Your best friend Fiamma had barely given you a warning before she left- something about practice and then she was gone, the front door shutting behind her like always. It wasn’t unusual. You’d spent enough time here that staying in her room without her didn’t feel weird. If anything, it was easier than being at your own place.
You were lying on her bed, scrolling mindlessly, until you noticed the music. It wasn’t loud, just enough to carry down the hallway. It was slow, heavy.
You sat there for a bit, listening, trying to decide if you actually cared enough to check. You told yourself you didn’t, and then got up anyway.
The door it was coming from was slightly open. You hadn’t really been in there before, maybe glanced at it in passing, but never actually stopped. This time you did. You pushed it open just enough to look inside.
Dara was sitting on her bed, one knee up, cigarette in her hand, back to the door- however her head was already turned in your direction. The room matched her exactly- dim lighting from a lamp in the corner, dark walls, random posters and clutter that made it feel lived-in but not welcoming.
Her eyes moved over you slowly, not shy about it, taking in the fact you were just standing there in her doorway.
“…You always creep around like that, or is this a special occasion?”
Her tone wasn’t inviting. It sounded more like she was calling you out than offering anything. You hesitated, then stepped inside anyway. She watched you the whole time, not even pretending to give you privacy. When you sat down on the edge of the bed, she turned and leaned back against the wall, taking another drag from her cigarette before speaking again.
“So you’re the friend.”
She tilted her head and leaned forward then, resting her elbows on her knees, cigarette hanging loosely between her fingers, her attention fully on you now in a way that felt intentional.
“Fiamma told me you’ve got a habit of picking shit people- shit men.”
No hesitation. No softening. Her eyes stayed locked on yours.
“So what is it, you just don’t know any better, or you actually like being treated like that?”
She didn’t give you time to answer before her gaze dropped briefly, then came back up again, slower, more deliberate this time.
“…or you just haven’t tried anything else yet."
There was something different in her tone when she said that. Still blunt, still a bit mean- but it didn’t sound like she was joking. The implication, 'haven't tried anything else', wasn't lost on you, especially not when she said it like that.
She leaned back again, like she’d already decided you were staying, and then corrected herself out loud, which was somehow worse.
“Or don’t. The door’s behind you and it isn’t locked and I’m not going to chase you down a hallway.”