"Candice." I'm not surprised when Dylan merely states my name with his phlegmatic tone. He doesn't move an inch from his seated state, taking a swig from his beer while he intently watches me. It reminds me of the leadoff of our connection. He was always vacant and sharp-eyed. His devil-may-care attitude is one of the things that lured me into his den in the first place, but right now, I don't find that part of him attractive at all. If anything, it makes me want to slap that nonchalant look off his face, knowing how it flaunts one fact: He's back to the old version of himself.

The one that would sleep with a woman every night, and if one of those women got lucky, he would paint them. And it hurts. It hurts so bad, seeing him drifting away from me. Seeing him with a girl who isn't me. But do you know what makes my pain proliferate?

It's the fact that the girl he has in his hold is her.

Melody.

Someone whom I might have been considering a friend.

"As if I was in need of more drama." Dylan mutters under his breath, taking a puff of his cigarette, before he attempts to push Melody off his lap. "Get off."

I gape at him, and though I know that he's intoxicated, I can't help feeling like I'm discerning someone whom I've never encountered before. Or maybe that's how he's been all along, and it was me who kept disregarding how noxious he was, beautifying and romanticizing whatever he did to me.

Melody, who's rendered speechless, awkwardly shirks away from him, her eyes darting between us, her face—even under the motley colors—flushed bright red. Ensconcing her deeply remorseful gaze on me, she swallows. "If I asked you to give me a chance to explain, would you let me?" She asks, her quavery voice barely audible over the jangly music.

"Explain what, Melody?" I ask, my own voice faltering too, and I can barely hear it over the sound of my blood bumping. "The fact that I just saw you straddling the guy I've been with less than two weeks ago?"

"I swear I wasn't thinking!" She pleads, advancing closer. "I've been drinking, and my head isn't clear!"

I do the one thing I'm good at: letting out a laugh, which I'm sure sounds as woebegone to them as it does to my own ears. Truth be told, I find nothing to voice. It feels like I have a pair of hands enclosing my throat so tightly, disallowing any air to go through, much less words. And maybe it's just my head that finds it grueling to function and form a single apprehensible thought. However, Dylan doesn't find it very arduous to voice his own thoughts. "Was that the same excuse you fed to the boyfriend you cheated on?" He questions, sounding bored and insouciant. "What can I say? Once a traitor, always a traitor." He shrugs, supping his beer.

It takes every ounce of control in me not to seize that beer bottle and smash it onto his head. Howbeit, a part of me agrees, the same part who always doubted her. My instincts kept warning me, adducing her ex-boyfriend as a proof. And those are the same instincts who tried to keep me away from Dylan. And I wish I listened.

I wish I stayed away.

"I'm sorry, Candice. I really am." She repeats the same apology Dylan said to me only yesterday, and seeming to have lost her prepossession, she looks away, evading my gaze altogether, before she grapples her purse from the table, and marches away.

How many apologies to treat a deeply rived wound?

How many apologies to mend a shattered heart?

How many apologies to rehabilitate a damaged trust?

How many apologies before I stop hurting and move on?

I'd give a number. I'd join an auction and recite boundless numbers.

A hundred. A thousand. A million.

Except that none would help. None would make the hurting stop. None would fix my bewailing heart.

You'd compile all the apologies in the world, and the blue would never fade.

"You're no better than her." My tongue finally moves, my venomous gaze fixed on his stoic one. I ball my hands into fists, struggling to amass the energy in me and turn it into anger. It's anger or fragility, and I won't allow him to see me weak again.

He cocks his head to the side, a smirk tickling the side of his lips. "I thought we've already established that before." He stands, opening his arms wide. "I've embraced myself as the fucked-up asshole I am."

"I've been sulking for two weeks since you left! I entered this place with you on my mind! That birthday you celebrated with me! I came here reminiscing about our beautiful moments, while you were here, at the same place, with no one but my friend on your lap! What kind of a sick fucker are you?" I fulminate, my voice starting to rise.

His face hardens, and I know I've hit a nerve. "In case you haven't noticed, Candy, we're not together anymore. So, I can have anyone on my lap, and you shouldn't have the right to complain about it." He contends, before he walks past me, lacerating my heart one more time on the way.

Refusing to let him leave, I grab his arm, and though I shouldn't have enough power to stop him, he does, not facing me. "Yes, I should! I do! Why someone I consider my friend, Dylan? If you think you're a lost cause, why drag someone I care about with you?"

"And she's still calling her a friend." He scoffs, facing me once more. "When will you stop being so fucking innocent and naïve? She's a cheating bitch who didn't think twice about you as she dry-humped me! And do you know what the most interested part is? I never even approached her! She's the one who came to me." He chronicles, his face devoid of any sentiment. "My sister is not much better, you know? She's dating your ex, and using you to get to Trent. You care, Candice. You knew I'm bad for you, yet you cared too much to see it. You care too much to see the truth, Candice."

It hurts to face the truth. I know I always considered her a phase. And I knew phases are meant to come to an end. I just can't help but realize that I was lying to Hannah the other day. I can't help but realize that I was lying to myself. It hurts to ascertain that I'm the one who brought about my self-destruction.

