Turmoil

The street air hits harder than expected—cold, almost slicing through the haze I've built up around myself tonight. Kira's hand is still in mine, her steps hurried to keep up with me as we weave through the drunken sprawl outside the club. She's asking where we're going, but I don't answer. I just need out—away from the lights, the music, Stefani's voice in my head.

We make it a few blocks before I slow down, breath heaving a little. Kira catches up and stands in front of me, panting too, smiling like it's all been a wild joke. But I'm too far gone to laugh.

"You good?" she asks, touching my arm.

I nod. Lie. "Yeah."

She leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder. Her arm wraps around my back and I let it. It's soft. Kind. Comforting. Nothing like the electricity of before. And still—it isn't enough.

"I needed air," I mutter.

"Same," she says, her breath warming the curve of my collarbone.

There's a pause between us, the night settling around the moment. I look up, blinking at the stars trying to poke through the city's light pollution.

"Do you want to come back to mine?" I ask, the words tumbling out like a reflex more than a thought.

Kira lifts her head. There's something soft in her eyes, but also cautious. "Are you sure?"

I'm not. But I nod anyway.

"Okay."

—

The ride to my apartment is quiet. We sit close in the back of the cab, thighs touching, heads leaning together like we've done this a hundred times before. I wish the silence felt peaceful, but it doesn't. It's filled with Stefani's voice, the image of her leaned over that sink, her hands on me, saying she hates me in a way that didn't feel like hate at all.

Kira talks a little—mentions a funny moment from rehearsal, something about Tara's weird playlist choices—but I barely hear her. I nod, hum, smile when I should. Inside, I'm spiraling.

We get to my building. We climb the stairs. I open the door.

Kira heads to the kitchen without asking, like she's been here before. Like she belongs. She pours us water. I toe off my boots and peel my shirt over my head again, tossing it on the couch. I'm in that same black bra, same low-slung jeans. The night still clings to me.

Kira walks over, hands me a glass. She watches me.

"You're quiet," she says gently.

I take a sip. "Just tired."

She nods, then moves close. Her fingers find my belt loop. Her lips brush my shoulder. I let her.

And I close my eyes.

Because I want to disappear into something that isn't this ache. I want to drown out the guilt and confusion and longing. I want to pretend I didn't want Stefani to follow me out. That I didn't want her to say stay. That I didn't want her to tell me that I was the one she chose.

But she didn't. And I left.

So I turn into Kira. Let her kiss me. Let her hands slide around my waist.

I kiss her back. Because maybe, if I try hard enough, I can convince myself it's enough.

I stop her before things can escalate further. My hands are on her shoulders, gently pushing her back.

"Kira," I say, my voice more fragile than I want it to be. "Just... just sleep with me. Please."

There's a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, but she doesn't question it. She simply nods, the air between us thick with unspoken things. We begin to undress, the quiet of the room filling in the spaces where words should be. The clothing falls away, discarded in small piles on the floor, leaving just the soft fabric of our undergarments.

I lie beside her, the bed feeling too small as our bodies settle next to each other. I pull her close, my face pressing into the curve of her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin—the soft, earthy smell that's uniquely hers.

For a moment, we just breathe, the weight of the night quieting in the gentle rise and fall of our chests. The world outside fades, leaving only this space, this moment of tenderness.

Her skin is warm against mine, softer than I could've imagined, and I can't help but let my fingers graze the curve of her back, mapping out the feel of her. It's gentle, almost reverent, as though I'm afraid of disturbing the calm that's settling in.

I pull the covers over us, but it's not enough. I need more of her. My arm slips around her waist, pulling her even closer until our bodies are flush, every inch of me absorbing the warmth from her.

"I don't want to be alone tonight," I whisper into her neck, the words raw, too honest, too vulnerable. But it feels like it's the only thing I can say that makes sense.

She doesn't answer, but her fingers find mine, intertwining with a soft pressure.

And for a while, it's just the two of us, tangled in the quiet, holding onto something that feels like solace.

I wake up to the sound of loud banging on the door, jolting me from sleep. Kira stirs beside me, her body tensing, and I immediately reach out to calm her, whispering, "It's okay, just go back to sleep."

