🎀Zoey 🎀

Introduction

Chapter 1

Nika Muhl × OC (wlw)

-Present-

Seattle in February is always a gamble.

Either it rains. Or… it rains harder.

That night, it was the second option. Raindrops pelted against the restaurant windows as if someone were scratching to get in.

I was warm inside, leaning back against the booth, a glass of pale beer in front of me, while Jordan talked about—I can’t even remember what—something about a new sponsor or some photo shoot. I nodded now and then, but the truth was, I was looking around more than I was listening.

The place was lively—not so loud that you had to shout, but bustling enough for the smell of hot food and that Friday night atmosphere to fill the air. A bit posh, a bit laid-back. People laughing, eating, drinking. Typical.

And then I saw her.

She’d just walked in, her hair still damp from the rain, a dark coat over her shoulders. She didn’t glance around straight away, just at the two friends ahead of her, practically tugging her inside.

A tall, slim man whose humour was obvious from the way he walked.

And a shorter brunette woman with a quick, bright smile.

And her, in the middle.

Tall, solid. Broad shoulders, a sure stride despite the air of someone who hadn’t chosen to be there. Clear, watchful eyes… and guarded, as if she was already measuring every possible exit. Her mid-length blond hair , framed a face marked by a scar running along her left cheek. A fine line—not enough to distort her features, but enough to intrigue.

I didn’t look away straight away. She did.

— Nika, are you listening?

— Mm? Yeah, yeah. The photo shoot, I know.

Jordan rolled her eyes—used to it. She knows I have a tendency to scan a room as if I’m on some sort of recon mission. But this wasn’t just a casual glance. This was… I don’t know........

Chance—or fate, if you want to be dramatic—decided that the waiter would seat them right next to us, barely two metres away. Perfect for observing without making it too obvious. Well… almost.

— It’s her birthday, said the petite brunette, shrugging off her coat.

— Seriously? Didn’t you say you didn’t want to do anything?Exclaims the funny man (I don't know his name)

— I said no party, the tall one replied as she sat down.

Her voice caught me off guard. Low, steady, with a hint of weariness that somehow made her feel even more… real.

I half-listened between sips of beer. Apparently, her name was Gabrielle. She worked in the criminal investigations unit. And from the looks of it, she’d rather have been anywhere else that evening. No forced laughs, no 'go on, it’s my day'. just eyes following her friends out of politeness.

— You’re staring, Jordan murmured, leaning towards me.

— I’m looking, there’s a difference.

Except Gabrielle caught me in the act. And instead of looking away, she held my gaze. Just for a few seconds, but enough to stir something low in my stomach. No smile, no sign—just that direct, almost military stare. As if she was sizing me up.

I think I smiled first. She didn’t—at least, not right away. But her eyes shifted. The faintest shadow of curiosity.

The night went on. Food arrived. Jordan kept talking; I half-listened. Gabrielle chatted with her colleagues, but I noticed she’d sweep the room from time to time. And every time, our eyes met.

Once. Twice. Three times.

When dessert came, her friends ordered a small cake with a candle. Nothing over the top—just something to blow out. She rolled her eyes but played along. The flames reflected in her pale eyes, and as she blew them out, I had this ridiculous thought: 'She’s not someone who makes wishes often.'

Jordan noticed too.

— Do you want to go talk to her?

— And say what? “Hi, I’m Nika, I’ve been staring at you all evening”?

— Yeah. That usually works for you.

I stood before I could overthink it. Passing her table, I stopped.

— Happy birthday, I said, leaning lightly on the back of her chair.

She looked up at me, one eyebrow raised.

— Thank you.

— I’m Nika.

— Gabrielle.

We didn’t shake hands—just a direct, frank exchange. Her friends watched us with barely disguised interest. Jordan, behind me, was probably grinning like an idiot.

— Let me buy you a drink to celebrate? I offered.

— I’ve already got one.

Ouch.

— Then… let me buy you another.

She hesitated. Not for long.

