= Sarah POV =
As the night wore on, I found myself edging closer to the sofa where the so-called "star" held court. She wasn't seeking attention, not actively. But everyone who passed by seemed to get pulled into her orbit, drawn to her magnetic disinterest. One by one, they tried their luck, only to retreat moments later, rebuffed.
When I had spoken to nearly everyone else of interest, I realized I was standing right behind her. Steeling myself, I stepped forward, only to watch someone else slide onto the couch before I could.
The girl wore a glittering dress that shimmered under the bar's dim lights. She leaned in with the easy confidence of someone used to being adored. "What's your favorite color?" she asked, her voice lilting.
"It's green," the star replied coolly, her tone familiar, disarmingly calm. "The color of her eyes."
The girl faltered, confused. "Whose eyes? Mine are brown."
The star leaned back, her head tilting just enough to catch me in her line of sight. Her piercing blue gaze locked with mine, pinning me in place. "Her eyes," she said simply. "The girl behind me."
My heart lurched as recognition settled in.
"Hello, Sarah," Chris said, her voice calm and unnervingly even, like a blade sliding cleanly into its sheath. Then she leaned forward again, dismissing the girl beside her without another word.
The girl pouted and flounced off, leaving the space beside Chris ominously empty.
I hesitated but found myself unable to look away. I walked around the couch and sat down. My heart pounded against my ribs, each beat a countdown to something I couldn't name.
"Hello, Chris. Fancy seeing you here," I said, striving for nonchalance, though my voice wavered.
Chris's lips curled into a smirk, her hands fumbling slightly as she pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her battered leather jacket. She looked different—gaunt, sharp-edged. Her jeans hung loosely on her frame, and her once-long hair was now a jagged bob. Shadows clung to the hollows of her eyes like secrets.
"Really? Do you think this is a coincidence?" she asked, lighting a cigarette with trembling hands. The lighter's flicker illuminated her worn face, making her look haunted. She took a slow drag and exhaled, staring at the ceiling before her gaze slid back to me.
"Hey, beautiful," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Cat got your tongue?"
"You look ghastly," I shot back, my concern spilling out before I could stop it. "Have you been eating? Sleeping?"
Chris laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "No and no. But who needs food, sleep, or even life itself when there's nothing left to live for?" Her words were laced with venom, but her voice cracked, betraying the vulnerability beneath.
My chest tightened. "Chris, I think you need help."
"Help?" She snorted, leaning back and crossing her legs. The casual elegance of the gesture only made her anguish more pronounced. "I quit my job, you know."
My breath hitched. "Wait—the hotel job? The one you worked so hard for? Why?"
She tapped ash into the already overflowing tray, the motion deliberate, almost theatrical. "I only got that job because of you. Because you believed in me. Do you remember Sarah? You said I'd make it as a great chef one day. I wanted to make you proud. But now…" She trailed off, her voice a whisper. "Now there's no point."
Her words slammed into me like a fist. "Chris, that's not—"
"Don't." She cut me off, her eyes blazing with a mix of fury and despair. "Don't try to fix me, Sarah. You can't. You don't even want to."
The cigarette burned down to the filter, and she crushed it out with a sharp, final motion.
"I saw you walk into this bar, you know. Forty-five minutes ago. Did you really think I wouldn't be here?" Chris leaned forward, her voice dropping to a near whisper, intimate and chilling. "Out of everyone you spoke to tonight, who do you really want to leave with?"
I froze, her words slicing through me. She was drawing this out, manipulating the rules of the game to corner me.
"You," I said, the truth spilling out despite myself. "I would choose you."
Her smirk returned, sharper this time. "Smart answer." She leaned closer, her breath reeking of smoke and alcohol. "But let's be honest—if I'm such a mess, why do you keep orbiting back to me? Why can't you just let me go?"
My voice trembled. "Chris, this isn't healthy. You're not okay."
She leaned back, her smile fading into something softer, more haunted. "Tell me, Sarah," she murmured, "what did I lack? What was I missing, that you couldn't choose me, even when I gave you everything I had?"
The announcement blared, signaling the end of the round. People began moving again, but Chris and I stayed locked in place, her question hanging heavy in the air.
"I…" My throat tightened, the words catching. Finally, I stood, walking past her without looking back, every step a struggle to keep my composure.
I felt her gaze on me the entire way to the door. Her presence lingered, oppressive yet magnetic, pulling at the edges of my resolve. When I reached the exit, I pulled out my phone, unblocking her number with shaking hands.
She picked up on the first ring.
"Passion," I said, my voice breaking. "You lacked passion. You gave me stability and comfort, but I wanted fire, love, and excitement. You offered me what you thought I needed, not what I wanted."
I hung up before she could respond and walked up the stairs into the cool night air.