I slip out of bed, my head pounding, and throw on a shirt. The room feels like it's spinning, my thoughts scattered and sluggish as I shuffle to the door. I glance through the peephole, and my stomach sinks when I see Stefani standing on the other side.

I open the door, and she steps inside without saying anything. Her eyes immediately scan the room, landing on the clothes strewn on the floor. I can feel her assessing the situation—her gaze cold and sharp.

She doesn't ask, but the tension in her eyes speaks volumes.

"Am I alone?" she asks, her voice low and heavy with expectation.

"No," I reply flatly, my voice rough from sleep. My mind is still foggy, but the anger starts to sharpen through the haze.

She steps closer, looking around the room, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the chaos of the night. She sees everything—everything I'm trying to escape from, everything I don't want her to see. "Did you have fun?" she asks, her words a quiet accusation.

I don't hesitate. "Nothing happened," I say, but she doesn't believe me. I can see it in her eyes. She's already made her judgment.

"You wanted me to choose you," I snap, my anger rising now. "I did. And now you're isolating me, not a word from you, and I'm left here, trying to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to feel."

She laughs bitterly, the sound cutting through me. "Your feelings aren't real," she says, her voice sharp like glass. She gestures to the room around us. "Look at this. Look at what you've done. You're reckless."

The words hit me harder than I expected, but I stand my ground. "You asked me to choose you, Stefani. I did. But now you're the one running. I told you I love you, and you shut me out."

She doesn't respond immediately. Instead, she stands there, her shoulders stiff with unshed tears, her eyes glistening with something I can't quite place. "I can't choose you," she whispers, more to herself than to me. "I can't choose someone who doesn't even know what they want."

"Fuck you," I say, the words coming out ragged. The rawness of the situation hits me like a punch in the gut.

She stares at me for a long moment, and then, with tears streaming down her face, she says, "Fuck you too," and turns to leave. The door slams shut behind her, and the silence that follows is suffocating.

I stand there for a moment, breathless, my chest tight with the weight of everything. I don't know what just happened, but I feel like I've just lost something I wasn't even sure I had.

I walk back to the bed, my legs heavy. Kira is still asleep, her body curled up beneath the blanket, and I collapse beside her, pulling her into my arms. The warmth of her body next to mine is the only thing that feels real, the only thing that feels like it could keep me tethered to something.

But even in the darkness of the room, with her close to me, my mind keeps drifting back to Stefani, to the things I said, to the things I couldn't say. The weight of it all feels unbearable, but I hold onto Kira, hoping that maybe, just for a moment, I can forget.——

The morning light creeps in, gentle and unassuming, brushing against my skin like an apology I don't believe in. Kira's still asleep, her breath even, the curve of her back rising and falling beneath the sheets. I lie there for a moment, my eyes open, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer me clarity. But there's nothing. Just the low hum of the city beyond the window, the silence between thoughts, and the dull ache behind my eyes.

I slip out of bed carefully, grabbing the shirt from the floor and tugging it on as I pad barefoot into the kitchen. The apartment feels too quiet now, the high from last night long gone, leaving only the tremble of regret in its place. I fill a glass with water and drink, hoping it will do something—calm the tightness in my chest, quiet the echo of Stefani's voice: "I can't choose someone who doesn't even know what they want."

I want to scream. I want to punch a wall. I want to go back and undo everything and at the same time, I want to do it all over again just to feel the same things. What kind of sick contradiction is that?

I check my phone.

Nothing from Elena.Nothing from Stefani.

I don't know what I expected. I left Stefani crying in a hallway. I left Elena in the dark. And now here I am, trying to piece together a version of myself I barely recognize.

Kira walks in a few minutes later, rubbing sleep from her eyes, her hair tangled and soft around her shoulders. She's wearing my t-shirt, and she gives me a small, sleepy smile.

"You okay?" she asks, voice rough from sleep.

I nod, too fast. "Yeah. Just... long night."

