I didn't want love.
Not that night.
I wanted distraction.
Rebellion.
Something loud enough to drown the ghost of his voice in my head.
So I dressed like danger.
Lips painted in a red that wasn't for him anymore.
Heels that clicked like threats.
And a dress that clung to my curves like I was armor and invitation all at once.
Because if he could haunt me without touching me,
Then maybe someone else could heal me the same way.
---
The club pulsed with strangers.
Hands brushing shoulders.
Eyes lingering too long.
A blur of perfume, smoke, and secrets no one would remember by morning.
I let myself get swallowed by it.
By the beat.
By the lies I whispered to myself.
I'm okay.
He doesn't own me anymore.
I can feel something for someone else.
Then I saw him.
Not him, the chaos.
Someone new.
Golden smile.
Confident sway.
A stranger who didn't know my broken pieces—or how easy it was to cut himself on them.
Perfect.
---
He bought me a drink.
Said his name was something forgettable.
I didn't care.
We danced.
His hands were respectful.
Too respectful.
I found myself wishing he'd be rougher, edgier—something closer to what I was used to.
But that was the problem, wasn't it?
I didn't want soft.
I wanted to feel something sharp.
Something real.
"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, breath warm against my cheek.
I hesitated.
Because for a second, I thought—
What if this helps?
What if this is what moving on feels like?
---
His apartment was clean.
Neat.
Scented like vanilla and safety.
He kissed me like I was porcelain.
Like he wanted to cherish.
But I wasn't looking to be cherished.
I was looking to be unmade.
And when he touched me—
I didn't moan.
I didn't melt.
I closed my eyes and saw the wrong face.
---
I left before the sun came up.
No goodbye.
No second glance.
Because he wasn't him.
And the worst part?
That was the only reason I couldn't stay.
---
I got home, stood in front of the mirror,
and whispered what I'd been trying to avoid:
"He still owns parts of me I never meant to give away."