𝗕𝗨𝗖𝗞𝗬 𝗕𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗘𝗦 𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗧𝗦

How To Lose The Girl

SONG REQUEST FOR THIS CHAPTER: HOW TO LOSE THE GIRL by DYLAN CONRIQUE

Story recommendation from BanksOpenOnTuesday

1, 293 Words

If I'm honest, the signs were always there.

I just didn't want to see them.

It's funny how love—or the idea of it—makes you blind. You start convincing yourself that the silences don't mean he's bored, the distance doesn't mean he's lying, and the pain isn't real because he says he loves you.

But if he loved me, he wouldn't have made me feel like I wasn't enough.

The day I found out, it wasn't dramatic. No lipstick on a collar or some girl giggling in the background. It was a photo. A stupid, blurry selfie of him with another girl, tagged at a club I didn't even know he went to.

Her caption read: My man surprised me tonight 🖤

My man.

I stared at the screen for a long time, just trying to breathe, my heart twisting tighter with every second. My fingers trembled as I clicked her profile. There they were—pictures going back weeks. Comments. Hearts. Inside jokes. I couldn't even convince myself it was innocent.

He hadn't just slipped up.

He had been cheating on me.

When he came over later that night, I confronted him in the doorway.

"Who is she, Brock?"

His jaw clenched. "What are you talking about?"

I shoved my phone in his face, the photo front and center. "This. Her. How long has this been going on?"

He looked at it and had the audacity to shrug. "It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal? You've been sleeping with someone else!"

"She doesn't mean anything."

"And I do?" I laughed bitterly. "Because you sure have a funny way of showing it."

Brock rolled his eyes, stepping inside like I'd just accused him of taking the last slice of pizza.

"I didn't think you'd find out."

That sentence shattered something in me.

Not, I'm sorry. Not, I regret it. Just... I didn't think you'd find out.

"I loved you," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I stayed through every cold shoulder, every unanswered call, every lie because I thought maybe you were just... going through something. I defended you to my friends. To Bucky. To myself."

He scoffed. "You were always so dramatic."

"Get out," I said, numb.

"What?"

"I said, get out, Brock."

He gave me one last look, like I was being irrational, then turned and walked out. Just like that. No apology. No fight. No trying to fix it.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything.

🦾🦾🦾

I didn't even think about where I was going. I just drove, the tears coming faster than I could wipe them away. My heart felt like it was collapsing in on itself, and all I wanted was to not feel so alone.

My car turned on instinct, and ten minutes later, I was pounding on Bucky's door, mascara running down my cheeks, hands shaking. He opened the door in sweats and a hoodie, hair messy like he'd just gotten out of bed.