CHAPTER 1 #2
We ended up at Moonlit Bar, loud, packed, bodies pressed too close together. The air is thick with tequila and cheap cologne. People chugging booze to manufacture courage. To blur edges. To make conversations easier. To pretend they weren’t lonely.
“We’ll be here maybe two hours,” Mia had said. “I promise. I just need a drink.”
She didn’t even make it for two minutes. Her hand was already on a man’s shoulders at the bar. He was sitting with his back to us, broad frame, relaxed posture, like he was exactly where he meant to be.
“Hi, Dominic,” she said brightly. “We’re here.”
He turned. And all I saw were his eyes.
Blue.
Not soft blue. Not sky blue.
Dark blue.
The kind that looked almost stormy under the low lights.
Eyes that didn’t just look at you, they locked in.
Made you feel like you’d already stepped into something before realizing there was a door.
Eyes that promised a lifetime of intensity.
The kind that feels like destiny when it’s happening and destruction when it’s over.
“We?” we both said together, then stopped, suddenly aware of each other.
Mia laughed.
“I’m sorry, one second—” I say tightly, already grabbing Mia’s hand and dragging her away from the bar.
“What the hell, Mia? Who is he?” I hissed.
She rolls her eyes like I’m the dramatic one. “Okay, relax. I met Dom on Tinder. It was supposed to be a date, but I wanted you to come out too! I texted Jeremy, he was supposed to hang out and make it even, but he bailed.”
I stare at her. “Okay, what the actual fuck, Mia? First off, Jeremy and I have been done for at least a fucking year. And now I’m a third wheel? What the fuck?”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” she whisper-yells back. “If I told you it was a double date, you would’ve bailed. And also, I don’t know about you, but he’s a ten. Did you see the way he looked at you? I think my matchmaking skills are elite.”
“Mia. I’m leaving. No.”
“You can’t!” she says, grabbing my arm now. “He’s been here for at least an hour.”
I blink. “What the fuck? You called me to get ready an hour ago. Oh my God, Mia.”
She gives me a sheepish smile. I drag her back toward the bar before I can overthink it. Dominic is standing now. Tall. Calm. Somehow amused. Like he’s enjoying the chaos. His eyes find mine immediately. A slow smile tugs at his mouth, not mocking, not arrogant. Just… entertained.
“So, Mia,” he says smoothly, glancing between us, “care to explain? I thought this was a date.”
I clear my throat, suddenly very aware of how close we are.
“Listen,” I say, forcing a polite smile, “I’m sorry if you’ve been sitting here waiting. That’s… not on me. But can I at least buy you a drink?”
He tilts his head slightly.
“Depends,” he says. “Are you staying?”
And just like that, I forgot I was supposed to leave. His eyes don’t leave mine. Not once. I cross my arms. Defense mechanism. “That depends. Is this still technically her date?”
Mia gasps dramatically. “Wow. Rude.”
Dominic’s mouth curves slowly. “It was. I’m starting to think there was a scheduling error.”
I scoff. “Oh, don’t blame me. I was lured here under false pretenses.”
“Really?” he says lightly. “And what were the pretenses?”
“One drink. Two hours. No unexpected complications”
He leans an elbow on the bar, angling his body toward me now. Subtle. But not subtle. “And yet,” he says, “you’re still here.”
Mia looks between us like she’s watching tennis. “Okay,” she mutters, “I’m suddenly not needed.”
I ignore her.
Dominic studies me for a second, slow and deliberate. Not creepy. Just intentional. Like he’s taking inventory.
“You don’t look like someone who gets ambushed easily,” he says.
“Oh, trust me,” I replied. “I’m very ambushable.”
He laughs. Low. Warm. “I doubt that.”
I try to hold eye contact. I really do.
But his gaze feels steady. Confident. Like he’s not intimidated. Like he’s not scrambling for approval. And that — that’s new.
“So,” he says, “if this is no longer a date…” He pauses just long enough to make me aware of it. “…maybe it’s an opportunity.”
“For what?” I ask.
“To see if you’re actually as unimpressed as you’re pretending to be.”
Mia makes a choking sound behind me. I feel heat climb up my neck. “I’m not pretending anything,” I say.
He raises an eyebrow.
“Good,” he says. “I’d hate to think you were playing hard to get.”
“And what if I am?”
His smile deepens. “Then I’d enjoy the game.”
Oh. Okay. So this is who he is. Confident. Teasing. Just enough edge to feel dangerous without being arrogant. And the worst part? I’m smiling.
I closed my eyes to let the memory fade.
* * *
I’m standing on the sidewalk. Cold air against my skin. And upstairs, he’s looking at her. The same dark blue eyes. The same mouth parting in pleasure.
The spark at Moonlit Bar. The laugh. The first drink I bought him. The way I stayed. All of it is just a prequel. Because that look? It was never just mine. It also belonged to whoever was in front of him.
I inhale sharply. And I realize that the beginning wasn’t fate. It was just the first lie.
I keep walking. The gravel crunches too loud under my shoes. The night air smells like cut grass and someone’s laundry detergent drifting from an open dryer vent.
A dog barks two houses down. Laughter spills from somewhere, normal, unaware, cruel in its normalcy. I fixate on it.
The flicker of Mrs. Alden’s porch light. The uneven crack in the sidewalk I always step over. The distant whir of a car turning the corner. If I can catalog it all, every smell, every sound, every stupid, ordinary detail, maybe I won’t have to replay what I just saw upstairs.
Blonde hair. His hands.
I swallow hard and keep walking past the mailbox, past the neighbor’s porch light. Past the version of my life I thought I had. My phone is in my hand. I don’t remember taking it out. It feels foreign. Too bright against the dark.
And then it rings. Her name flashes across the screen.
My sister.
I stop on the sidewalk. The only person who has ever seen me ugly-cry. The only person who sat on the bathroom floor with me the night Mom died and didn’t try to fix anything.
My throat tightens. I blink once. Twice. The tears spill anyway. It’s not dramatic or loud, just steady, quiet, and unavoidable. I wipe them away like I can erase this too and answer.
“Hey,” she says. And the silence between us cracks. She knows. She always knows. “What happened?”
My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It sounds far away. Detached. Like I left my body back in the bedroom doorway. “He’s been cheating on me.”
A car drives by slowly. The porch light hums. Somewhere, a screen door slams shut. And I stand there cataloging it all . The smells, the sounds, the stupid rhythm of a neighborhood that hasn’t changed, because if I stop focusing on it, I’ll have to feel it.
And this time, when the world ends,
It ends quietly.