Game Over, Pretty Boy. ♕ || STGOPB

♕ Chapter Three ♕ - That was almost poetic

Riley's POV

I opened the door to the apartment, the soft click of the lock sealing me off from the world outside. The silence inside wrapped around me like a blanket, quieting the whirlwind of thoughts that had been circling in my head ever since my run-in with Billy. I closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment, letting the weight of the conversation slip further into the back of my mind. His apology, his attempt to justify Lucas by saying he'd "changed"—as if that erased everything—began to fade. At least, for now.

I set her backpack down by the door, the weight of it thudding against the floor with more force than usual. I let out a long, slow breath, dragging my feet as I walked toward the kitchen counter. Everything around me was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. I needed to focus on something, anything, to drown out the noise in my head.

Reaching for the kettle, I filled it with water, placing it on the stove. I stood there for a moment, staring blankly at the handle as my fingers brushed over it. My chest tightened as thoughts crept in, uninvited.

Why can't I let this go?

The question slithered into my mind before I could stop it. I had tried—God, I had tried so hard to move past it. But no matter how much time passed, no matter how much distance I put between myself and the memories of Lucas, it still lingered like an open wound that refused to heal. Was it because Lucas was the first guy I really loved? The first person who made me feel special in a way I hadn't before? Or was it because of the humiliation? The embarrassment of being made a fool, played in a game I didn't even know I was part of?

I grabbed a mug from the cabinet, my movements slower than usual, as if the weight of my thoughts was dragging me down. The quiet click of the kettle turning off did little to shake me from my spiraling thoughts.

And then Billy's voice echoed in my mind again, the words he had spoken earlier: "You made him better, Riley."

How could he say that? My mind raced. How could he justify Lucas' actions? How does humiliating someone make him "better"? Did Billy even believe what he said? Was there any truth to it? Maybe Lucas had changed, maybe he had learned from the mistake, but how did that help me? How did that fix the damage he had done? It didn't erase the pain. It didn't take away the feelings of being unworthy, like I was disposable. A bet. That's all I was to him. A stupid, childish game.

My hands trembled slightly as I poured the boiling water into the mug, my throat tight. I should be over this, I told herself, frustrated. Why haven't I healed by now? Why does this still hurt so much?

I clutched the cup in my hands, my knuckles white as I fought against the rising tide of emotions. I'm stronger than this. I'm not that same girl anymore, I thought, trying to convince myself. But deep down, it still stung. Every time I thought about Lucas, the old wound would reopen, and the flood of anger, humiliation, and pain would rush back in, drowning me.

My grip on the mug tightened as the thoughts churned in my mind, swirling and mixing until they became too much to bear. In a sudden, frustrated motion, I pushed the cup away from me. It slipped off the counter, crashing to the floor with a sharp, echoing thud.

The sound snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts, leaving me staring blankly at the shattered pieces of ceramic scattered across the floor.

For a moment, I just stood there, frozen. Then, almost mechanically, I dropped to my knees, my fingers reaching for the broken pieces. I tried to gather them in my hands, but they were sharp, cutting into my skin. It didn't matter, though—I needed to collect them. Piece by piece. I had to fix it, put it back together. I had to—