“And the week before that,” a third adds, “it was that girl with the fake lashes who cried in the parking lot.”
They laugh again. Loud. Easy. “He likes them desperate,” someone says. “Makes it easier to walk away.”
My throat tightens. I press my knuckles against my mouth.
“I just don’t get it,” one of them continues. “Like… what does she think is happening here?”
“That he’s into her,” the counter girl says, mock sincere. “That she’s special.”
“Oh my god,” someone laughs. “Stop.”
“He’s probably already bored,” another adds. “She’s not exactly a thrill ride.”
There’s a pause. Then, quieter. Meaner.
“Honestly,” one of them says, “I think he just wants to see if he can get her naked. Like a dare.”
“Or a charity fuck,” someone says.
My stomach flips hard enough I feel sick.
“And once she does,” the first one continues, “that’s it. He’ll ghost. Pretend he doesn’t remember her name.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, but they just don’t stop. They talk about him and me like I’m not five feet away. Like I’m already gone.
When I finally stand, my legs feel weak. I flush the toilet just to give myself a second, then unlock the door and step out.
They all look at me at once. No shame. No apology. The counter girl’s eyes flick over me, slow and deliberate. “Well,” she says. “That didn’t take long.”
I head for the sink and wash my hands. My self doubt warring with the anger at them for being so fucking cruel. Get it together Savannah, you don’t have to take this shit. You’re better than this, stronger. You’ve survived hell and come out on the other side, these are just petty bitches.
“You know,” one of them says casually, leaning against the wall, “he’s gonna forget about you the second you leave.”
Another tilts her head. “If he hasn’t already.”
The counter girl smiles, sharp and satisfied. “Try not to fall in love,” she says. “That part’s always embarrassing.”
I dry my hands carefully. Fold the paper towel. Toss it away.
When I turn to leave, they don’t move. They just watch.
“Good luck,” someone calls after me. “Hope it was worth it.”
I don’t answer. I walk out with my head up because it’s the only thing I have left. By the time the music hits me again and I spot the crowd and the lights and the place where Lucky should be standing, something inside me has already decided.
I can’t stay. Not like this. Not knowing they might be right. The sad part is I really thought this was something more. I lean against the brick wall outside the bathroom for half a second, just long enough for the truth to settle in my bones. I let myself have it. The embarrassment. The hope I shouldn’t have had. The stupid, reckless belief that maybe this time would be different.
I feel so stupid. I replay every moment in my head like evidence. The way he touched me. The way he looked at me. How real it felt. How easy it was to believe I wasn’t just passing time. That I wasn’t just filling a space until someone else showed up. All the insecurities I worked so damn hard to bury claw their way back up like they’ve been waiting for permission.
My ex’s voice slips in next, uninvited and cruel. The words he used when he wanted to hurt me. When he wanted me smaller. Easier. Grateful for scraps. No one stays. You should be thankful anyone wants you at all.
My chest tightens. My throat burns. Suddenly I’m not the fun, carefree Savannah who danced without thinking and laughed without fear. I’m the girl who believed him once. The girl who’s broken in all the old familiar ways. The girl who spirals quietly because making a scene would only prove them right.
I don’t go back out there. Not to the dance floor where he’s supposed to be waiting for me. I don’t look for Lena either. I don’t trust myself not to shatter if I do, so I slip out the back door instead.
The night air hits me hard. Cool. Sharp. I suck in a breath like it might steady me, but my hands are already shaking. I wrap my arms around myself and stand there for a second behind the building, suddenly aware of how alone I am standing just feet away from a place packed with people.
That’s when I see them.
