Puck me. I’m yours

Violet:

The apartment smelled like Marcus. That was the first thing I noticed when I let myself in with the key he'd given me three years ago. The familiar mix of his cheap cologne, the one I'd bought him for his birthday, and the stale beer from last night's game celebration clung to the air like a second skin. I balanced the takeout bag in one hand, the carton of Thai food he always ordered after a win still warm against my palm.

The hallway was dark, which was strange. Marcus never slept before midnight, especially not after a game. He'd be wired, replaying every shot, every save, every time he almost scored. I'd learned that about him early on. The post-game adrenaline was part of the package of dating a hockey player.

I smiled to myself, kicking off my boots by the door. The apartment was a mess, his jersey on the floor, empty bottles on the coffee table, the TV still on with some highlights reel playing on mute.

I made my way toward the bedroom, already planning how I'd tease him about falling asleep before I got there. I'd climb into bed beside him, press a kiss to his shoulder, and tell him his game was incredible. Because it had been. He'd scored twice tonight. I was proud of him, even if he never seemed to notice how much I showed up.

The bedroom door was cracked open.

I pushed it wider with my hip, the takeout bag rustling, and opened my mouth to say something soft and affectionate.

Then I saw them.

Marcus was on his back, sheets tangled around his waist, his bare chest rising and falling with the heavy rhythm of sleep. His arm was draped across the pillow, fingers loosely curled in blonde hair that was definitely not mine.

Chloe.

My best friend. My roommate. The girl I'd known since freshman orientation, the one I'd held while she cried over her own breakup, the one I'd trusted with every secret I had.

She was pressed against him, her bare shoulder exposed above the sheet, her lips slightly parted, her hand resting on his chest like she belonged there. Like she'd been there a thousand times before.

The takeout bag slipped from my fingers.

The noise of it hitting the floor was loud in the quiet room. Thai food splattered across the hardwood. I stood there, frozen, staring at the two people I loved most in the world tangled together in the bed I used to sleep in.

Chloe stirred first. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she looked at me with that sleepy confusion of someone waking up in the wrong place. Then recognition hit. Her face went pale. She scrambled backward, pulling the sheet up to her chest, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.

"Vi," she breathed. "Oh my God. Vi, wait."

Marcus's eyes snapped open. He looked at Chloe, then at me, and I watched the blood drain from his face in slow motion. He sat up so fast he nearly knocked Chloe off the bed, his hands raised in front of him like he was warding off an attack.

"Violet," he said. "This isn't...it's not what it looks like."

I laughed. A short, ugly sound that didn't belong to me. "Not what it looks like? You're naked. She's naked. What exactly is it supposed to look like?"

Chloe scrambled out of the bed, clutching the sheet around her. She was crying now, "It was a mistake. It just happened. We were celebrating the win, and we had too much to drink, and..."

"Stop." This wasn't my best friend. My best friend wouldn't have done this. My best friend would have been the one to warn me, to protect me, to drag me out of this apartment before I ever found out.

"Please, Vi," he said. "Just let me explain. It was one time. It didn't mean anything. I love you. I've always loved you. She was just...she was there, and I was drunk, and..."

"One time?" I repeated. "You expect me to believe that?"

His silence was the answer. He couldn't even lie convincingly.

"Violet, please." Marcus's voice cracked. "Don't leave. We can fix this. I'll do anything."

I stared at him, at the face I'd kissed a thousand times, at the eyes I'd looked into and seen my whole future. And I felt nothing. Not sadness. Not anger. Just... empty.

Chloe reached for me. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It was just a stupid mistake. You're my best friend. You have to forgive me."

I looked at her outstretched hand and thought about all the times I'd held it. All the late nights we'd stayed up talking about boys and dreams and fears. All the secrets I'd trusted her with.

I didn't say anything. I just turned around and walked out.

Outside, the night air hit me like a slap. I was halfway down the street before I realized I was crying...great ugly sobs that tore out of my chest and left me gasping. I hunched over, my hands on my knees, and I screamed into the empty street.

No one came. No one ever came.

I stumbled to a bench and sat there, the cold seeping through my jeans, and I let myself fall apart. The betrayal cut deeper than anything I'd ever felt. It wasn't just Marcus. It was Chloe. The two people I'd built my entire life around, and they'd both stabbed me in the back.

I wanted to hate them. I wanted to break something, scream something, do something that would make the pain stop. But I just sat there, numb, watching the streetlights flicker and wondering how I could have been so blind.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Marcus's name flashed on the screen. I declined the call. It buzzed again. Declined. A third time. Declined.

A text came through from Chloe: "Vi, please talk to me. I can't lose you. You're everything to me."

I read it and felt nothing.

Then a message from Marcus: "I'm coming to find you. Don't do anything stupid."