10. Betrayed by Love
Betrayed by Love
Damian
I blink.
The suffocating weight of the previous nightmare disappears, swallowed by a rush of fluorescent light and the low hum of voices.
I’m standing in a hallway.
Lockers stretch endlessly in both directions, their metal doors dented and scratched from years of careless students slamming them shut.
The tiled floors reflect the glare of the overhead lights, polished but scuffed in places from constant foot traffic.
The air smells of cheap perfume, paper, and ink—the distinct scent of a high school frozen in time.
Students fill the space around me, chatting, laughing, shoving past each other. Their voices blend into an indistinct hum, conversations overlapping. A couple leans against a row of lockers, hands intertwined. A group of guys walk by, joking loudly, backpacks slung carelessly over one shoulder.
It’s all so... normal. Too normal.
I shift, scanning the faces around me, the sharp unease in my chest growing stronger. Something isn’t right.
Then, I see her. Nichole.
She’s walking down the hallway, her stride light, easy, carefree. She looks young—so fucking young—her face softer, untouched by the weight of everything I know she’s endured since then. Her dark curls bounce slightly with every step, her eyes bright, her lips curved into a small, genuine smile.
There’s no hesitation in her steps, no caution in her posture. Her shoulders are loose, her expression light. She isn’t looking over her shoulder; she isn’t bracing for anything. She’s happy.
A slow, creeping tension coils through me as she nears a group of students gathered by the lockers. Her focus is locked ahead, her strides picking up just slightly as if drawn toward someone. I follow her gaze.
Then I see him. Her boyfriend.
The second my eyes land on him, heat flares through my veins. He’s got that cocky, careless stance, leaning against the lockers like he owns them, like he owns her. His grin is easy, charming in a way that immediately pisses me off.
Nichole doesn’t notice.
Her face lights up at the sight of him, her smile softening in a way that makes my stomach turn. She tucks a curl behind her ear, unconsciously quickening her pace, excitement lifting her steps.
She’s walking straight toward her betrayal.
She calls his name, voice warm, full of affection.
He doesn’t turn. Not right away.
A second voice answers instead—a female voice.
Nichole slows, her smile faltering just slightly. Her brows knit together in the smallest flicker of confusion. But she doesn’t stop. Not yet. She’s still holding on to hope.
And then—from behind the lockers—someone steps forward. Her best friend.
My stomach drops.
I don’t know her, don’t recognize her, but I don’t need to. I already hate her.
The nightmare slows, stretching the moment so I can absorb every brutal detail.
The way Nichole’s relief flickers, her smile starting to return, as if for a split second she thinks this is just a misunderstanding. The way her so-called best friend grins, stepping closer to the guy who was supposed to be hers.
And then—they kiss. Right in front of her. Right in front of everyone.
The hallway plunges into a suffocating silence.
Nichole freezes. And for the first time, I feel rage crawl up my throat like it’s trying to rip out of me.
Heat rushes through my veins, a sharp, blinding fury that surges so fast I barely register it. My body reacts before my mind fully catches up. I lunge forward, every instinct screaming to stop this— to rip them apart, to shield Nichole from this moment before it can carve its mark into her forever.
But I don’t move fast enough.
The nightmare won’t let me.
It’s like wading through quicksand, my limbs sluggish, the air around me thick and suffocating. My fists clench at my sides, my muscles burning with the effort to push forward, to break free from whatever force is holding me back.
I can’t move.
Trapped in this nightmare, I watch as it unravels around me.
Forced to see the way Nichole stares, frozen, her expression stuck between disbelief and something far worse.
Forced to hear the hallway erupt into whispers, their voices like knives, slicing through her skin, digging deep into every vulnerable part of her.
"Oh my god… she looks so pathetic." "He never really loved her." "She should have known she wasn’t enough."
The words crash over her, each one hitting like a physical blow. Her hands tremble. Her eyes widen, glassy with unshed tears, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.
Then, in a voice so small, so raw, it barely reaches my ears—
"Why?"
I shove forward, my rage boiling over. "Nichole!" The roar of her name echoes through the space, but she doesn’t react.
She doesn’t hear me.
I feel like a ghost, trapped behind an invisible barrier, screaming into the void as she stands there, alone, breaking right in front of me.
Her smile is gone. It doesn’t fade—it’s wiped away in an instant, like it was never real to begin with. The warmth in her eyes is obliterated, leaving behind only shock, confusion, and something much worse—pain.
She stops moving.
Her entire body locks up, breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat. No one steps in to help her. No one tells her she didn’t just see what she saw.
Her hands start to shake, her breath turning shallow as her fingers twitch at her sides, searching for something—anything—to ground herself. But there’s nothing. No safety. No anchor. Just a nightmare that won’t let her wake up.
Her lips part, but for a second, no sound comes out. Then, in a voice so quiet, so broken, it barely reaches me—"Why?"
It isn’t an accusation. It isn’t anger. It’s pure devastation.
And I’ve had enough.
I shove forward, every muscle in my body coiled with fury. The nightmare resists, its grip tightening like invisible chains wrapped around my limbs, dragging me back, forcing me to watch instead of act.
But I won’t let it win. Not for another second.
I grit my teeth, pushing harder, willing myself to move. The weight pressing against me is like an ocean tide, unrelenting, suffocating. Every inch forward feels like dragging myself through concrete, but I don’t stop. I can’t.
Not when she’s standing there, completely exposed, completely alone.
Her hands are still shaking, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. She looks like she’s drowning, struggling to understand how everything around her collapsed in an instant.
