Chapter 11: "The Last Card"
1541 Words
This was going to be her final attempt.
For the past week, Erika had been chasing fragments of what once was—planting herself along Lance’s path, staging little acts of coincidence. She’d timed her walks past his gym, loitered by the café where he used to take his morning espresso, and made sure she was “accidentally” seen by his friends. It was foolish, borderline pathetic, but she couldn’t help it. She knew he needed space. But space was just another word for silence. And Erika Nazareno had never been good at silence.
Not when her heart was screaming.
There had been no texts. No calls. Not even a breadcrumb of hope in his social media trail. Just... nothing.
Not a single sign that he was thinking about her.
Her hope, once so stubbornly alive, now felt like it was hanging on by a thread.
Was she really that easy to forget?
It was a cruel kind of heartbreak—sharp, quiet, and full of questions. This was new to her. Lance had been her first real love. Her first everything. But even though she felt vulnerable, raw, exposed—she wasn’t weak.
She still loved him.
But she wouldn’t keep running after someone who no longer wanted to be found.
That night, she stood in front of the mirror for what felt like an hour, debating her outfit, her hair, her entire existence. And then, she told herself: This is it. One last try. One final night.
If it didn’t work, she’d cry—just one last time—and then let go.
And thankfully, she had Alex.
He’d shown up on her doorstep like a lifeline, flashing that same crooked smile that had comforted her since childhood. With him by her side, she could at least pretend she was okay. That she wasn’t breaking inside. That whatever happened tonight, she'd survive it.
“You sure about this?” he asked, nudging her shoulder as they walked toward the club entrance.
“Hell, yeah,” she answered with a breathless laugh.
He grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
They slipped inside the club using fake IDs Alex had borrowed from a friend. The place hit her senses like a truck—neon lasers slicing through the dark like electric veins, bass thumping like war drums, bodies packed so tightly it felt like the walls were alive.
Erika had never gone clubbing before. Not like this. But Alex moved through the crowd like it was his natural habitat. Already vibing with the music, he reached for her hand and pulled her deeper into the chaos.
Her fingers curled around his instinctively, a small tether in the storm of it all. He looked back at her, gave her that boyish wink, and Erika felt something loosen in her chest.
Then, like fate pulling a cruel joke, she saw him.
Lance.
Sitting at a corner booth with his friends. A drink in hand. Laughing at something. Looking far too good for someone who was supposed to be heartbroken.
Her stomach dropped.
Panic rose in her throat, but she caught herself, turned swiftly, and ducked into the dance floor like she hadn’t seen him. She grabbed Alex’s hand tighter and led him into the pulsing crowd.
Maybe if I can make him jealous, he’ll snap, she thought desperately. Maybe he’ll pull me away and take me back. Maybe he just needs a reminder.
As if answering her silent wish, Dua Lipa’s "Don’t Start Now" erupted from the speakers.
“If you don’t wanna see me dancing with somebody…”
Alex’s face lit up. “No way. This is your song!”
She rolled her eyes but smiled. “You’re the one who’s obsessed with this song, not me.”
“Guilty,” he said, already dancing. “But tonight, it’s ours.”
His energy was contagious. Even with the weight in her chest, Erika found herself swaying to the beat. Alex moved like the music was part of him—smooth, confident, completely in his element. Other girls noticed too. They whispered and giggled as they passed, eyes lingering on him. But Alex never looked away from Erika.
Not once.
She let herself get lost in it. The lights. The sound. Him.
He spun her around, his hands warm on her waist, his laughter vibrating through her as she nearly tripped. She was sweating now, hair sticking to her neck, her pulse matching the rhythm of the music. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.
This moment was hers.
Then a group of rowdy girls stumbled into them. Erika lost her balance again and toppled into Alex, who caught her just in time.
“Pepper!” he said breathlessly, gripping her waist.
She laughed, clinging to his arms, and their faces landed inches apart. She could feel his breath on her lips.
Too close.
Then, another shove—from behind this time—and their lips collided.
She froze.
His mouth was on hers. Just a brush, barely a kiss. But still, it was enough to set her heart on fire.
“Pepper,” Alex breathed, his hands loosening.
But the crowd surged again, forcing them together. This time, their lips met fully.
And everything else fell away.
Her eyes fluttered shut, hands curling around his arms. His lips were warm, hesitant at first, then deeper, more certain. One hand slid behind her neck, the other tightening around her waist as if anchoring them both.
Erika couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
All she could do was feel.
It was wrong—this was Alex, her best friend. The one who knew all her secrets. The one who once helped her get over her fear of the dark. But in that moment, there was no fear. Just him.
And the way he kissed her like she was the only girl in the universe.
His tongue brushed against hers, and her body betrayed her before her brain could protest. She let him in. Their kiss deepened, slow and consuming. The kind of kiss that made time irrelevant. That made her forget everything—Lance, the plan, the heartbreak. It was wild, electric, beautiful.
God, why did it feel so right?
She moaned softly, her fingers threading through the back of his hair. He pulled her closer, closer, until their bodies moved like one. The music was gone. The crowd was gone.
Only them.
But then—another shove.
The spell shattered.
They broke apart, gasping, stunned.
The air felt different now, heavy with unspoken truths. Alex’s eyes were still closed for a second longer, his lips parted as if lost in the echo of what just happened.
When he opened them and looked at her, Erika looked away.
No. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
It was just a kiss. A mistake.
But her lips still tingled.
“Was that part of your f*ckin’ plan too?” Alex said finally, his voice low.
Her head snapped toward him.
He wasn’t smiling anymore.
She opened her mouth, but no words came. Guilt twisted in her stomach like knives.
“He already left before you kissed me,” he said bitterly. “So if that was for him… it didn’t work.”
She took a shaky step back. Her breath caught in her throat.
“Alex—”
“Let’s go,” he said sharply. “I’m done.”
“You’re mad?”
He laughed humorlessly. “Should I be happy about kissing you?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration.
Erika’s face flushed. Excuse me? “I could tell you enjoyed it,” she snapped, her words leaving her before she could think better of it. He stared at her. Hurt flickered in his eyes, barely hidden. “Am I supposed to? Am I allowed to just grab you and kiss you again whenever I want? Is that okay with you, Pepper? What were you thinking?” There was pain in his voice. Real pain.
“Don’t twist this, Alex. It was just a kiss. It meant nothing.”
His face hardened. “Yeah. Of course it didn’t. I’m just your best friend. I don’t get to feel anything, right?”
His words hit like bullets.
“I didn’t mean it like that—”
“Stop, Pepper,” he said, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m done.”
“With what? With the plan?”
“With all of it,” he snapped. “I’m out of the f*ckin’ plan. And I’m done being your best friend.”
The words sliced through her.
Her heart stilled. “You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, I do. Because you’re not the Pepper I used to know.”
And just like that, he turned.
Walked away.
Left her standing in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by strangers, music blaring, heart crumbling.
She didn’t chase after him.
Her knees felt weak. Her eyes burned.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.
But maybe that’s what she got for trying to rewrite the story.
Maybe some goodbyes weren’t loud.
Maybe they happened in silence.
She stood frozen, her heart in pieces, torn between heartbreak and rage.
No. This wasn’t happening.
- Writer
