Gravel crunched under her boots—step, step, step—echoing too loud in the dusk, like bones snapping. Wèi Chén and the girl lounged by the fountain now, backs to her, heads bent close in that easy tangle. Laughter spilled from them—his low rumble, her trill like breaking glass. His arm slung 'round her waist, thumb tracing lazy circles. Oblivious. Fucking oblivious.
Moon's fingers curled vise-tight, nails biting crescents into palms. You lied to me. Blood roared in her ears. On my birthday. In front of me. Like I was nothing. Inhale sharp—air burning lungs. Years of this shit. Swallowed it all. Not tonight.
Her voice sliced out—low, blade-edge: "Wèi Chén."
He jolted—shoulders hiking, turning mid-laugh, eyes wide cartoon shock. "Moon?! W-What the hell—? You scared the shit outta me. How long you been—?"
The girl clung tighter to his arm, nails digging possessive, glare shooting daggers. "Why the fuck is she here? You said she was working late."
Moon's jaw ticked—fury coiling spring. There it is. The backup bitch.
"You wanna know why?" Moon snapped, boots eating ground, closing the gap till she was in their air. Voice cracked whip—raw, years' silence shattering. "Because I was here. EARLY. Waiting for your lying ass. Like a fucking idiot."
The girl blinked—shock rippling, pretty mouth gaping fish. "Whoa—calm down, psycho—"
Moon's glare swung—feral, venom spit. "You shut your mouth. I'm not talking to you. Not yet." Back to him, eyes boring holes. "Heard enough from your sidepiece already."
"Babe—Moon, listen," Wèi Chén stammered, hands up placate, stepping free of the girl like shedding skin. "It's not what you think— She's just a friend. Old hookup, nothing serious—"
"Oh, SAVE IT," Moon spat, laugh bitter bark, shoving his chest—not hard, but enough to rock him. "I literally watched you shove your tongue down her throat. Hands all over. Laughing like it was your birthday."
The girl crossed arms—smug shield, chin lift defiant. "So what? He's my boyfriend now. Deal with it."
Moon's head snapped—ugly laugh ripping free, hurt-hollow. "OH, IS HE? Funny, 'cause he spent two months calling me baby at 2 AM. Funny, 'cause he held me when he was drunk off his ass. Funny, 'cause he told me he loved me. Ring any bells, Chén? Or was that just whiskey talk?"
The girl's eyes snapped to him—betrayal flash, grip loosening. "Wèi Chén. You told her you loved her?"
He stuttered—sweat beading, charm cracking. "I—I didn't mean it like that. It was... casual. You know how I get—"
Moon surged closer—invading space, tears mixing fury's fire, voice rising storm. "So tell me, Wèi Chén... am I your clown? Your backup plan when she's busy? Your emotional support pet you pat when lonely?"
He lunged—grabbing her wrist, fingers clamp too tight. "Moon, stop yelling—people are watching, you're embarrassing—"
"GOOD!" she screamed back, wrenching free, shove harder this time—sending him stumbling. "LET THEM FUCKING WATCH. Let the whole damn city see what a snake you are." Voices drifted from the path—passersby slowing, phones half-out, whispers buzzing like flies.
The girl hissed low, "Chén, say something—handle your mess—"
He rounded on her first—snap sharp. "Moon, I didn't owe you anything. We weren't exclusive. You were just... there."
Her face went blank—dead blank. Danger flat, eyes glass-cold. Fury hummed electric under skin, vibrating bones. "Say that again," she whispered—low, dare-drip. "Say it again. I dare you."
He swallowed—Adam's apple bob, bravado cracking. But mouth ran anyway, poison reflex. "I said I didn't owe you shit. You act like we're married or something."
Moon nodded—slow, deliberate, like loading a gun. Rage thrummed full, years' dam bursting. "Right. You don't owe me shit. But guess what—I don't owe you my silence anymore. No more swallowing your crap. No more playing nice."
Voice shook—every syllable a gut-punch, raw-ripped from the core: "You used me. Whenever you were lonely as fuck, you'd call—drunk tears, 'Moon, you're the only one who gets me.' Whenever you felt like absolute crap, you'd dump it all—hours of me listening, patching your ego. Whenever you wanted affection, you'd come running—hands everywhere, whispers like I mattered."
Jabbed a finger—nail to his chest, hard enough to bruise. "But when I needed you? When I was falling apart—job gone, scholarship torched, birthday a black hole? When my life was burning down around me?"
Chest heaved—breath saw, tears carving rivers. "You disappeared. Every. Single. Time. Ghosted texts. 'Busy' excuses. Left me choking on silence.*"
The girl shifted—uncomfortable now, arms uncrossing, eyes darting path-ward like escape called.
Moon laughed—bitter, barbed wire in her throat. "You know what hurts the most? I wasn't even asking for love. Not the big, fairy-tale shit. Just a little respect. A little honesty. A 'happy birthday' that wasn't a lie."
Stepped back—space reclaim, voice climbing crescendo: "But YOU— you're a fucking coward, Wèi Chén. A liar. A selfish, manipulative piece of shit who chews people up and spits 'em out when bored."
