Jinn’s face doesn’t soften, not even a flicker of regret. “You mattered to me, sure. But you can’t get so attached. You knew who I am, Carrie. You knew what club life is like.”
The words hit like slaps. For a moment, I can’t breathe. I wheeze, my breath catching in my throat.
His gaze is cold now, impatience flickering behind his eyes. “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be. Why don’t you go home and cool off? We’ll talk later.”
I stare at him, all the hope and sweetness I carried in my chest for months crumbling to dust. The Jinn I loved isn’t here—not even a trace of him. Just this stranger who wants me to disappear so he can get back to his life. My tears slow, but my chest still aches. Jinn stands above me, looking like he can’t decide if he’s bored or irritated.
For a second, I see him the way I did the night we met.
I was locking up the library, the parking lot dim and empty except for one bike leaning against the curb. He was sitting on it, helmet dangling from his fingers, watching me with this half smile that felt like trouble and promise all at once. I remember how the streetlight caught in his eyes, how he asked if I needed a ride before I even said hello. I laughed, told him I didn’t take rides from strangers. He said, “Good thing I’m not a stranger. I’m just someone you haven’t met yet.”
It felt like the start of something. I went home that night with his number in my phone and a dizzy, stupid hope that I’d found someone who saw me.
Now I’m staring at the same man, sweat still drying on his skin from what he just did upstairs with my sister, and all I see is the ending.
I wrench my arm from his grip.
I look up at him, standing there like he owns the world and I’m just another piece of furniture to move around.
“It’s over, Jinn.”
For a second, he doesn’t react. Then he lets out a short, humorless laugh. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” I say, and this time my voice doesn’t shake. “I’m done.”
He tilts his head, eyes cool. “Fine. Get out of the clubhouse.”
That’s it. No apology. No second thoughts. Just a cold order, like tossing out an empty bottle.
I push myself up, every muscle feeling heavy, and brush past him on the stairs. The scent of Marcy still clings to him, making my stomach twist. I don’t look back. I don’t trust myself to.
I stumble down the stairs, tears blurring the world, the taste of humiliation burning on my tongue. It’s not till I reach the bottom that I sit down on the ground, my heart shattering in the dark, and for the first time, I realize I am completely, utterly alone.
The noise from the party feels miles away now, a dull, steady thrum under my feet. My hands are cold, even though my face is burning. I press them into my lap to keep them from shaking, but it doesn’t help.
The landing smells faintly of beer and old wood polish, but under it is something else. Marcy’s perfume. I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of it.
I curl forward, burying my face in my hands. The images won’t leave. Her nails on his back. His hand in her hair. The sound of them. My own sister. My own boyfriend.
The longer I sit here, the heavier it gets, pressing down on my ribs until each breath feels like a battle.
I think about the night I met him. The easy grin, the way he leaned against that bike like he had all the time in the world and had already decided I was worth some of it. I think about every word, every touch, every time I told myself that this was what it felt like to be chosen. I thought we had something that would stand, even in this world. I thought I mattered to him.
Now I’m sitting in the dark, my makeup streaked down my cheeks, and he’s gone—slipped away without a word.
A couple of guys pass through the hall behind me, their voices low. I can feel them glance at me as they go by, that quick flicker of curiosity they don’t bother to hide. In this place, people don’t ask outright. They just watch, store it away, and pass it along later.
I stay there a few minutes more, long enough for my legs to go pins-and-needles. My chest is tight, my eyes ache, and something in me says if I don’t get out now, I’ll break in front of all of them.
I stand, pushing myself up with the railing, and walk fast through the main room. I keep my eyes on the door, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. The music swells for a moment as I shove the door open, then fades behind me.
The night air is cold against my wet cheeks. I suck in a deep breath, the taste of exhaust and dust filling my lungs, and start across the lot. Gravel crunches under my boots. My bag bumps against my side.
I don’t look back.
Then a voice cuts through the night air.
“Carrie.”