She walks to the sink, gets herself some water, then comes to lean beside me. Her arm brushes mine. It's soft. Simple. Real. I look at her and for a moment I feel steadier.

"I didn't mean to pull you into my mess," I say, quietly.

She shrugs, that smile tugging again at the corner of her lips. "You didn't. I'm a big girl. I like being around you, even if the world's on fire."

I let out a breath that's almost a laugh. "It's burning."

"Then we'll bring marshmallows next time."

We sit on the couch after that, not saying much, sipping coffee that doesn't do nearly enough. I feel like I'm floating, not in the fun way, but in the disassociated, how-the-fuck-did-we-get-here kind of way. My phone buzzes and for a split second, my heart races.

But it's Tara.

Tara: "Hope you're okay. Call me later. Things got messy."

I toss my phone face down on the table and sink deeper into the couch.

Kira watches me, doesn't press. Just leans her head on my shoulder.

And I let her.

Because maybe I don't know what I want.But I know what it feels like to be held without question.And today, that has to be enough.

Kira leaves around midday. She kisses my cheek softly before she goes, her hand brushing my hip as she pulls away, and there's something in her eyes—maybe caution, maybe care, maybe curiosity—but I don't know what to give back, so I just smile. I thank her for staying, and she nods like she knows I'm grateful for more than just the night.

When the door clicks shut behind her, silence wraps around me like a punishment. My apartment suddenly feels cavernous, hollow. My fingers shake a little as I clean up the living room. A shirt here. A bra there. A faint trace of perfume. The kind of residue you can't scrub out no matter how hard you try.

I sit down on the floor by the couch, knees to my chest, and call Tara.

She picks up on the third ring, voice groggy and hoarse. "Lena?"

"Yeah... hey. Sorry, did I wake you?"

She exhales, half-asleep but trying to wake herself up. "Kinda. What time is it?"

"Almost one."

"Shit." A beat. "Are you okay?"

I hesitate. "Not really."

She softens instantly. "What happened?"

"You tell me," I say, quieter. "Is Stefani... is she still there?"

"No, she left early this morning. Like before the sun came up. Lena—" she pauses, her voice dipping, "—she was a mess."

I swallow hard.

Tara continues, her voice slower now. "She cried all night. Like full-body, shaking kind of crying. She kept saying your name. Over and over."

Something deep inside me pulls taut like a wire about to snap.

"She was so... gone. And I tried to ask her what was wrong but she wouldn't say. Just kept muttering about how she shouldn't have come. That she messed everything up. That she—" Tara pauses, "—that you didn't mean it."

I press my palm to my mouth. My stomach turns. Shame twisting hot and acidic through me.

"She said I didn't mean it?"

"Yeah." Tara exhales. "Lena, what's going on with you two?"

I stay quiet for too long.

"Is there something I should know?"

I open my mouth. Close it. My voice finally comes out, strained. "There's so much."

"You don't have to tell me everything," she says gently. "But don't lie."

I nod, even though she can't see me. "I'm an asshole, Tara."

"You're not. But you are spiraling."

"She asked me to choose her," I whisper. "And I did. I told her everything. And then... she disappeared. And I fell apart."

There's a beat of silence on the other end. Then: "And Elena?"

"I haven't talked to her in days. I haven't called. She doesn't know anything. She thinks I'm just busy. And she's so good, Tara. She's so good to me and I—"

"Lena," Tara says gently.

"I'm an asshole," I repeat, my voice cracking. "I'm a fucking coward."

"I think you need to talk to her."

"I know."

"Do it now."

I nod again. My hand trembles as I hang up.

I stare at my phone for a long moment. Then I go to my bedroom. Sit on the edge of the bed. The sheets still smell like Kira's perfume, faint and floral. I push the thoughts away. And I dial Elena.

She answers on the second ring.

"Lena?"

Her voice is warm. Tired. A little distant. I hate myself instantly.

"Hey."

A pause. "You okay?"

"No," I say honestly. "I need to talk to you."

There's a stillness. She hears it in my voice. The gravity. The truth.

"What happened?" she asks softly.

"I messed up," I whisper. "I messed up really bad."

And then I tell her.