HIM

11.

Jesci laid back in his bed, his body sinking into the sheets. He was only in his underwear, the cool afternoon air brushing against his skin as he reached over to the bedside drawer and pulled out his pack of smokes. He flicked the lighter, the small flame dancing briefly before igniting the cigarette. Inhaling deeply, he exhaled a long stream of smoke, watching as it curled toward the ceiling.

Macy stood at the foot of the bed, casually pulling on her dress, her movements fluid and unbothered. Her eyes trailed over Jesci's body, but he barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere—swirling in the aftermath of what they had just done. The satisfaction that usually accompanied their time together was absent, replaced with a growing frustration.

He hated this. Hated her and how easy it was to fall back into old patterns. Sure, being with Macy was convenient, a temporary escape from whatever haunted him. But after it was all over, when the high faded and his mind cleared, all he felt was anger. Anger at himself for giving in, for allowing himself to go through the motions again. A dull rage brewed in his chest, though he wasn't sure if it was directed at her, at himself, or both.

Jesci took another drag of his cigarette, the smoke filling his lungs as he tried to make sense of why he kept doing this. Maybe it was the way his parents had treated him growing up—the lack of love, the constant disappointment. Maybe it was because of everything he'd seen his friends endure, and the warped sense of what relationships were supposed to be. Or maybe, it was because Macy was the only one around who didn't demand anything more than physical connection.
But then, there was Leila.

Her face flashed in his mind—those wide, curious eyes that seemed to see right through him. The softness in her smile. He hated himself even more for thinking about her now, after being with Macy. The guilt gnawed at him, twisting his insides, though he didn't quite understand why. He barely knew Leila, yet something about her lingered in his thoughts.

As Jesci exhaled another cloud of smoke, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. But it wasn't because of Macy—it was because of her. Leila.

Macy, completely unaware of what was happening inside Jesci's mind, caught sight of the smile and misinterpreted it entirely. She beamed at him, her eyes bright as she zipped up her dress. "I knew you'd be much happier afterward," she said, her voice full of self-satisfaction.
Jesci glanced at her, the smile fading instantly.

He didn't bother correcting her, Instead he flicked the ash from his cigarette into the tray beside the bed, inhaling deeply once more as Macy continued to get dressed, oblivious to the turmoil brewing inside him.

He took another drag, his eyes narrowing as his mind drifted again—back to Leila, back to the guilt that clawed at him. Macy, standing just a few feet away, suddenly felt like a distant memory, a passing blur in a life he was sure he didn't want anymore.

Macy shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her annoyance growing with each passing second of silence. She had hoped for more—just a simple acknowledgment, maybe even a conversation about how his day went or, at the very least, the courtesy of asking about hers. But instead, Jesci sat there, lost in his own world, puffing away on his cigarette and giving her nothing but his usual distance. The longer it dragged on, the more it gnawed at her, that familiar ache in her chest reminding her of how often she was on the periphery of his life.

It was tough, this whole "friends with benefits" situation. It had always been like this between them—a late-night series of "are you up?" texts, the occasional conversation on campus that barely scratched the surface, and fleeting moments at parties where they'd make out in some dark corner. The only time she ever truly had his full attention was when they were tangled up in his sheets.
And while the physical connection was intoxicating, Macy couldn't help but want more. She had always hoped that one day, Jesci would turn around and tell her that she was more than just a fleeting distraction—that maybe, just maybe, she actually meant something to him. But that day never came. Instead, it was always the same script, the same game, and the same hollow feeling afterward.

Jesci, lost in thought, didn't notice the subtle shift in her mood. He was elsewhere, his mind circling back to Leila. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how little Macy meant to him in the grand scheme of things.There was no depth. No real connection. Just the surface-level satisfaction that quickly evaporated once the moment was over.

Macy's patience snapped as she sensed the distance growing even wider. "Jesci.. hello?" Her voice was edged with frustration, her attempt to pull him out of whatever mental space he had retreated into.

He looked up at her, his gaze dull, void of the interest she so desperately craved. "What?"
She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You know, it wouldn't kill you to ask how my day was for once. It's like I'm not even here."

Jesci flicked the ash from his cigarette, the embers glowing faintly in the ashtray. He couldn't help the small wave of guilt that washed over him, but it wasn't enough to change the fact that he simply didn't care. "I didn't realize we were doing the whole 'let's chat about our day pillow talk' thing."

Macy's expression hardened. "Well, maybe we should. Maybe I'd like to feel like more than just your hookup."
Jesci exhaled slowly, the smoke swirling in the air between them. He didn't know what to say. He didn't have the energy for this conversation, not now. Not ever. Part of him hated himself for treating her this way, but the other part—the part that was cold and detached—knew that he didn't want anything more from her and she knew that. It wasn't going to change.

Macy took a step forward, her blue eyes searching his face for something, anything, that would give her hope. She just wanted to be his. But the more she looked, the more she realized how far away he truly was.

"You're not going to change, are you?" Macy's voice was quieter now, almost defeated.

Jesci took one last drag of his cigarette before snubbing it out in the ashtray. His eyes met hers, and for a split second, there was a flicker of something—guilt, maybe regret—but it quickly faded. "No, I'm not."

And that was the truth.

Macy froze at his words, her heart pounding in her chest as she processed what he had just said. How could he sit there, so indifferent, as if everything between them meant nothing? The anger bubbled up inside her, quickly overtaking the disappointment she felt. She turned away, grabbing the rest of her belongings with shaky hands, her frustration evident in every movement. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

As she stood at the doorway, her hand on the knob, she couldn't leave without saying something—without making him understand, even just for a moment, that his choices would eventually catch up with him. She turned back to face him, her blue eyes cold, her voice sharp.

"You're going to end up sad and alone, Jesci Krooks," Macy spat, her tone dripping with venom. "One day, you'll look around and realize there's no one left, no one to fix whatever mess you've made of your life. And don't come crawling back to me when it's all said and done. You'll only have yourself to blame."
She wanted her words to sting, to cut through whatever walls he had built around himself. She wanted to see something—anything—in his eyes that suggested he cared. But Jesci, ever the master at playing it cool, didn't flinch. He leaned back against the headboard, one arm casually draped behind his head as he looked at her with that infuriating half-smirk.

"Thanks for the advice, Macy," he said, his voice calm, almost amused. "I'll keep it in mind... if I ever decide to give a shit."
Macy's jaw clenched as she watched him, the indifference in his voice driving her even further into a spiral of anger. She gripped the doorknob tighter, her knuckles turning white.
"Don't let the door hit you on the way out," Jesci added, his voice dripping with sarcastic charm.

That was the last straw. With a sharp, frustrated exhale, Macy yanked the door open and stormed out, slamming it behind her. Jesci didn't bother getting up. He knew Macy's words should've hit harder, but all he felt was relief. It was easier this way—keeping everyone at a distance, avoiding the messy entanglements that came with real relationships. And as much as he knew Macy was right, he wasn't about to change. Not for her at least.