Then she tilted her head, and that faint smile finally brushed her lips. Gabrielle stood, her coat draped over the back of her chair. She wasn’t in uniform, obviously, but there was something in her posture—that straight back, that way of scanning the room before moving—that gave the impression she was ready to react to anything.

I followed her to the bar. The barman raised an eyebrow, clearly recognising Gabrielle as a regular.

— Two drinks, I said, settling on the stool beside her. Whatever she’s having.

— You don’t know what I drink, she replied without looking at me.

— Exactly. That makes it more fun.

She eventually turned her head slightly towards me, that half-smile returning. Not a full smile, more a 'Alright, you have my attention.'

The barman served us. Whisky for her. No ice. I took a sip… and nearly coughed.

— Seriously? No beer, no cocktail… just straight whisky?

— If you wanted something sweet, you should’ve ordered a milkshake.

I laughed, surprised by the dry—but not unkind—tone.

— Alright, tough lady.

— Cop, not tough lady.

It slipped out:

— Not exactly a huge difference, is it?

She shrugged, but her gaze sharpened slightly, almost as if she was trying to figure out if I was mocking her.

— Not really.

We drank in silence for a few seconds. Not an uncomfortable silence, but… a heavy one. I wanted to ask her a thousand things: about the scar, about the way she held her glass like she didn’t want to let it go, about the sense that she was always just a little on guard, about this too stiff leg that she seems to be treating.

— So, what’s a WNBA star doing in a restaurant on a rainy Friday night?

I raised an eyebrow.

— You know who I am?

— I watch the games sometimes.

I smiled. It had been a long time since I’d met someone who mentioned it without immediately asking for a selfie.

— And you? What’s a cop doing here on her birthday if she doesn’t like birthdays?

She took a sip before answering.

— My colleagues insisted.

— And you couldn’t say no?

— Let’s just say… they’d have ended up turning up at my place. And I don’t like people turning up at my place.

Her tone was calm, but I sensed it wasn’t just a throwaway line. Something in her voice, in that restraint, made me want to dig deeper.

I leaned in slightly, elbow on the bar.

— I’m not going to turn up at your place, if that’s what you’re worried about.

— Good, she said… though her look said 'I only half believe you.'

We talked a little more. No deep confessions—just fragments. She told me she’d grown up in Texas, that she didn’t much care for Seattle’s cold but had learned to live with it. I told her about moving to the US, about the rain still catching me off guard even after two seasons here.

Time slipped by, and I forgot about Jordan, her colleagues, the rain outside. Gabrielle wasn’t the type to tell you everything, but she really listened. When I spoke, she met my eyes—not just waiting for her turn to reply. And that… is rare.

In the end, she glanced over at her table. Her colleagues were keeping a discreet eye on her. Jordan wore that knowing smirk that clearly meant 'So, how’s it going?'

Gabrielle left her empty glass on the bar.

— Thanks for the whisky.

— It’s nothing. I’ll return the favour… someday.

— Or not.

She turned and walked back to her friends. And I grinned like an idiot.

🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸🍸

The rain had stopped, but the air still smelled of a storm. The restaurant was slowly emptying. Conversations dipped to murmurs, glasses clinked less often. Jordan was settling the bill at our table while I pretended to look for my coat—in reality, keeping an eye on Gabrielle.

She stood by the door with her colleagues, laughing at a joke I couldn’t hear. Her hair had fallen a little more loosely than at the start of the night, as if the warmth inside had softened her stiff posture.

I took my time crossing the room. Jordan called, “Hurry up, we’re going,” but I ignored her.

— So, Officer, I said as I reached her, we’re just leaving it at that?

She looked up at me, a mix of surprise and… amusement.

— And how do you think we should leave it?

— Let’s say… with a way to see each other again.

She shook her head.

— And if I don’t want to?

— Then you’ll spend the next few days wondering if I was going to text you to invite you for a drink.

— You think I’m the sort of person who’d wonder that?

I smiled.

— No. But I like to imagine you might.

She studied me for a long moment, as if deciding whether I was being sincere or just playing. Then she held out her hand—open.

— Give me your phone.

