It was uncertain how long I could keep hiding these feelings while continuing that ridiculous label of a relationship. The moment I reached out under the pretense of comfort, there was no guarantee my fragile patience wouldn’t waver. “A mistake?” Her face, cold as ice, twisted slightly, lips curling in a mocking sneer. “After biting, sucking, fucking all night—you’re calling it a mistake?” “Yeah, a mistake.” Her eyes, staring straight into me as if to deliver the final blow, were unbearably resolute. She could’ve just said she didn’t like me. Or rejected me plainly with, “I don’t feel the same way.” But the devastation of that one word—mistake—was beyond description. And the shame I’d never felt before was nearly unbearable. “I warned you, didn’t I? If you don’t like it, run away.” “……” “But you didn’t run, did you?” The undeniable proof that it wasn’t just drunkenness or a mistake made her seem slightly flustered. “You spread your legs and came for me saying you wanted it too, and now you call it a mistake?” “It wasn’t an easy conclusion. Don’t speak recklessly.” “Was it easy then, shoving my dick into a friend I’ve had for over ten years?”