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of being right, I choose to fabricate another façade. "Careful, Dylan, or it might sound like you're throwing your guilt at me." I cross my arms. "Do you know what the most interesting part is? It's that I'm not that much of a victim. I used Melody to know more about you, back when I was interested in you and your friends, and I also used her to publicize the video. I used your sister to get back at Claire." I'm not entirely lying. I did benefit from the both of them, but that doesn't defeat his point. I do care. Advancing closer to him, I whisper the one thing that will always remain a lie. "And though it backfired, I used you to get over Ethan."

If my lie got to him, he doesn't show it, leaning down to whisper in my ear. "Innocent, naïve, and a bad liar."

"Fuck you." I hiss.

"Oh, please, Candy! Be my guest." He shrugs. "I have no one in my bed tonight."

My temper flares, and I raise my hand, ready to slap him, but he catches my wrist before my palm makes impact with his cheek. "You did it once, Candice. Don't ever try it again." He warns through gritted teeth.

I feel tears stinging my eyes, and I know it won't take long before I break apart. "Right at this moment, Dylan, I hate you. I truly do, from the bottom of my heart." And it's true. I want nothing but to hurt him; to make him feel each ounce of pain I feel right now.

"Good." He solely states, letting go of my arm, before he turns to leave, his face as stony as his heart.

Reprobating the fact that he will be the one who walked away, I stride after him, planting myself directly in front of him. "You know what? Yes, I'm a bad liar. I wasn't using you. You were the one who was busy doing the using. You were nothing but a lesson, Dylan. But rejoice! You were a fatal one. One that I never want to see again."

Gulping, I swerve, feeling a tear slipping as I head toward the exit. I know I'm the one who got away, but that frivolous fact doesn't make the pain cease. It gives my ego some false grandiosity, but my heart?

It detonates into a billion, bleeding piece.

_____________________________

I don't know for how long I've been walking, but the moment I arrive to my apartment building, I perch myself on the step that leads to the stairwell, out of breath, and though I haven't hoisted one sip of alcohol, I still feel impaired and debilitated, my fury and hurt gradually wearing me down. My tears don't stop flowing, and I don't even know over which predicament I'm aching. The betrayal of my friend. The dearth of those I love, including the one who broke my heart. The loneliness. However, the only thing my tears can recognize, is my anguish, and no matter how fast they stream, they fail to wash it away.

Invading my melancholic moment, my phone chimes in, the screen flashing Dylan's name at me. My tears stop, and so does my heart, and I keep staring unblinkingly at the screen. Why is he calling?

My frown transpires, before the anger takes over again, heightening my senses. I wipe my tears away, my eyes latched on the phone screen. My brain plays scenarios. Is he feeling remorse? Is that why he's calling? Or maybe he's calling to revitalize our fight; to make me feel even shittier. After all, that's all he's good at.

The call ends before I even consider responding, before my phone starts ringing again. My thumb hovers over the screen, a part of me dying to know what he wants. But I refuse to respond, rejecting the call. Still and all, my phone doesn't stop ringing, and I choose to ignore it, standing up, before I walk into the elevator, my decision unwavering this time.

I'm never getting back to him.

During the brief trip to my apartment, my phone doesn't stop ringing. Not even when I stride out, heading toward my apartment. But then my phone stops chiming for a few seconds, before it sounds again, this time with Trent's number. I lower at the screen, my confusion ramping up, before I choose to take the call.

"Hello, Trent." I mumble, unable to hide my questioning tone. Emplacing my phone between my ear and shoulder, I unzip my bag, fishing around for my keys.

"Where are you, Candice?" He asks immediately, his voice charged with panic.

I stop for a moment, my frown deepening. "What's wrong, Trent?" I question, fumbling with my keys to open the front door.

"Where the fuck are you?" He inquires again, his tone urgent.

"I'm entering my apartment now. What's wrong with you?" I query, pushing the door open.

"Don't! Leave the whole building immediately! Now!" He orders, his voice clamant and alarmed.

I don't get to decide—or move for that matter, before I'm grabbed roughly by the waist, a boxcar body slamming against my back, imprisoning me in its unyielding hold. I scream, but not a second passes, before a hand clamps against my mouth, blocking the sound of my voice. Involuntarily, my hand gives way, and my phone falls to the ground with a blaring, crashing sound, before I'm propelled forward with the force of the colossal body that's immuring me.

My eyes are wide with fear, and though my mouth is occluded, I don't stop screaming and thrashing, my efforts of no avail. I hear the front door slamming shut, and then I feel a sharp sting piercing the side of my neck, and in no time, my body starts to go lax, my voice dying in my throat, before I'm thrusted forward, finally discharged from the compact hold.

I fall onto the ground, and a sharp twinge of pain shoots straight to my knees, but I can only moan in pain, attempting to scramble to my feet, before I fail miserably, falling onto my backside. Time becomes languid and agonizing, and with every moment, my body becomes more enfeebled, and my acuity becomes more distant. I can barely make a sound, my tongue crippled. The beats of my heart start to slow, and I'm sure that whatever I was injected with is the reason behind it.

But then I hear the sound of harsh footsteps coming closer, and my heart starts to race anew, up until my eyes behold their owner.

"Hello, Candice." Humorous, dark eyes meet mine. Ones that belong to no one but Chavez. "Claire Rogers asked me to say hello."

And that's when my heart stops.

—————————————————
Hello, folks!
Sorry for being absent for soooo long. Here's a double update for you, beautiful readers.

Also, I plan on finishing the book this week on here.

Stay tuned x.

BTW, have you checked out Logan's book on Radish Fiction? It's called "Blue Star".

All the love x.