~ skylor's pov ~

I shove my way into the first private bathroom I can find at this overhyped prom venue. As soon as I have the door slammed shut and locked securely behind me, I plaster my body to the door, breathing raggedly. I flashback to just moments ago out on the balcony.

"What is it, Skylor?" Ash asks, his eyes and tone somehow communicating compassion.

I try to unentangle myself from his arms, finding his hold distressing rather than comforting.

"How can you even ask that?" I demand. "You – you stand out there with everyone at our stupid school who hates me – heck, everyone who I thought was my friend – "

I can't even finish, tears clogging my throat at the thought. The last thing I need is to cry again tonight and give anyone here the satisfaction of knowing they cut me so deep.

"Aww, we were just having fun," he smiles sweetly. "We didn't mean any of it. You know I love you." He pulls me closer to him, but I struggle against his efforts.

"Well, it wasn't fun," I snap, bracing my hands on his shoulders and shoving him back. "Not for me. And I think you love yourself, and the only reason you want to date me is to make yourself look good." I hope that sticks with him.

"Babe," he drawls, the alcohol he's consumed tonight dripping from his voice, "don't be like that. Let's just forget about everything else and have a good time." He reaches for my hand with a familiarity that might've touched my heart in the past, but now only makes me want to draw back.

And that whole situation ended with me running back through the dimmed ballroom and finding a place to collect myself.

I rise from where I've crumpled to the ground on the bathroom floor, turning toward the full-length mirror. My figure-hugging sage dress looks perfect - minus a few wrinkles from my time on the ground - and my red curls are still expertly pinned at the back of my head.

It's my smeared makeup from wiping away my stubborn tears earlier that ruins the whole look.

I can't be here any longer. This is, in all seriousness, the worst night ever.

There's just one problem. My ride here was a stupid limo my stupid dad hired for me and my stupid friends.

I'm tempted to call off the driver and leave them to call a cab, but that would mean talking to my dad, and then he'd want to know all about why I didn't want the limo anymore. And we are not on a level to talk about all the reasons why I'm not willing to show my face at school for the rest of the year now.

But sadly, that leaves my friends with a bougie ride out of here and me with the cab. I don't know that I have the energy to embarrass myself in front of another human being, though. I couldn't stand it if the driver asked me questions about whether I had a fun night at prom.

With little choice, I gather myself and begin wiping off my face. Thank the Master that I brought some essentials with me. I may not look as elegant as I did when I arrived, but I can at least fix my mascara, shadow, and lipstick.

Just as I'm brushing on a little gold shadow in the crease of my eye, I hear a knock at the door. "Skylor?" asks a sweet female voice I don't recognize.

I scan my mind. She's definitely not one of my friends, but she's definitely not one of my enemies, either.

"Yes?" I ask as calmly as I can.

"I wanted to check to see if you're all right," the girl outside says softly. "I saw you come in here probably fifteen minutes ago."

"I'm fine," I reassure her in my most controlled tone. "Just fixing my makeup is all."

"Okay," she replies. "Um, my boyfriend and I are about to head back home, and I was wondering...would you like a ride? I know you probably came with someone earlier, but prom is still going on for another two hours, and you seem...well, like you don't want to be here anymore."

I frown as I finish my look. It's not how I envisioned myself at prom, but I won't feel embarrassed walking out in front of everyone like this.

"Skylor?" she asks, waiting for a response.

I smooth out my dress and walk over to the door, carefully unlocking it and cracking it open.

Before me stands a girl I think I recognize. I may not have said anything to her before, but it seems like I've had a class or two with her.

"I'm not sure I know your name," I admit, smiling apologetically.

"It's Pixal," she replies. "We have pre-calculus together this year. If you remember, we were in the same group for our first project."

"Oh, that's right," I swallow, not remembering anything about the situation. "My bad."

"It's okay," she reassures me. "Would you like a ride home?"

I don't know her at all, but I'm not willing to spend a moment longer here, and I don't want to face the embarrassment of ridesharing home early from prom with someone who might ask too many questions. At least this Pixal girl already knows what happened.

"I'd love one," I reply. "Um, thank you."

"Of course," she nods. "Let me just go get Zane – he's my boyfriend."

Zane? I think I recognize that name. Isn't he, like, the three-year academic decathlon champion for Ninjago City?

"I actually, uh, need to talk to someone really quickly," I bite my lip. "Is it okay if I join you outside in the parking lot?"

She smiles. "Of course. We'll plan to meet at the entrance in ten minutes."

I'm hoping I don't need that long.

After thanking her, I navigate my way through the crowd of dancing bodies on the floor. The only thing saving me from utter humiliation right now is the fact that the lights are turned off and all these couples are too interested in each other to notice me.

I push my way back to the balcony. As I approach, I see that Ash still stands there, staring out at the sky like it holds some secret he's searching for.

Something tells me he regrets tearing me down in front of everyone earlier. He's always remorseful after he messes up, but he never changes, either.

I watch him for a moment from the back of the balcony, then swallow hard and manage, "Ash?"

"You're back," he muses, not bothering to turn around and see me. There's some measure of shame in his voice, just like I knew there would be.

"I'm breaking up with you." The words seem like a whisper in the wind, something that can't be held onto or chased after.

Slowly, he turns toward me. "I know I messed up, Skylor. I'm sorry. Can't we just forget this ever happened?"

With his familiar form turned toward me and that self-critical gaze in his eyes, I almost want to comfort him like I've done countless times before. I almost want to step back into his arms and back into a life I've grown increasingly frustrated with, one where I'm at the top of the social food chain and always have friends to hang out with and a boyfriend who adores me. But that's all fake, and if I've learned anything about myself recently, it's that the people I hang out with are making me fake, too.

And I don't think I can live with myself being like them.

I take a deep breath. "You're not mature enough for this relationship, Ash. When it matters most, you think of yourself above me. You didn't even stop to consider my feelings when – when – "

But I can't finish. The pain is still too fresh, the judgmental glares of my closest friends still razor-sharp.

"Skylor," he pleads, "don't be like that. You and I – we're great together."

All I can think about is his long list of betrayals, and bitterness rises in my chest. "If we were really so 'great', I think tonight never would have happened."

My prom court sash, draped over my shoulders like a reminder of how different my life was an hour ago, flaps in the wind like a flag. I make a grab for it and practically claw it off my shoulders.

"I don't want this relationship anymore, Ash," I swallow. "We're over."

And before he can say something sweet and repentant that will change my mind like it always does, I swivel on one heel and book it out of the event hall.