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Her smile was the saddest, loveliest thing I’d ever seen.
Chloe slid onto the barstool next to me, her thigh pressing flush against mine. She was wearing a black dress that ended mid-thigh and started too low. My hoodie—the one she’d stolen—was tied around her waist like a trophy.
“Derek, I didn’t—”
He called me at 7 AM. I’d never heard him sound like that—not angry, but hollowed out. Betrayed.
But at 11:57 PM, I found myself pulling on my jacket. Not because I wanted to see her. Not because I believed a word she said. But because I knew Chloe—the real Chloe, the one beneath the chaos and the games—and I knew she would wait there all night. Alone. In the cold.
Choline “Chloe” Marek. Twenty-two years old, a helix piercing that glinted like a warning sign, and a habit of finding me in crowded rooms with a stare that felt like being held underwater. My best friend, Derek, had introduced us when she was a pimply fourteen-year-old obsessed with anime. I’d patted her head and called her “squirt.”
That was the moment I realized: Chloe wasn’t a crush. She wasn’t a phase. She was a bonfire, and I’d been standing too close for months, pretending I wasn’t already burning. The explosion came three days later.
Her smile was the saddest, loveliest thing I’d ever seen.
Chloe slid onto the barstool next to me, her thigh pressing flush against mine. She was wearing a black dress that ended mid-thigh and started too low. My hoodie—the one she’d stolen—was tied around her waist like a trophy. Phatassedangel69 - Best Friend-s Obsessive Sister
“Derek, I didn’t—”
He called me at 7 AM. I’d never heard him sound like that—not angry, but hollowed out. Betrayed. Her smile was the saddest, loveliest thing I’d ever seen
But at 11:57 PM, I found myself pulling on my jacket. Not because I wanted to see her. Not because I believed a word she said. But because I knew Chloe—the real Chloe, the one beneath the chaos and the games—and I knew she would wait there all night. Alone. In the cold. My hoodie—the one she’d stolen—was tied around her
Choline “Chloe” Marek. Twenty-two years old, a helix piercing that glinted like a warning sign, and a habit of finding me in crowded rooms with a stare that felt like being held underwater. My best friend, Derek, had introduced us when she was a pimply fourteen-year-old obsessed with anime. I’d patted her head and called her “squirt.”
That was the moment I realized: Chloe wasn’t a crush. She wasn’t a phase. She was a bonfire, and I’d been standing too close for months, pretending I wasn’t already burning. The explosion came three days later.