Jackass Or Ignorant?

Selena's POV

The knock on the door was too loud.

I flinched where I sat on the couch, a pillow squashed in my lap and a cold glass of water sweating onto the wooden table beside me. My head ached, my eyes were gritty from crying too long or not sleeping enough—I didn’t know which.

I didn’t even want to answer. I didn’t care who it was. If it was the mailman or Glendale or the universe coming to collect the last of my sanity, I didn’t want to talk.

But then I heard her voice.

"Lena, I swear if you don’t open this door, I’ll scream so loud the neighbors call the cops."

Sarah.

My best friend, if I even deserved to call her that anymore.

I pulled the blanket off and stood up slow like gravity didn’t trust me. My feet were bare and cold and the floorboards creaked like they hated me too. I opened the door and there she was, dressed in a too-bright hoodie and black leggings, arms crossed and eyes already scanning me up and down.

"You look like shit," she said.

I didn’t even try to deny it. I just stepped aside and let her in. She didn’t wait for an invite, just pushed past me like she lived here, which… honestly, she sort of did half the time before all this mess started.

She dropped her phone on the coffee table and sat with her legs tucked under her like a pissed-off yoga instructor. I sat too, hugging my knees.

"So," she started, poking the corner of a throw pillow, "you gonna tell me what happened or am I supposed to keep piecing it together from hallway gossip and cryptic texts?"

My throat tightened. I didn’t want to talk about it. But Sarah had that look. That I'm-going-to-rip-it-out-of-you-if-I-have-to look.

"It’s Dominic," I said finally. The name felt weird on my tongue. Heavy.

She scoffed. "Of course it is. That broody tall hockey asshole."

My lips twitched. I almost smiled, but it got lost somewhere halfway.

She leaned closer. "What did he do? Tell me everything. No filters. I’ll punch him if I have to."

I took a deep breath, eyes locked on the little crack in the wall behind her. "I told him about the dreams. About the stuff I saw. And he told me he was a werewolf. That it was all real. The mark. The memories. Everything."

Sarah blinked. "Wait. What? Like werewolf-werewolf? Not metaphorical? Not sexy Halloween costume?"

I nodded. My fingers clutched my sleeves. "Real. And I believed him. I believed all of it."

Sarah sat back like the words physically shoved her. She looked at me for a long second. Like she was trying to see if I was joking. Then she let out a breath. "Jesus."

I didn’t answer.

"And then what?"

I stared at the floor. "And then today… he acted like he didn’t know me. In front of everyone. Like he’d never said any of it. Like I was just some delusional girl chasing him."

Her mouth dropped open. "No way. That’s so messed up. What kind of sick game—"

"Maybe he forgot," I said. Quietly. So quiet I don’t even know if I meant to say it out loud.

Sarah stopped. Her eyes squinted. "What?"

"Maybe he forgot," I said again. My voice cracked this time. "Or someone made him forget."

She tilted her head. "So you still think it’s real? The curse thing? The lifetimes?"

"I don’t know," I whispered.

Sarah sat forward again, her hand brushing mine, warm and soft. "Hey. Look. I don’t know what’s real anymore either. But I know this. If he lied to you just to mess with your head, then he’s a jackass. But if he didn’t... if he really doesn’t remember? That’s different."

I didn’t reply. I just nodded, but my throat was too thick to speak. My chest ached, not sharp, not stabbing, just this dull empty pressure that made it hard to breathe right.

Sarah stood suddenly. "Alright, enough of this moody crap. Get dressed."

I blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. You’ve been locked up here for days looking like a Tim Burton character. We’re going out."

"No. I’m not—"

She grabbed my hand and pulled. Hard. "No arguments. We’re getting coffee. Or sugar. Or alcohol. I don’t even care. Just something that doesn’t smell like sadness."

"Sarah—"

"Come on. Don’t make me drag you by your hoodie."

I sighed. Long and loud and dramatic. But I stood anyway. Because if I stayed here one more minute, I’d probably dissolve into the couch.

The café was warm and too bright.

I tugged at the sleeves of my oversized sweater and tried not to shrink into myself. The smell of cinnamon and espresso hit me first, followed by the low hum of voices and the clatter of dishes. It should’ve been comforting. It wasn’t.

Sarah walked in like she owned the place, dragging me by the wrist.

"You need a scone," she said. "Or a muffin. Something flaky and complicated like your life."

I tried to smile but it died before it reached my eyes.

Then I saw them.

Or rather—him.

Dominic.

He was across the room, near the counter, his hoodie pushed back and his fingers loosely holding a coffee cup. And next to him, too close, too fake-smiley, was Cherry Hillary. She leaned in, her glossy lips curved into some evil flirt grin.

And then—he pulled away.

But it was too late.

My heart had already stopped.

It looked like a kiss. I swear to God it looked like a kiss.

I froze.

My lips snapped shut. My hands trembled.

I turned away.

"Lena?" Sarah said.

I didn’t answer.

She followed my gaze, her body tensing. "No. Oh hell no. Did he just—"

"Let’s sit somewhere else," I said. My voice sounded empty. Like it belonged to someone else.

We found a corner booth. I kept my back to him. I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to look again. But it didn’t stop the image from burning in my head.

Cherry’s hands. His face. That space between them. Or lack of space.

Why did it hurt so much?

He wasn’t mine.

He’d never been mine.

But it felt like something inside me cracked. Like a glass that looked whole until it shattered all at once. My eyes burned and I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood.

Sarah slid into the booth and slapped a menu in front of me. "You’re not allowed to cry over him. Not in public. Not in a café with good lighting."

I sniffed and nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Want me to poison her latte?"

I laughed, a little too loud. But it felt good. Even if it only lasted a second.

Across the café, Dominic’s laughter echoed. Low. Easy. Natural.

I gripped the edge of the table.

I didn’t want to look.

But I did.

He wasn’t smiling at Cherry anymore. He was looking down at his drink, lips pressed in a flat line.

And for a second—just a second—his eyes flicked up.

They met mine.

And something shifted.

Not big. Not obvious. Just a flicker of recognition. Or confusion. Or guilt.

But it was enough.

I looked away fast. My throat tight. My chest tighter.

Sarah reached for my hand again.

"You okay?"

I nodded. Lied.

She didn’t believe me. But she didn’t push.

We sat in silence while the scones came. I didn’t eat mine.

I just stared at it.

And pretended it didn’t hurt.

Even when it did.