The inside of Lyra's car was a silent, moving bubble, a stark contrast to the chaotic noise of the beach party. The only sounds were the hum of the engine and the soft whisper of the night air rushing past the windows. Selene, slumped in the passenger seat, had been quiet for several minutes, lulled by the motion of the car and the overwhelming effects of the alcohol. Lyra kept her eyes on the road, her hands tight on the steering wheel, her mind racing with what to say.
Then, a small, broken sound broke the silence.
It was a sob, choked and wet. Lyra glanced over to see tears streaming down Selene's face, cutting tracks through the lingering salt and sand. She wasn't just crying; she was unraveling.
"Am I that easy to be replaced?" The question was a raw, wounded whisper that seemed to tear itself from her throat. She turned her head, her glassy, bloodshot eyes searching Lyra's profile in the dim light from the dashboard. "Was I just a joke to you?"
Lyra's heart clenched. "Selene, no"
"I said I'd be back," Selene interrupted, her voice rising with hysterical, drunken grief. "I said I'd come back to the library. But you were gone. You just left. And then the next morning... you weren't there either. Because you had to pick up a friend." She spat the word out like it was poison. "Let me guess. That friend was that woman earlier? The one who was all over you? Is she your main girl? Huh?"
She was crying in earnest now, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. The alcohol had stripped away every filter, every ounce of her pride, leaving only a bleeding, jealous vulnerability.
"What am I to you, Lyra?" she pleaded, her voice cracking. "What is any of this? Do I even have the right to be this jealous... when you're not even mine?"
The questions hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Lyra took a deep, steadying breath, pulling the car over onto a quiet residential street. She put the car in park and turned fully toward Selene, whose face was a mess of tears and despair.
"Selene, listen to me," Lyra said, her voice calm and low, a deliberate contrast to Selene's turmoil. "First, you are not a joke. You have never been a joke to me."
She reached out, hesitantly, and placed her hand over Selene's trembling ones, which were clenched in her lap. "The woman you saw? Her name is Ariana. She is my oldest friend in the world. She lives overseas. She's not my 'main girl.' She's my friend. Like a sister. She flew in unexpectedly last night, which is why I had to leave the library so quickly. And what you saw... her hugging me... that's just how she is. It doesn't mean anything."
She watched as her words slowly penetrated the drunken haze of hurt. Selene's sobs quieted to hiccupping breaths, though the tears still fell.
"And you," Lyra continued, her thumb making a gentle, soothing stroke across Selene's knuckles. "You are not easy to replace. You couldn't be. You are... infuriating, and confusing, and you make me feel things that terrify me."
A part of Lyra, a part she tried to suppress, couldn't help but feel a warm, flattering thrill at the depth of Selene's jealousy. It was a primal, undeniable proof that Selene cared, deeply and passionately. It was the opposite of indifference.
"But you have every right to be upset with me for leaving with Eliza," Lyra admitted, her own guilt surfacing. "I was hurt, and I shut down. That wasn't fair to you. And you have every right to feel what you feel. Jealousy isn't about rights, Selene. It's about caring. And it seems... we both care more than we know how to say."
She gave Selene's hands a gentle squeeze. "We're a mess. Both of us. But you are not replaceable. And you are not a joke."
Seeing Selene like this, so utterly shattered over her, dissolved the last of Lyra's own defenses. The sight of Ariana's arm around her waist had been a performance, a silly game. But this? This raw, unvarnished pain in the passenger seat was devastatingly real.
"Let's get you somewhere you can rest," Lyra said softly, putting the car back into drive. "We can talk more when you're sober. My apartment is close. We can talk there, properly. No parties. No interruptions. Just us."
She pulled back onto the road, heading toward her home, the air in the car now charged not just with pain, but with the fragile, terrifying possibility of honesty.