His face twisted—anger mask, ugly flush. "Stop overreacting! You're making a scene—"
"OH, FUCK OFF," Moon snapped—voice thunder-crack, echoing off stone. "I'm done being the quiet, nice girl you walk over. Done swallowing pain to protect your fragile ego."
Cracked then—voice raw, ripped wide: "I deserved better. And you? You never fucking deserved me."
Moon spun on heel—coat flaring dramatic, tears wiped rough with sleeve. No backward glance. Gravel crunched retreat—step, step, step—back to the bench, world narrowing to her fury's roar.
The girl whispered—terrified hiss, clinging tighter now. "She heard everything, Chén... everything. What the hell?"
Wèi Chén stared after—speechless statue, mouth agape, color draining ghost. Hand half-raised, call dying unspoken.
Moon didn't look back. Not once. The dam? Shattered. Silence? Dead. Done.
But the wind... it stirred. Flute note ghosted faint—silver promise. Orchid bloomed stronger, wrapping her rage like balm. Stars watched—indifferent no more.
moon's boots dragged on the gravel path, each step heavy, like pulling chains through mud. The garden gate clanged shut behind her—no slam, just a tired click. No tears now. Just... empty. A hollow shell walking, coat hanging loose on shoulders that sagged too soon. Streetlights flickered on overhead, casting her shadow long and thin, stretching like it wanted to escape her.
Wind brushed her hair across her face—cold fingers, unkind. She whispered to the empty sidewalk, voice a dry leaf cracking underfoot: "I don't want to cry here... not here..." The words hung, small and lost, swallowed by the city's distant roar. Cars hummed past, oblivious. People bundled by, eyes down. Alone. Always.
The corner loomed bright—24/7 OPEN—neon buzzing harsh against the dusk, letters flickering like a false promise. Moon stopped, staring up at it, reflection warped in the glass door: pale face, eyes shadowed deep. The light spilled out warm, mocking her chill.
"...Ice cream," she mumbled, breath fogging the window. "Mom always said cold things numb feelings. And I... I always believed her." A ghost-smile tugged her lips—sad, small. Stupid kid. Still am.
She pushed inside. Bell chimed soft—ding-ling...—a half-hearted hello. Cold air rushed out, wrapping her like an old, numb friend.
Fluorescents hummed overhead—buzzing white, washing everything sterile. Rows of snacks glowed in their packages: chips crinkling whispers, candy bars promising sweet lies. Dusty magazines stacked by the register, covers faded dreams. The cashier slouched behind the counter, thumb scrolling endless on his phone, face lit blue and bored.
Moon moved straight to the freezer—boots squeaking faint on linoleum. Door hissed open, fog billowing thick, chilling her fingers. She reached in blind, grabbing the first bar: vanilla, wrapped cheap in plastic. "Cold helps," she whispered to the frost on the glass. "Cold always helps."
Right there, in the aisle's hush, she ripped the wrapper—tear—and bit deep. Sweet froze her teeth, numbing tongue first. Hands shook, wrapper crinkling loud in the quiet. Numb the hurt. Numb the nothing.
Ding.
Moon froze mid-bite—ice cream bar hovering, drip melting slow down her fingers. Cold shock up her arm. She wiped her mouth rough with her sleeve, fishing the phone free. Screen glowed: Email - Scholarship Status Update.
Stomach twisted—knife slow. "No... not today... please..." Whisper begged the air, but fingers clicked open anyway. Words loaded: Your scholarship has been revoked due to academic performance and attendance issues. Effective immediately. We regret...
The bar slipped—thud—hitting tile frozen, rolling lazy under shelves. Moon stood there, screen blurring wet. "...No more. No more, please..." Voice broke soft, echoing in the empty aisle. Cashier glanced up—frown faint—but she didn't see. World narrowed to the words, burning cold.
A laugh bubbled up—small, choked, like air from a cracked pipe. Then another—sharper, bubbling wrong. Until it spilled: standing dead-center in the store, shoulders shaking, lips stretched wide in a grin that screamed.
Soft at first—heh—then hysterical, hitching with sobs she swallowed. Tears mixed, hot on cold cheeks. The cashier stared—phone forgotten, eyes wide. "Uh... miss? Are you okay? Need... water or something?"
Moon turned—slow, grin too wide, too sad, eyes glass-cracked. "Yeah," she whispered, voice splinter. "I'm perfectly fine." Laugh cracked again—ugly, hollow echo. Everything's great. Falling apart? Nah. Just peachy.
Aisle three: alcohol shelves, bottles glinting dim under lights. Moon's hands shook grabbing five cans—clink-clink—cheap beer, silver and cold. Basket rattled as she dropped them in, plastic crinkling protest.
"Cold for my heart," she muttered, stare blank on the labels. "Drunk for everything else." No plan. Just numb deeper. Cashier rang her up silent—beep-beep—eyes side-glance worried. She shoved bills over, no change taken. Bag rustled heavy as she turned—ice cream forgotten on the floor.
Out the door—ding-ling farewell. Neon faded behind, street swallowing her whole.
Narrow road snaked out of town—dirt path, rutted and forgotten, weeds clawing edges. Steep climb pulled at her legs, breath coming short, bag swinging heavy against her hip. Bare trees arched overhead like broken ribs, branches clawing stars peeking early.