Chapter Text
Felix was sitting on the edge of her bed, legs swinging slightly, shoes still on like he didn’t plan to stay long – or like he didn’t feel welcome enough to take them off. He was smiling in that careful way he’d learned around her, the one where his mouth curved up but his eyes stayed watchful, braced for impact.
“So,” he said, voice light. “New Year’s resolutions, huh? You excited?”
Cindy stared at him from her desk chair, chin propped in her hand. The word excited felt wrong in her mouth just hearing it. She felt irritated instead, restless, like something was itching under her skin.
“Why do you keep asking me stuff like that?” she snapped.
Felix blinked, “What?”
“What!” she continued, irritation bubbling up fast, uncontrolled, “I don’t do resolutions. I don’t do planning feelings. It’s stupid.”
He shifted, shoes scraping softly against the floor. “I just thought it’d be… nice? We’re almost half way to thirty, Cindy. It’s kind of a big deal.”
That was the problem, she realized distantly. He always wanted nice. Wanted soft moments and shared dreams and that sickly-sweet future talk that made her chest tighten in a way she hated.
“I don’t care about big deals,” she said. “And I don’t care about New Year’s.”
Felix frowned now, the careful smile finally gone. “You don’t care about anything I care about.”
The words landed heavier than she expected. Cindy opened her mouth, already armed with something sharp, something designed to wound but nothing came out in the end. Instead, she felt a strange hollow thump in her chest, like she’d missed a step going downstairs.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I?” His voice cracked just a little.
“Because every time I try to talk to you, you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
Cindy scoffed, standing up abruptly, “You’re imagining things.”
Felix stood too, slower this time, “Then why does it feel like you hate being with me?”
She froze.
"Because I do," a voice whispered in her head. Too honest, too immediate.
The realization sent a jolt of panic through her. Cindy didn’t hate Felix. That sounded wrong. Cruel. Unfair. She didn’t hate him the way she hated weakness or stupidity or people who annoyed her just by breathing.
But she didn’t want him either.
“I don’t,” she said automatically. Too fast. “You’re just… clingy.”
Felix flinched like she’d slapped him.
“Wow,” he breathed. “Okay.”
“See?” Cindy pressed on, relief flooding her at finding solid ground again – anger. “This is exactly what I mean. You make everything about your feelings. It’s exhausting.”
There it was. The cruelty. The thing she knew how to wield.
Felix’s shoulders slumped. He looked suddenly younger, smaller, like the confidence he’d worked so hard to build around her had finally collapsed under its own weight.
“Fine then. You’re insufferable,” he said.
Something twisted in Cindy’s chest – not guilt, exactly, but discomfort. Like she’d swallowed something she couldn’t digest.
“Okay, cool,” she said flatly.
The silence that followed was thick and awful. Felix stared at her like he was waiting for her to care or show an ounce of sympathy. Cindy crossed her arms instead, jaw tight.
After a long moment, Felix nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Then… I guess this is it.”
Her stomach dropped. “What?”
“I’m not stupid, Cindy.” His voice was steadier now, resigned. “I’m not going to keep trying to make you want me.”
She felt cornered, suddenly. “You’re breaking up with me?”
He gave a sad smile. “You already did. You just didn’t say it out loud.”
Before she could respond, he turned and walked toward the door. His hand hovered over the handle for a second, hesitation flickering across his face. Cindy almost said something then – almost reached out, almost stopped him.
But then she thought of Carla.
The thought came uninvited, sharp and vivid.
Carla, the quiet kid. Carla, stubborn and warm and infuriating. Carla, whose eyes always seemed to catch Cindy’s in moments that felt uncomfortably intense. Carla, who Cindy had spent years belittling, humiliating, pushing away with deliberate cruelty. Carla, who made her chest feel tight in a completely different way.
Felix glanced back once more, searching her face. Cindy didn’t move.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
And just like that, Cindy was alone.
She expected to feel powerful.
Relief, maybe. Satisfaction. The usual rush that came after she’d said something awful and watched the fallout.
Instead, she felt… hollow.
Cindy sank back into her chair, staring at the wall. Her reflection stared back faintly from the dark screen of her phone – sharp eyes, tight mouth, expression carved from years of defensiveness.
“Idiot,” she muttered. She wasn’t sure who she meant.
Her phone buzzed. A notification. Probably Felix. Or someone gossiping already.
She didn’t check it.
Instead, her mind kept circling back to the same unwanted memory: Carla, standing up to her, voice shaking but eyes steady, “Why do you hate me so much?”
Cindy had laughed then. Had leaned in close and whispered something cruel just to watch Carla’s face fall.
At the time, it had felt good.
Now, it made her stomach churn.
The realization didn’t come all at once. It came in pieces, sharp and disorienting.
She noticed it when she walked past a couple holding hands in the hallway – two girls, fingers intertwined, foreheads pressed together. Something sparked in Cindy’s chest, hot and sudden, like jealousy.
She noticed it when her friends gossiped about boys, and she felt nothing but boredom – until Carla’s name came up, and her pulse jumped.
She noticed it late at night, lying awake, replaying more moments she’d pretended not to care about: Carla smiling at her despite everything, Carla defending herself, Carla refusing to crumble the way Cindy wanted her to.
And worst of all, she noticed it when she imagined apologizing.
The thought made her throat tighten.
Cindy didn’t apologize. Ever.
She avoided Felix completely after the breakup. When she saw him in the hallway, she turned away. When mutual friends asked questions, she shrugged and said, “He was annoying.”
They nodded, unsurprised.
But at night, the quiet pressed in on her, and her thoughts turned traitorous.
She thought about how wrong everything had felt with Felix – his touch made her stiffen, his compliments felt like expectations she couldn’t meet. She thought about how she’d forced herself to play a role she didn’t want, because it was easier than questioning why she felt so disconnected.
And then she thought about Carla again.
Carla’s laugh. Carla’s hands. Carla’s voice saying Cindy’s name like it meant something.
The realization hit her one night like a slap.
Oh.
She sat up in bed, heart racing.
“Oh,” she whispered again.
It wasn’t subtle anymore. It wasn’t ignorable. It was terrifying and humiliating and obvious.
She liked girls.
She liked Carla.
The irony made her want to scream.
Anger came next, as it always did.
Anger at herself. Anger at Carla for existing. Anger at the universe for making her feel something she couldn’t control.
Cindy doubled down on being mean.
She snapped harder, insulted sharper, pushed everyone away with renewed intensity. If she was cruel enough, maybe the feelings would disappear. Maybe she could bury them under enough venom.
It didn’t work.
Every insult aimed at Carla felt like it ricocheted back into Cindy’s chest. Every cruel joke left a bitter taste in her mouth. Carla stopped reacting the way she used to – no tears, no visible hurt. Just distance.
That scared Cindy more than anything.
New Year’s Eve crept closer, unavoidable.
Everyone was talking about it – plans, countdowns, fresh starts. Cindy scoffed publicly, but privately, something twisted inside her every time she heard the words new beginning.
She didn’t deserve one.
Not after Felix. Not after Carla.
And yet, when she imagined the new year without Carla in it – without even the tension between them – her chest ached in ways she can’t describe.
She stood alone on the balcony one night, cold air biting at her skin, fireworks already being tested in the distance. The sky flashed briefly with color, then went dark again.
Cindy hugged herself, nails digging into her arms.
“I messed everything up,” she admitted to no one.