I roar her name.
“Nichole!”
Nothing. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t turn, doesn’t react. I try again, my voice sharper, harder.
“They don’t deserve you!”
The words tear out of me, but they may as well be whispers in the wind. She doesn’t hear me. The nightmare is forcing me into silence.
Fury coils tight in my chest, my pulse hammering against my skull. The pain on her face, the betrayal, the way her body shakes under the weight of it all—it’s all real to her.
And the fact that I can’t reach her—that I can’t stop this—makes something primal and violent explode inside me.
Nichole stumbles back, but it’s more than just a step—it’s a slow, inevitable collapse.
Her body folds in on itself, shoulders curling inward, arms hanging loosely at her sides.
Her fingers twitch, like they’re searching for something to hold onto, something to anchor her in place.
But there’s nothing. No one reaches for her. No one pulls her back from the edge.
She looks lost. Utterly broken.
And the worst part? He doesn’t even care.
Her boyfriend stands there, blank-faced, unmoved. His arms remain wrapped around the girl who was supposed to be her best friend, as if Nichole was never part of his world to begin with. Like she never meant anything.
Rage floods my veins, sharp and violent, consuming me whole. I want to rip him apart, tear him down to his bones, make him feel every ounce of the destruction he just caused.
But it’s her best friend’s face that makes my stomach churn.
She smirks. Like this is a game.
Like she won.
Nichole sways, her body trembling under the weight of their voices. Her chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths, each one more unsteady than the last. She’s not just breaking.
She’s already shattered. She turns to run.
Her movements are frantic, her body trembling as she tries to escape—not just from them, but from everything. The betrayal. The whispers. The crushing weight of humiliation pressing down on her like she can’t breathe.
But I’m done being held back.
I shove forward one last time, forcing my body through the nightmare’s invisible grip. The resistance is suffocating, like pushing through solid stone, but I don’t stop. I refuse. And then I break through and rush her.
My hand grabs her arm, fingers curling around her wrist just as she’s about to disappear into the crowd. The second I touch her, the entire world seems to shift.
Nichole gasps, her head snapping toward me, her wide, tear-filled eyes locking onto mine.
She sees me. For the first time in this nightmare, she actually sees me.
The whispers around us distort, their sharp edges blurring, the sound becoming muffled—distant. The people in the hallway flicker, their faces twisting, the scene wavering like it’s about to collapse in on itself.
But I don’t focus on that. I focus on her.
"They were the ones who lost something. Not you."
The words come out steady, certain, filled with the kind of conviction that demands to be believed.
She blinks at me, stunned. Confused.
Like she can’t process that I’m here. That I was always here.
And for the first time since stepping into this nightmare she isn’t alone.
The world around us glitches, distorts, bends in on itself. The whispers that had been tearing into her just seconds ago sound distant now, blurred, as if the nightmare itself is beginning to lose control.
Nichole’s breath comes in shallow gasps, her chest rising and falling too fast. Her fingers twitch at her sides, her body still trembling from the force of the heartbreak that was just ripped through her.
Her eyes—God, her eyes.
They’re wet, wide, so damn vulnerable.
Her voice is barely a whisper when she speaks.
"Why did they do this to me?"
There’s no anger in her words. No heat. Just raw devastation. Like she’s still searching for an answer that will make this make sense.
I cup her face, forcing her to look at me, grounding her in the present—not in the past that broke her.
"Because they were weak," I say, my voice steady, unwavering. "Because they didn’t deserve you."
A tear slips down her cheek, her lips parting slightly, her entire body collapse in my arms.
"But this?" I continue, embracing her firmly. "This doesn’t define you."
Her breath hitches. "You will find someone who will cherish you and never put you through this again."
I say it like a fact. She swallows, blinking up at me, her throat working against the emotions that are choking her. Another tear slips free, but she doesn’t look away.
Then, softly—so softly I almost don’t hear it—
"Hopefully someone like you."
She doesn’t realize. She already has.
Nichole sucks in a breath, her shoulders rising, her chest expanding like she’s finally, finally filling her lungs again after drowning for so long.
Her fingers loosen at her sides, the tension in her body melting away, unraveling with every shaky exhale. Her gaze remains locked onto mine, the pain still lingering in the depths of her eyes, but it’s different now.
It’s not defeat. It’s acceptance. The nightmare fights it, trying to hold on, trying to keep her trapped in this moment of betrayal, but it’s losing.
She won’t let it control her anymore. With one last breath, she closes her eyes.
And the world shatters.
I had to watch her break. Had to see the exact moment her world crumbled, had to hear the whispers that gutted her. I felt every ounce of her humiliation, her betrayal, her disbelief. And I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.
Until I did and the second I touched her, everything changed.
It wasn’t just about stopping the nightmare. It was about being there. About pulling her back from that dark place and making her see—she was never the weak one.
She thinks this moment shaped her. That this was the day she lost herself.
This was the day she started building the walls around her heart. This was the day she stopped trusting and I understand now, more than ever, why she fights so hard to keep them up.
I exhale slowly, trying to steady the storm raging inside me, but it’s impossible. Because I know exactly what this means.
I love her. I don’t just want her. I love her.
Not because she’s strong. Not because she’s survived things that would’ve shattered anyone else.
I love her because I see her. Because when she thinks she’s alone in the dark, drowning in the ghosts of her past, I’ll be the one to pull her out.
Just like I did tonight and I swear to God—she will never feel like that again. Not as long as I’m breathing.