Faking it

The morning light filters through the sheer hotel curtains, golden and too bright against my heavy eyelids. I wake up feeling like I didn't sleep at all, my body weighed down by exhaustion that isn't just physical.

Stefani stirs beside me, stretching with a soft sigh before rolling onto her side to face me. She smiles, still hazy with sleep, her expression open in a way that twists something deep inside of me.

"Morning," she murmurs, her voice warm, affectionate.

I force a small smile, stretching my arms above my head to buy time. "Morning."

She brushes a strand of hair out of my face, her fingertips feather-light. "You look cute in the morning."

I let out a small, breathy laugh, feigning the ease she seems to feel. "I doubt that."

Stefani grins, still watching me, her hand resting between us on the sheets. There's something soft in the way she looks at me, something that makes my stomach churn with guilt.

She's happy.

And I am faking it.

I roll out of bed before the weight of it can crush me. "I have dance class," I say, stretching my arms. "I should get going."

Stefani doesn't protest. She just nods, watching as I grab my bag and throw on a hoodie.

I don't kiss her goodbye.

I don't know if she notices.

⸻

The day drags on, and I move through it like a ghost.

Dance class. My run. Rehearsals.

My body does what it's supposed to—spins, leaps, bends—but my mind is elsewhere. I keep my head down, speaking only when necessary. No one questions it.

By the time the show starts, I feel like I'm operating on autopilot. The music pounds, the lights flash, and I go through the motions, but I don't feel anything.

Even during Sex Dreams, even when Stefani is pressed against me, even when our bodies move together in a way that should make my blood burn—

I feel nothing.

Afterward, the group decides to take the night off from going out. I nod along with the conversation but don't contribute.

And then, when no one is paying attention, I slip out of the venue and disappear into the night.

⸻

The hotel room is silent when I return. The air is stale, the walls closing in on me. I waste no time in lighting a joint, inhaling deeply, waiting for the numbness to settle in.

I pull out my phone, staring at my sister's name before finally pressing call.

She answers on the third ring. "Lena?"

"Hey."

There's a pause, then a sigh of relief. "It's good to hear your voice."

I nod, even though she can't see me.

"You okay?" she asks, voice careful.

I exhale, letting smoke curl from my lips. "I'm trying."

She doesn't ask what I mean by that. Maybe she already knows.

Silence stretches between us before she finally says, "Just... make sure you're moving on in a healthy way."

I close my eyes. "Yeah."

She hesitates, like she wants to ask more, but she doesn't. And I don't offer anything else.

When we hang up, the heaviness in my chest doesn't go away.

I don't know where else to go.

So I drag my feet down the hall, stopping in front of Stefani's room.

I just want to see my friend.

I knock.

The door creaks open slightly, not locked. I hesitate, then step inside.

It's dark, quiet. But I hear breathing—soft, rhythmic.

I follow the sound, my stomach twisting for reasons I don't understand.

And then I see them.

Stefani.

Her boyfriend.

Him on top of her, their bodies tangled together in the sheets.

My throat closes, my mind stuttering to a stop.

I can't move.

I can't breathe.

Stefani's head tilts slightly, her eyes fluttering open as if sensing something off. And then—she sees me.

Our eyes lock, hers widening in shock, lips parting slightly.

She doesn't push him away.

She doesn't move.

She just stares.

My heart lurches into my throat, nausea twisting in my stomach. It feels like I've been hit by something brutal, something I should've seen coming but didn't. I can't hear anything, not the rustle of sheets, not his breathing—just the blood rushing in my ears.

I turn and run.

I don't remember getting back to my room. I don't remember throwing the door open, slamming it behind me, or the way my breath shudders as I stumble forward, gripping the edge of the desk to keep myself from falling over.

The room is spinning.

I press my hands into my face, into my eyes, trying to push away the image burned into my brain. But it's still there.

Stefani underneath him.

Stefani just staring.

A knock.

Loud. Urgent.

I already know who it is before I hear her voice.

"Lena."

I squeeze my eyes shut. Go away.

Another knock. "Lena, open the door."

I shake my head even though she can't see me, pressing my palms harder against my forehead.

"Lena." Stefani's voice breaks.

Something inside me snaps.

I rip the door open, and there she is—standing in the dim hallway, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, wearing nothing but an oversized hoodie.

I want to hate her.

I should hate her.

But all I feel is rage. Confusion.

"Are you fucking serious?" My voice comes out hoarse, uneven.

Stefani exhales sharply, stepping inside before I can stop her. "Let me explain."

I let out a hollow laugh, stepping back like her presence is something toxic. "Explain what, Stefani? That you have a boyfriend? That you sleep with him after crawling into my bed?"

Her face twists like I've slapped her. "It's not like that."

"Then what the fuck is it?" I snap. "Because from where I was standing, it looked exactly like that."

Stefani runs a hand through her hair, her breathing ragged. "I didn't know you were going to be there."

I let out another sharp laugh. "Oh, so if I hadn't walked in, that would've made it better?"

"That's not what I meant!" she yells, her voice cracking.

I shake my head, trying to steady the storm inside me. "This is why, Stefani. This is exactly why I told you we couldn't do this." My voice is quieter now, but no less cutting. "You have a fucking boyfriend. And I'm just a mess you keep coming back to when you feel like it."

Stefani's jaw clenches. "You think that's what this is?"

"I know that's what this is."

She takes a shaky breath, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "You're such a fucking coward."

I freeze. "What?"

Her eyes are red, her chest rising and falling too fast. "You keep acting like I'm the only one responsible for this—like I'm the one hurting you, like I'm the one making you feel this way." She steps closer, her voice fierce. "But you're running, Lena. You're always fucking running."

"Don't—" My voice wavers.

"You tell yourself you don't want me, but then you pull me into an alley and tell me you can't stay away." She shakes her head, her voice cracking. "You say you don't want anything serious, but you kiss me like it's the only thing keeping you alive. And the second it gets too real, you push me away and act like I'm the villain."

I swallow, my chest aching. "You have a boyfriend."

Stefani flinches like I just drove a knife between her ribs.

She blinks, her lips pressing into a tight line. For a moment, it looks like she's going to say something else. But then—

She steps back.

Nods once.

And walks out.

The door clicks shut behind her.

And I'm left standing in the wreckage.