I didn’t hesitate. She typed in her number, just “Gabrielle” as the contact. No surname, no emoji. Simple. Efficient.

She handed the phone back, already starting to move away.

— I’ll text you, I called after her.

She half-turned, just enough to say:

— If you remember.

And then she stepped out into the night, her colleagues following, leaving me with that strange mix of excitement and frustration.

Jordan joined me.

— You got it?

— I got it.

____________________________________

Introduction

Nika Muhl × OC (wlw)

-Two years earlier-

They say the desert is silent.

That's not true.

It breathes. It rumbles. It has this dull, almost living buzz that creeps into your ears and refuses to leave.

In Syria, I had learned to listen to it... and to be wary of it.

That morning, exactly two weeks after my 23rd birthday, which we had celebrated with warm beers and two rations for the occasion, the sun wasn't yet high, but the heat was already crushing our vests.

Dust clung to my skin, my lips, my eyelashes. The air smelled of heated sand, rancid oil, and sweat.

We had been driving for two hours, two armored vehicles, heading for a small village southeast of Aleppo.

A reconnaissance mission. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing that could go wrong.

I was sitting in the back, rifle in hand, back against the metal wall.

To my left, Martinez, always chewing something, even when there was nothing to eat. He proposed to his wife before we left, and we spent all our free time imagining his bachelor party. We imagined buying rounds of beer until very late at night, taking him to nightclubs, and maybe indulging in stupid people only military people know.

Across from me, Bennett, nervously tapping his knee. He's my age, or maybe a little younger, I don't remember exactly. His close-cropped hair always makes him look 10 years younger. That day we didn't talk. We were saving our voices for the radio.

And then... there was this noise.

A sharp crack, different from the others. Like a whip cutting through the air, but deeper.

I turned my head, just in time to see the world explode.

Light tore across the horizon, followed by a burning blast. Even through our thick, reinforced gear. The vehicle shuddered like a wounded animal.

I found myself thrown against the wall, my helmet violently hitting my head. My ears were ringing.

Nothing was clear. Muffled screams. The acrid smell of smoke and burnt metal invaded my lungs. I tried to get up… but my left leg wouldn't respond. When I looked down, I saw the blood. Red, bright, glaring against the beige desert. The fabric torn, the flesh cut open. The pain struck afterward, violent, stabbing, like a stab left in.

- "Gab! Move!"

It was Martinez. His face was covered in dust and sweat. I tried to pull myself up, but a second detonation erupted, closer.

The vehicle toppled onto its side.

A piece of torn metal tore through the passenger compartment, slicing Martinez's throat before grazing my face.

I felt a searing burn on my left cheek. As if someone had placed a white-hot blade on it.

I remember raising my hand to my cheek, pulling it away, red with blood. It trickled down my neck, hot and sticky. The rest of my face was covered in Martinez's blood, before his body collapsed against my side. Heavy. That's when I realized the next thing we would be organizing would be his funeral.

The next few minutes were a blur of chaos. Gunfire, orders shouted over the radio, bodies moving around me. I was dragged out of the armored vehicle, and the sun beat down on my face. I felt like the air was eating away at my skin.

I was pinned behind a crumbling wall. Bennett was squeezing my leg, his hands shaking. I wanted to tell him it was okay... but no sound came out. Everything was happening as if in slow motion.

I saw his lips moving, I felt the pressure on my wound, but my ears heard only this continuous, deafening, almost hypnotic buzzing.

Then, a strange sensation. As if I were moving away from my body. My vision was narrowing.

The sky above was a brilliant blue, almost indecent in the midst of this violence.

Before the blackness engulfed me, I thought only one thing: If I die here, no one will know what I left behind.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in a field hospital. My leg bandaged, immobilized. My cheek sewn with eight stitches.

The pain, constant, heavy. But more than anything, this feeling... that something had broken. Not just in my body. In my way of seeing the world.

The scar on my face, I quickly understood it as a reminder.

The limp, as a warning.

Those marks… they will never leave me. And, sometimes, when the night is too quiet… I swear I can still hear the desert breathing and Martinez yelling at me to move.

