Chapter 3 - Carrie
CARRIE
Inside the clubhouse, the air feels heavier, buzzing with music and voices. I weave through the crowd, barely noticing the way people shift to make room for me. My whole body feels on edge, every nerve tuned to one thing: finding Jinn.
I catch sight of Blade near the bar, tattoos and attitude on full display. For a split second, his eyes catch mine with something I can’t quite read. He looks like he wants to say something, maybe ask if I’m okay. But I don’t slow down.
I pass Blade without really seeing him, my eyes fixed ahead, my mind caught between too many possibilities.
Jinn’s late. He barely looked at me when he walked in.
Now he’s vanished again. None of it makes sense.
JC said he was out back, taking a call. Maybe that’s true.
Maybe I’m being paranoid. But something about the way JC looked at me, the way he hesitated when I asked, it sticks.
The voices around me fade as I move deeper into the clubhouse. It’s crowded tonight, but somehow I feel alone. Not just alone—exposed. Like there’s something big coming and I’m the last one to know.
My footsteps slow as I approach the stairs. My chest tightens with each step, anxiety wrapping around my ribs like barbed wire. I don’t know what I expect to find. Maybe he’s just lying down. Maybe he’s on a call. Maybe—
The second floor is quiet. Too quiet. The laughter and music from below are muted here, like I’ve stepped into a different world.
I reach the end of the hallway and pause in front of Jinn’s door. It’s cracked open just a little, the light inside glowing faintly across the floor. I raise a hand, meaning to knock, but something in me stops. There’s a sound. A voice. No, two voices. A moan.
My stomach flips.
I push the door open.
And everything stops.
The heat hits me first, stale air, sweat, the scent of sex thick in the room.
Sheets half-pulled from the bed. Clothes scattered on the floor.
Jinn is on top of her, his back slick with sweat, muscles flexing as he moves.
Her nails dig into his shoulders, her mouth open in a silent gasp of pleasure.
Marcy.
My sister.
Naked beneath my boyfriend.
I freeze in the doorway. My hand is still resting on the edge of the doorframe. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. The scene in front of me feels unreal, like I’ve slipped into someone else’s nightmare. But I don’t wake up.
It takes a second for them to notice me. Jinn is too far gone, his rhythm unbothered, his face buried in her neck. It’s Marcy who sees me first.
Her eyes widen—but only for a moment. Then she smirks. The kind of smirk that says she meant for this to happen. That she wanted me to see.
“Oops,” she says breathlessly.
Jinn twists around, startled. He sees me, still panting, still inside her.
“Carrie,” he says, like he forgot my name until just now.
I step back, out of the doorway, my hands shaking. My ears ring, my throat is dry, and for a second I think I might throw up.
He was supposed to be mine. He chose me.
We’d been together almost a year—long enough for me to mistake control for care.
That’s what I thought.
But I was wrong.
I barely make it halfway down the stairs before my vision blurs.
The world feels tilted, the music from the party now a distant, mocking thump.
I grip the railing, trying to hold myself together, but my hands won’t stop shaking.
I hear footsteps behind me, fast and heavy, and then Jinn’s voice, low and impatient.
“Carrie. Stop.”
He grabs my arm before I can bolt. His fingers are hot against my skin, and even as I try to yank away, he only tightens his grip. I can smell her on him—Marcy’s cheap vanilla perfume, sweat, something floral and sticky that makes my stomach twist.
I turn, not trusting myself to speak. My cheeks are wet. I’m crying in front of him and everyone who might see, and it’s humiliating. I try to pull free but he pulls me closer, almost hissing in my ear.
“Stop crying,” he says, sharp, clipped, his eyes darting to the shadows at the end of the hall. “Don’t make a scene.”
That’s what matters to him. Not the betrayal. Not the fact that he just destroyed me, not that he did it with my sister. No—he’s worried about someone seeing.
I suck in a ragged breath, wiping at my cheeks. “Is that what you’re worried about?” My voice comes out raw and unsteady. “That someone might notice?”
He sighs, rolling his eyes. His face is flushed, but not from shame. There’s only a flicker of annoyance, like I’m the problem here. Like I’m being dramatic for reacting at all. “This isn’t the time or place, Carrie.”
I laugh, a hollow, broken sound. “Really? When is the right time to find my boyfriend fucking my sister?”
