Intoxicating

Good Girls Are Bad Girls

Leia's POV

I leaned my head back against the seat, the hum of the engine mixing with the distant thump of Kid Cudi's "Pursuit of Happiness." The night felt surreal, like I was floating just outside myself. I wasn't ready to go home, but I wasn't sure where else I belonged either.

My whole life had been like that-floating.

I guess it started when I was younger, back when everything seemed so perfect. I was daddy's little girl, the one he'd lift up on his shoulders after work, telling me I was his princess. He used to bring me little gifts: flowers he'd picked up on the way home, a stuffed bear from the gas station, or even just a soda we'd share while he told me stories. I believed every word he said, believed that he'd always be there, believed that our family was unbreakable.

But then I turned thirteen, and everything changed.

One day, he was there, smiling and laughing like he always did, and the next, he was gone. No note. No explanation. Just gone. I remember my mom trying to hold it together, pretending like it wasn't that big of a deal at first, telling me that he'd be back, that maybe he just needed some space.

But weeks turned into months, and months into years. He never came back.

I didn't understand it then. I kept asking myself what we did wrong. What I did wrong. Was I not good enough? Was there something about us that made him leave? My mom never had the answers either. She tried her best to hold us together, but she was broken too. I could see it in the way she'd stare out the window, waiting, hoping. But he was never coming back, and eventually, she stopped waiting.

That's when I stopped believing in the fairytales, the perfect families, the happily ever afters. It was just us now-me, my little sister Zan and my Mom-trying to survive. I got used to her working late, the empty house, the quiet nights where I'd do anything to fill the silence. It was just the 3 of us, and we managed. Barely.

But even now, after all these years, that emptiness never left me. I learned how to hide it, how to keep moving, keep smiling, keep pretending like everything was fine. I became an expert at that.

Maybe that's why I'm here now, in the back of Timothée's truck, with Courtney up front and the night stretching out in front of us like a dark, endless road. Floating, just like always.

But deep down, I could feel something shifting. Something dangerous.

Timothée pulled up to Courtney's house, the truck rumbling softly as he put it in park. Courtney leaned over to kiss him goodbye, her lips lingering just a little too long before she pulled away and smiled at him. She turned to me in the backseat and motioned for me to come closer.

I leaned forward, and she pressed her lips against mine softly, her hand brushing my cheek as she whispered, "Bye, baby."

"Bye," I said, smiling as she got out of the truck, her heels clicking against the driveway. It wasn't weird for us to kiss like that; it was just how we were-close, affectionate. It had always been like that with Courtney. We were best friends, but sometimes it felt like more. But I didn't think about it too much; that's just how we showed love to each other.

I watched as she disappeared into her house, the front door closing behind her. Timothée tapped the steering wheel for a moment before glancing back at me through the rearview mirror. His eyes caught mine, and there was something in his gaze-something heavy, but he played it cool.

"You can climb up front now if you want," he said, his voice low and smooth.

I hesitated for just a second before unbuckling my seatbelt and slipping into the passenger seat. The truck felt warmer up here, more intimate somehow. I settled in, pulling my legs up onto the seat and turning toward him as he started the drive again.