____________________________________

American pie [2/2]

Category : Caitlin C × !momreader

Summary : You and Caitlin have known each other since childhood, you love each other more than friends but the situation pushes you to live in hiding. While Caitlin suffers from this situation and lets you know it, an event changes everything.

⚠️go to the masterlist if you haven't read the first part

Today

It's been exactly 4 months.

4 months since Caitlin told you how she felt about the situation.

4 months since you last talked to her.

And yet, the very next day, she sent you a message in the evening, asking you if you were upset and if that was why you hadn't gone to see her play.

It was her last day at the tournament, and she'd missed her girl's reassuring look in the stands.

She'd started to blame herself, not for saying what she felt, but for waiting. Because in the end, she'd expressed herself to you with a lot of anger and a lot of blame. Yet she knew that you were doing your best and that you loved her more than anyone else on earth.

But you didn't answer her messages that night or the next few days.

She tried to call you several times, came in the evening after your classes, but never found you there.

When she came to your house, it was your father, whom she had known as long as you, who asked her to leave, insisting that you didn't want to see her and that she had no business being here.

Despite her willingness to make excuses for you, Caitlin suddenly felt rejected. You couldn't ignore her just because she had decided to show you the negative side of your relationship. So she stopped sending you messages and stopped coming to see you.

The following months were the worst of her life. For the first time in sixteen years, you didn't share her daily life. No evenings just the two of you, no post-game massages, no movies that Caitlin always fell asleep to, no impromptu cooking sessions. Her bed seemed way too big and her apartment way too empty.

Yet you're everywhere: in picture frames, in subway tickets reminding her of your disastrous dates, in your glowing toothbrush on the edge of the sink (Caitlin always made fun of your toothbrush, but you like useless things like that), in her Spotify playlist, and even in her clothes.

She started to get really depressed, not knowing how to deal with the flood of emotions that suddenly washed over her. Some days she was hungry and ate a lot, as if to suppress her feelings, and other days she didn't even have the strength to get out of bed.

It was palpable on the court, and despite a few attempts at communication from her coach and teammates, Caitlin never wanted to talk about it, staying closed in her corners and easily accepting the decision to play her less.

Nothing mattered if you weren't there to see her do it and cheer her on.

And if it wasn't easy for her, it wasn't easy for you either.

You didn't ignore Caitlin all this time out of the goodness of your heart, but out of necessity.

After what happened, you needed to be alone, to collect yourself, to calm down. You needed time to accept and adjust to your new life.

Still, you miss your girlfriend (well, if she's still your girlfriend?). She's the pillar of your life, the one who listens to you, comforts you, finds solutions for everything, and gives you a smile.

But you know you've made a mistake this time. You've hurt her and you feel terrible. You know you're unforgivable, and anyway, you can't think of a good way to explain what's happening to you.

- You've found more than love in Caitlin, you've found a best friend. I've been there for you, but now you need her.

Your mother told you this during one of your many crying sessions.

Of course, in the light of events, your "boyfriend" had finally confessed the deception to your parents.

They both remained silent on the subject, then your father became very angry when Caitlin tried to come and see you.

Finally, your mother spoke. She explained that she didn't understand how two women could be attracted to each other, but that the idea of you being unhappy with a man just to please him broke her heart, and that in the end Caitlin was a nice girl and what happened between you was none of her business.

So it was she who encouraged you to get back in touch with her, sensing that even though she was your mother, she didn't always have the right words to help you.

Your message was "viewed" for two hours before you received a reply.

You knew you deserved her coldness, but you couldn't help but feel bad and hopeless.

If she were in front of you, you would probably be on your knees begging her to please listen to you. You can't lose her, not now, but you don't know what to say anymore and the words come on their own, in the hope that they will convince her.

Her answer was not what you expected, but deep down you knew you deserved no better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You thanked your mom for helping you get organized so you'd be free at 5.

You dressed quickly, trying to make an effort, but not wanting to give the impression that you were taking this appointment for granted. You were afraid that Caitlin would think you weren't taking things seriously if you ever got too confident.