He looks away, jaw clenching. “Don’t act like this is all my fault. Things have been weird between us for a while.”
A sob catches in my throat. I bite my lip, tasting blood. “So that’s it? You move on to the next girl in my family? Is that how it works?”
He lets out a sigh, as if I’m being unreasonable. “Look, you knew what this was.”
“I thought you loved me,” I whisper. The words scrape my throat on the way out. “I thought I mattered.”
Jinn’s face doesn’t soften, not even a flicker of regret. “You mattered to me, sure. But you can’t get so attached. You knew who I am, Carrie. You knew what club life is like.”
The words hit like slaps. For a moment, I can’t breathe. I wheeze, my breath catching in my throat.
His gaze is cold now, impatience flickering behind his eyes. “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be. Why don’t you go home and cool off? We’ll talk later.”
I stare at him, all the hope and sweetness I carried in my chest for months crumbling to dust. The Jinn I loved isn’t here—not even a trace of him.
Just this stranger who wants me to disappear so he can get back to his life.
My tears slow, but my chest still aches.
Jinn stands above me, looking like he can’t decide if he’s bored or irritated.
For a second, I see him the way I did the night we met.
I was locking up the library, the parking lot dim and empty except for one bike leaning against the curb.
He was sitting on it, helmet dangling from his fingers, watching me with this half smile that felt like trouble and promise all at once.
I remember how the streetlight caught in his eyes, how he asked if I needed a ride before I even said hello.
I laughed, told him I didn’t take rides from strangers.
He said, “Good thing I’m not a stranger. I’m just someone you haven’t met yet.”
It felt like the start of something. I went home that night with his number in my phone and a dizzy, stupid hope that I’d found someone who saw me.
Now I’m staring at the same man, sweat still drying on his skin from what he just did upstairs with my sister, and all I see is the ending.
I wrench my arm from his grip.
I look up at him, standing there like he owns the world and I’m just another piece of furniture to move around.
“It’s over, Jinn.”
For a second, he doesn’t react. Then he lets out a short, humorless laugh. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” I say, and this time my voice doesn’t shake. “I’m done.”
He tilts his head, eyes cool. “Fine. Get out of the clubhouse.”
That’s it. No apology. No second thoughts. Just a cold order, like tossing out an empty bottle.
I push myself up, every muscle feeling heavy, and brush past him on the stairs. The scent of Marcy still clings to him, making my stomach twist. I don’t look back. I don’t trust myself to.
I stumble down the stairs, tears blurring the world, the taste of humiliation burning on my tongue. It’s not till I reach the bottom that I sit down on the ground, my heart shattering in the dark, and for the first time, I realize I am completely, utterly alone.
The noise from the party feels miles away now, a dull, steady thrum under my feet. My hands are cold, even though my face is burning. I press them into my lap to keep them from shaking, but it doesn’t help.
The landing smells faintly of beer and old wood polish, but under it is something else. Marcy’s perfume. I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of it.
I curl forward, burying my face in my hands. The images won’t leave. Her nails on his back. His hand in her hair. The sound of them. My own sister. My own boyfriend.
The longer I sit here, the heavier it gets, pressing down on my ribs until each breath feels like a battle.
I think about the night I met him. The easy grin, the way he leaned against that bike like he had all the time in the world and had already decided I was worth some of it.
I think about every word, every touch, every time I told myself that this was what it felt like to be chosen.
I thought we had something that would stand, even in this world. I thought I mattered to him.
Now I’m sitting in the dark, my makeup streaked down my cheeks, and he’s gone—slipped away without a word.
A couple of guys pass through the hall behind me, their voices low. I can feel them glance at me as they go by, that quick flicker of curiosity they don’t bother to hide. In this place, people don’t ask outright. They just watch, store it away, and pass it along later.
I stay there a few minutes more, long enough for my legs to go pins-and-needles. My chest is tight, my eyes ache, and something in me says if I don’t get out now, I’ll break in front of all of them.
I stand, pushing myself up with the railing, and walk fast through the main room. I keep my eyes on the door, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. The music swells for a moment as I shove the door open, then fades behind me.
The night air is cold against my wet cheeks. I suck in a deep breath, the taste of exhaust and dust filling my lungs, and start across the lot. Gravel crunches under my boots. My bag bumps against my side.
I don’t look back.
Then a voice cuts through the night air.
“Carrie.”