CHAPTER 2: Pitiful Way To Go

At first, I thought I was imagining it. Maybe it was the TV. Maybe one of those dumb action movies he liked where everyone’s always grunting and fighting.

But no.

That wasn’t… fighting.

That was definitely moaning.

My stomach twisted. I blinked, frozen for a second, my brain scrambling to make sense of it.

Wait?

God!

Don’t tell me he’s seriously watching p**n again?

The irritation flared up fast, drowning the unease that was starting to crawl under my skin. We’d already fought about that — about how disconnected we’d become, about how instead of talking to me, he’d rather spend time in front of a screen getting off to strangers.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered, my jaw tightening.

Annoyed, I marched the rest of the way down the hall, clutching his jeans in one hand like evidence, ready to burst in and yell something well-deserved about boundaries and respect and maybe about how I was tired of feeling like a roommate instead of a girlfriend.

But then I reached the door.

The moaning was louder now — breathier, real.

Too fucking real.

Something in me went cold.

I hesitated only a second before I swung the door open.

And then I froze.

Daniel was there. Naked. On top of someone. A woman.

A stranger.

Her legs wrapped around him, his hand gripping the sheets, his face buried in her neck.

For a heartbeat, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even fucking breathe. I just stood there, the world tilting slightly, as if I’d stepped into a dream — no, a nightmare — and my mind was struggling to wake up.

I didn’t even realize the clothes had slipped from my hand until I heard the soft thud of denim hitting the floor.

Only then did they notice my presence.

The woman was the first to turn her head, her eyes wide, and lips parted. Then Daniel’s head jerked up, his expression snapping from pleasure to horror so fast it almost made me dizzy.

“Babe…” he called, his voice cracking.

But I didn’t hear the rest. My brain was already a blur of static.

Everything inside me twisted — the shock, the anger, the humiliation — all tangled into one unbearable knot. My mouth opened, but no words came out. My hands were trembling so hard I had to clench them into fists just to stop it.

The woman scrambled, pulling the blanket around her, muttering something that sounded like an apology. Or maybe it was just my imagination. I couldn’t even look at her.

My eyes were locked on him.

Daniel.

The same man I’d been killing myself for these past few months. The man I defended to everyone who said he was lazy, the man I worked overtime for so he wouldn’t have to worry. The man I’d just spent the bus ride thinking about, wondering how to fix us.

And now here he was — fixing himself, apparently.

“What…” My voice came out small, shaky. “What the hell is this?”

He stammered, trying to grab for words as he fumbled for his boxers. “It’s not… I can explain…”

“Explain?” I repeated, the word breaking on my tongue. “You’re literally—” I gestured helplessly toward the bed, my voice rising, cracking. “You’re inside someone else, Daniel! What the hell could you possibly explain?”

He stepped forward, still half-dressed, reaching for me like he thought touching me would make it better. I stepped back instantly, my whole body recoiling.

“Don’t,” I snapped. My throat burned. “Don’t you dare come near me.”

He froze, hand still outstretched, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t find the right excuse fast enough.

Pathetic.

My eyes blurred for a second, but I refused to let tears fall.

Not here and definitely not in front of them.

Instead I took one step back, then another, my hand shaking as I reached for the doorknob.

He called after me but I didn’t answer. I just turned and ran out. The sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

In the living room, I stopped only long enough to grab my bag. My hands trembled so hard I nearly dropped it. My vision was still a little foggy, like my brain hadn’t fully caught up with what I’d just seen.

I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until I stepped outside and took a deep breath. My fingers shook as I wiped at my face, realizing too late that I was crying. Hot, messy tears spilled down my cheeks, blurring the street in front of me.

“Stupid,” I whispered to myself, the word breaking apart. “God, I’m so stupid.”

My bag strap slipped off my shoulder but I caught it clumsily, barely aware of it.

“Why?” The word came out small, swallowed by the night. “Why would you do that to me?”

My vision swam again. I blinked, my heart pounding in my ears, and kept moving — faster now, my steps uneven. I just wanted to get as far away from that building as possible.

Then I heard tires screech somewhere nearby, but it barely registered.

I stepped off the curb without thinking, my head still turned back toward the apartment, as if maybe — stupidly — I’d wake up and realize none of this was real.

And then it happened.

A blinding flash of headlights.

A sharp horn.

Someone shouted, “Hey!”

And before I could process any of it — before my brain could send the signal to move — something slammed into me.

I cried out, my breath caught in my throat, ripped out of me before I could even scream.

The sound of metal grinding against asphalt echoed somewhere behind me. I heard a car door slam, then footsteps pounding closer.

“Miss! Oh my God, are you okay? Can you hear me?” a man’s voice said, shaky and terrified.

I tried to speak, but nothing came out. Just a small, broken sound. My head felt heavy, the world fading in and out like a blinking light bulb.

The man’s voice kept talking… something about calling an ambulance, but his words sounded far away, muffled, like they were underwater.

I could smell asphalt. I could taste blood.

And through it all, one thought pushed its way through the chaos — not Daniel, not anger, not pain. Just this dull, almost detached realization:

So this is how I die.

God, what a pitiful way to go.