So you waited for long minutes, sitting at the table closest to the entrance, staring at the front door, which only made your heart beat faster in your chest.

You and Caitlin are in your favorite place where you spent your childhood and teenage years. You call it "The Cowboy" because of the decor and the giant Lucky Luke statue in the entrance. The Cowboy is a sort of bar and restaurant with a children's play area and a vintage jukebox that plays only one song on a loop: Don McLean's "American Pie," your favorite with Caitlin.

Finally, the tall brunette walked through the door. Her gym bag at arm's length and her towel around her neck. She looked for you as if suddenly lost, then made her way to your table.

She looked at you coldly, then sat down.

You just noticed the gaze of two young girls to your right, who weren't shy about devouring Caitlin's torso with their eyes, clad only in a sports bra.

And just as you were about to ignore this, judging that you were in no position to show your jealousy, Caitlin slipped on a sweater, knowing full well how you felt about the situation. And seeing that she wasn't lacking for a little attention on your behalf calmed you down a bit.

- Hi.

- Hi, do you want something? You suggest.

- That you tell me what you want to tell me she said curtly.

You were trying to lighten the mood, to reassure yourself about your relationship with Caitlin, but mostly to put off the moment when you were supposed to tell her. Because the truth was, you didn't know how to break this kind of news to her, since you had trouble understanding and accepting it yourself.

- Are you going to marry him? Are you going to move to the Maldives?

- What are you talking about? What are you saying, Caitlin?

- What am I saying? I should be asking you this question. You've got me running around in circles. Do you know how worried I've been? I've been imagining the worst scenarios! That you were seriously ill, dead...then I had to realize that it was something else, so I started imagining that you were going off with him, that it was over, I dreamt of you making love. I threw up Y/N. But I can't get over it, you never leave my thoughts, even on the field. So now, despite all the anger I feel for you, I want you to tell me what's going on!

- I'm sorry, Caity.

You apologize, looking up at her with tears in your eyes. You blame yourself tremendously, knowing that she's suffering so much is unbearable for you.

- But sorry for what the hell?

She stands and stares into your eyes. She burns with rage and takes it upon herself not to let her words overtake her thoughts.

- He's three months...

you said, lowering your eyes and letting yourself burst into tears.

She fell back in her chair and stared at you with her eyes wide open. Her heart racing, she refused to understand.

- What? Who?

- When Edward realized that we were more than just friends, he told me that if we had sex once in a while, he wouldn't tell my parents. This went on for a few months and stopped when he met a girl. At that point, I had to promise not to talk about his relationship with this girl and to continue to show my face in public with him if I didn't want him to say anything.

- But... no, no, no, you're talking nonsense! I would have seen if you were pregnant!

- I was in denial, Caitlin, the night of our fight, what I thought were stomach pains were actually contractions. I thought I was going to die. The night you left, I gave birth on the carpet in my room.

- It was our dream," she said weakly, completely shaken by the news.

- I was afraid of losing you, I thought I was doing the right thing. I went too far, I know. I was terrified, unable to touch the baby, then when they put him in my arms... I don't know, I wanted to try, I felt capable.

- No, no, it's not possible...she whispers.

- I'm sorry, Caity, I'm so sorry.

- And him? What did he say?

- His parents wanted the baby back, I refused, we haven't heard from him since...

- I don't know what to say...I'm so hurt...so confused....I feel sorry for you, but I'm so angry that you left me out, I could have protected you....

- I don't want to lose you, Caitlin.

- I need some air, let me go, let me think...

She hurried out of the restaurant, looking completely disturbed.

You watched her outside the transparent storefront as she cradled her head in her hands, paced back and forth, and finally walked to her car.

You didn't hear from her that day, despite the message you sent, and you haven't heard from her in the days since.

This hurts you tremendously; you feel responsible and monstrous. Seeing her like that literally tore your heart out. But the truth is, you didn't really have time to think about it. Your days were now filled with cries, bottles, naps, diapers... not to mention appointments with the pediatrician or the nurse who came to give you advice.

