The Hottest Betrayal

A Hot Mess

Lotus Pov

"I want to move to Boston."

My voice was steady, but inside, I was unraveling.

Aunt Stacy hesitated on the other end, but I didn’t wait for her response. I hung up, shoving my phone into my pocket and sprinting home.

The second I stepped inside, everything hit me at once. The house. The memories. The echoes of laughter that now felt like ghosts.

My chest tightened.

Then came the storm.

I ripped open drawers, shoving clothes into a bag without thinking. My hands shook as I touched objects that once meant something—a framed picture of me, Mya, and Anthony—before tossing it aside. It felt as though it burned me.

The suffocating pain erupted in chaos. I grabbed whatever I could, sending it flying. Glass shattered. Books hit the walls. The room became a war zone of grief and betrayal.

I gasped, breath uneven, body trembling.

And then, as if pulled by some unseen force, I stumbled into the bathroom.

I stared at my reflection—my curly, waist-length hair framing a face I barely recognized. The girl in the mirror wasn’t me anymore.

With a sharp inhale, I reached for the scissors.

I didn’t hesitate.

Long, thick curls dropped to the floor as I hacked through the past. The weight disappeared with each cut, shedding the version of myself that had held on too long.

By the time I was done, my hair had barely brushed my shoulders. My face was wet with tears, hands gripping the sink as I took in the surrounding wreckage.

I exhaled.

That was it. The end of one life, and the beginning of another.

Boston was waiting.

I can’t believe it. It's one thing to cheat behind my back, but with my friend of 12 years and to use my parents' disappearance too. That has to be the most f****d up thing I have ever heard of. I slid to the floor, noticing a cut on my knee. Must have happened when I broke the frame.

"Mom... Dad... Where are you? I need you. I will find you."

The words barely made a sound, slipping through my lips as my body gave in. The cold tile pressed against my cheek, grounding me, soothing me. For the first time in weeks, sleep found me.

Morning came harsh and unforgiving. My eyes felt like they had been scrubbed raw—swollen, tear-stained, aching. The weight of exhaustion pulled at my limbs as I forced myself upright, gripping the sink for balance.

That’s when I saw it.

My hair. Jagged, uneven, shorter than it had ever been but it worked a little..

All I knew was the girl in the mirror looked nothing like me.

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away whatever was left of last night’s chaos. But the wreckage surrounded me—broken glass, scattered clothes, pieces of my past tossed aside in a blind rage.

Then, the memories hit.

Anthony. Mya. Their betrayal.

A sharp inhale. My fingers fumbled for my phone, my stomach twisting before I even unlocked it. Missed calls. Texts. Pleas. Both of them are scrambling to explain.

I didn’t read them.

Instead, one message caught my eye—my aunt. An Uber will be there soon to take you to the apartment in Boston.

I forced my legs to move, throwing the last of my things into bags, each step sending a dull ache through my body. My arms, my legs, my chest—it all hurt. Maybe from the night before. Maybe from everything before that.

After loading everything into the car and the car pulled away, I saw her.

Mya stood at my doorstep, hair disheveled, face blotchy from tears. She knocked, over and over, on a door that no longer belonged to me.

I leaned back, flipping my phone over as it buzzed relentlessly in my palm. More messages. More calls. More people talking.

Anthony. Mya. Me.

I sighed, pressing the power button until the screen went dark.

Outside, the sky was wide and open, streaked with endless blue. Birds hummed somewhere far away, untouched by all of this. The air conditioner hummed softly in the black SUV, cooling my skin.

Boston was waiting.

And I wasn’t looking back, but I did have a new sense of determination. Finding my parents on my own.

The apartment is tucked away on the outskirts of Boston, perched just high enough to overlook the water. The soft hum of waves against the shore, the distant city lights flickering beyond—it feels peaceful. Almost too peaceful.

Inside, warm earth tones blend seamlessly with textured fabrics. Woven blankets drape over the couch, soft throw pillows stack in cozy corners. Dried flowers hang from a wooden frame near the window, catching the golden glow of the sunset. String lights stretch above the bed, casting a dim, inviting warmth across the space. It feels lived-in. Intentional.

Then I see it.

A small note rests on the kitchen counter.

*"I tried to decorate it to match you, Lotus. I put up some pictures of you and your parents—I hope it feels like home. This will be your place for senior year until you decide what’s next. I’m sorry I can’t be there for your birthday, but I love you. I’ll see you on Thanksgiving."* — Stacy.

My eyes flicker toward the walls, the shelves—the frames filled with familiar faces. My parents. Smiling. Frozen in time.

It’s too fast. Too perfect. I wonder how Stacy pulled it together so quickly, but I force the thought away, shaking off the unease.

The shower is hot and steady, steam curling around me as I let the water soak through the weight of the past few days. I grab whatever clothes I can find—black boy shorts, a tank top, fuzzy socks tucked neatly in one of the drawers, a sign that Stacy had sent out for clothes in my size.

Dinner is simple—chicken, warm rice, something comforting, something normal.

I curl up on the couch, letting the flicker of the television distract me. For the first time in weeks, my body feels like it’s slowing down, like sleep might actually come.

Then, my phone buzzes.

I hesitate before checking.

Stacy: *I hope you’re settling in. You’ll be meeting the Michelsons soon—Melissa (Mom), Derek (Dad), Ash (Daughter, about your age), and their son, Salem (18).*

My chest tightens.

The Michelsons—the family I’m supposed to trust, the ones I can rely on while Stacy is gone.

Am I ready for that?

The phone buzzes again. And again.

Missed calls. Texts. Mya. Anthony. More people who have seen everything, who know. I hate them, I will never allow someone to hurt me the way they have. Narcisisst truely.

I press the power button until the screen goes dark.

Outside, the water shimmers under the moonlight, the air cools against the windows. The birds hum softly in the distance, untouched by the chaos still clawing at my chest.

I lean back against the cushions, letting the exhaustion pull me under.

Tomorrow will come. But for now, I let myself drift.