you feel cold all over, he was not coming.

you fell asleep curled into yourself on the sand, your hair blowing across your face, your dream school letters sitting untouched back at home, your heart full of words you had not gotten to say.

when you woke, your body ached from sleeping outside. your neck hurt. your skin was sticky with salt, gulls crying somewhere overhead.

no aerion. no truck. no message…just nothing.

you checked your phone with numb fingers, still nothing.

last night was the night you were going to choose him. now morning had come, and he was nowhere to be found. you stood slowly, brushing sand off your clothes, and looked out over the marsh.

the water was flat and dull beneath the morning light. everything looked unchanged.

it was a cruel joke, just as you were ready to choose him, to show him that you wanted to be his, all the way, nobody in between, he had not come.

and somewhere, very far away from the beach, aerion was awake with the smell of beer on his clothes and some other girl laughing too close beside him,

while you stood alone with the thing you never got to say.