Despite all the sadness and guilt, you had to keep a straight face for him. For this baby who didn't ask for anything. You ruined everything with the love of your life, so you couldn't afford to ruin everything with him.

And yet, just as hope was fading, you received a message:

This unexpected news had just given you hope that all was not lost. A little salve to the heart did you good, and you even noticed that feeling a little better and believing again seemed to have an effect on your baby, as his crying spells diminished inexorably.

The next day, you went to the local Merch store to buy a baby-sized supporter's jersey and a pair of earplugs to protect his ears from the noise.

That evening, snuggled up to you in the baby carrier, he attended his first basketball game. While you and Caitlin rediscovered your chemistry. That night, as she sought your gaze for the first time in a long time, she found it and felt that wave of comfort and courage again. A sense of absolute invincibility.

That night, Caitlin and her team won the game hands down, and as the girls celebrated their victory in the middle of the court and the opponents began to leave the room, Caitlin approached you:

- Hello, little boy.

She hugs him, trembling. The two of them look at each other with stars in their eyes, as if surprised by each other's presence.

- His name is Donald, like our favorite music...

Donald awkwardly touches Caitlin's face with his chubby hands as she starts humming softly, tears rolling down her cheeks...

- Looks like I'm going to get a new jersey to sign...

Bye, bye Miss American Pie....🎶

---------------------------------------

sorry for the wait, I'm taking important exams at the moment!

So...did you like it? I'm seriously thinking about writing "extras" to this fiction, like little cute moments of life for Caitlin and you after these events, what do you think?

Category : Caitlin C × !momreader

Summary : You and Caitlin have known each other since childhood, you love each other more than friends but the situation pushes you to live in hiding. While Caitlin suffers from this situation and lets you know it, an event changes everything.

4 months ago

It's a busy weekend for you and Caitlin, as local basketball teams compete in a three-day tournament.

The tournament itself has no stakes, and winning it won't affect the official championship standings. So it can be described as "friendly". But unofficially, it allows players and teams to get noticed. To stand out from the crowd and make a name for themselves.

So every team and every player has a little bit of anxiety before every game and tries to keep up as best they can.

You and Caitlin have known each other forever. Kindergarten was where you first met, where you first talked, and where your friendship began.

You've been through a lot with her, you've always been there for each other, and at the age of 21, you never doubted the trust and love you had for each other.

You've never played basketball, but you've always enjoyed encouraging her, supporting her, watching her grow in the sport, and becoming her number one fan. She couldn't get enough of you, and at every game, her eyes sought yours for comfort and courage.

In the eyes of everyone, especially those closest to you, you're the best of friends, like in typical American movies.

But you've both known for some time that this bond and these feelings are more than friendship. That's why you've been secretly dating for over a year now. You look forward to every moment you can get away from the world to kiss and cuddle.

If you've decided to keep this relationship a secret, it's because your parents couldn't bear to find out that you like women.

In fact, you come from a very conservative aristocratic family. And you're officially in a relationship with a boy your own age and, more importantly, from the same social class as you. Your parents introduced you to him about 10 months ago, and you quickly accepted, hoping that this relationship would make it easier to hide your relationship with Caitlin.

Of course, your girlfriend doesn't like the situation, but she accepts it out of respect for you, and you can never thank her enough.

Today is the penultimate day of the tournament, and Team Iowa is well on its way to winning its last game of the day. There's only one quarter left, but it won't be enough for the other team to come back from behind.

So this is the perfect opportunity for you to admire Caitlin on the field without the stress.

The tall brunette is as relaxed as she is smiling as she watches the clock tick away. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, which you did yourself before the game started. Her muscular shoulders gleam in the spotlight.

The crowd chants and screams Caitlin's name as she continues to put on a show, scoring more and more impressive baskets. She couldn't care less about the disappointment her opponents will feel when the final buzzer sounds.

Your heart races and a smile spreads across your face as you watch your friend blossom on the court. She's talented, beautiful, and popular. Many would give anything to be friends with her, if not more. And yet she reserves that privilege for you, and you alone.

And with only a few seconds left, you approach the edge of the field. With your "22 Clark" jersey on your back, you wait for another autograph.

This is your little ritual: Ever since her arrived in Iowa, you've proudly worn Caitlin's jersey to all of her games, and every time she wins, she adds a signature to it. That makes you the most autographed fan in the world.

- Hi ! she says, signing her name on a loose part of youre jersey.

- Hi! you say.

She hands you back your marker and you look into each other's eyes for a long time, her exploding with the joy of victory and you contemplating the stars shining in her eyes.

- I love it when you look at me like that Caitlin smile.

- I love looking at you, you're sublime, Caity.

Her eyes went to your lips as your boyfriend grabbed your hips and pulled you close.

- Don't look at my girlfriend like you're going to devour her, Clark, I'll end up thinking you're trying to steal her away from me. he joked falsely.

The player's smile vanished and her eyes filled with hatred at the sight of his hands on your hips.

- No risk, I'll leave you alone, my team is waiting for me, see you later Y/N.

You tried to smile at her before turning to your boyfriend.

- The game went well, didn't it? He smiled.

- Yeah, it was cool, but my stomach hurts. ....

- Shall we go home?

Of course, you didn't want to go home. That's why you bargained with him to let you spend the night with Caitlin.

He understood your little trick, but you made a deal that he wouldn't tell your parents your secret. So you agreed to having sex with him from time to time at first and the, after he met a girl, let him see her. Caitlin knows absolutely nothing about this, and you knew better than to tell her. You're doing this for you and her.

When he finally agreed, he left, saying goodbye to you and making you promise to spend the next evening with him, as you both had to go to dinner with his family.

So you waited in silence for Caitlin to come out of the dressing room, and when she finally did, after many minutes, her wet hair fell back on her shoulders. You were so impatient that you wanted to jump into her arms.

Strangely, she didn't respond to your embrace, gently pushing you away.

- You should have gone home with him.

You took the time to look at her and saw that her eyebrows were furrowed and her jaw clenched.

You grimaced as you felt the pain in your stomach suddenly intensify, then resumed the conversation:

- It's you I want to be with, it's you I love. I thought we were celebrating your victory!

- Because I don't love you?

- I didn't say that, Caity!

You grabbed her arm and forced her to stop. The pain became too much and you couldn't do it while walking.

- He knows Y/N. He deliberately puts his dirty hands on you, kisses you in front of me, holds you close. It destroys me, it hurts. Don't you know how many years I've spent waiting for you to realize how much I love you, and now that we're starting to create our story, for real, I have to share you with a guy out of nowhere and say nothing?

- I'm doing this for us...I...it's not easy for either of us...

- For us? But we're not going to live like this all our lives. I want to see us grow together, travel, why not get married or buy a coffee maker and have cats all over the house. Fucking Y/N, we're 21 and we're hiding like teenagers!

- I want to do all that with you and you know it. You're not being fair, Caitlin, I'm scared.

- Scared of what? Losing parents who never loved you for who you really are? Fine, if that's what you want, then be their sweet little girl, but I don't want to go through this anymore, I've sacrificed too much in this story, I'm going crazy!

You knew the situation wasn't easy for anyone, especially her. But to see her look at you with such contempt and anger, to hear those words, it's like a slap in the face. You were convinced you were doing what was best for you, but you were wrong, and it meant losing the one you love most in the world.

Your ears are ringing, your vision is clouded with tears, your heart is racing. You hate yourself, but the noise in your head prevents you from finding the words to answer her. The pain in your stomach seems to be worsened, becoming less and less manageable.

- I'm sorry, Y/N, you should go home... shall I call you a cab?

When she asked this question, her tone had softened and you could hear a hint of concern.

But not being able to think clearly, you let her drag you to her car and she took you home, in your room.

- I didn't want you to get into this state, but I'm suffering too.

That night she drove off, leaving you in bed after planting a kiss on your forehead. You writhed in pain for part of the night, and as she closed the door to your big house, she never imagined it would be the last time she'd see you for a long time, before everything between you and her changed forever.

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Thanks for reading, remember that English is not my first language!