By Day, He Ruins Me. By Night He Owns Me.

Cassidy's POV I should’ve known better than to expect happiness. I’m not naive—not anymore. Hope is dangerous. It creeps in suddenly, lights up corners I’d taught myself to ignore, and leaves me gutted when everything goes dark again. But tonight, I let myself believe, just for a moment. My living room didn't look like mine. With every string of fairy lights taped to the ceiling, each balloon drooping under its own weight, I’d tried to disguise the cracks. The sofa pillows, all the colors of a thrift shop checkout; the coffee table, warped by old water stains and now losing all dignity beneath stacks of pizza boxes and upturned solo cups. Still, a party shimmered in the air—laughter ricocheting off the battered walls, the sugary, smoky haze that said, Tonight, we’re young and invincible. Somewhere in the background, a playlist shuffled between Jack’s handpicked indie heartbreakers and Mya’s bubblegum pop. My friends were sprawled everywhere—legs tangled, sneakers kicked off, faces pink from laughter and cheap vodka. I was eighteen. Jack shifted beside me. He always made himself at home, even here, among my mismatched living room set. His arm snaked around my shoulders, warmth settling over me like a borrowed blanket. He smelled like drugstore cologne, cool night air, and the faintest hint of beer. I leaned in, letting my head rest against his shoulder, telling myself that tonight, I was just Cassidy—not the girl with the dead dad and the exhausted mom and the tightened belt. Tonight, I was the girl with the boyfriend. “Cass! Happy birthday, b***h!” Mya shrieked, hugging me from behind, her sequins crackling against my neck. I laughed, pushing her away. “You’re already drunk, aren’t you?” She grinned, her pink hair ribbon slipping as she raised her cup like a trophy. “Obviously. Eighteen means legal sipping in, like, France.” Jack snorted. “In France, everything is legal except being sober.” Even Sasha—Sasha, who always looked bored and slightly irritated by my existence—was here. She perched on the armchair, one tanned leg crossed over the other, drinking from her glass like she was judging a wine contest. Her blonde hair shone in the lamplight, perfectly curled, a kind of brightness I could never buy. Ben and Ethan wrestled for control of the music, both arguing over the next song. The rest of our circle watched, some already half-asleep on the ragged carpet. Don’t overthink, I warned myself. Just have this night. The first pizza box hit the floor with a soft thud as Ben declared, “Alright, peasants. Truth or dare—birthday edition!” Everyone cheered, even Sasha, who rolled her eyes but smiled as Mya shoved the empty soda bottle to the center of our haphazard circle. We gathered, knees knocking, bare feet brushing. I felt their energy wrapping around me, pushing out the sadness that always crept in on special days. Mya clapped her hands. “Birthday girl goes first!” Jack squeezed my hand. “You in?” I hesitated, then nodded. If there was going to be a memory, let it be this. “Sure. Spin it.” I flicked the bottle. It spun, whirring, and landed on Ben—forever the class clown, already grinning like he expected trouble. “Truth or dare, Ben?” Mya sang. He grinned, cocky. “Dare, obviously.” Ethan bounced. “I dare you to drink out of the ‘mystery bowl’!” Laughter erupted, everyone pointing at the murky, half-full mixing bowl used to collect everyone’s “leftovers”—beer, soda, maybe even cranberry juice floating on the top. Ben stared, dramatically clutching at his heart. “You monsters. My immune system is writing its will.” “Do it, Benjy! Don’t be a coward!” Sasha called. He sighed, lifted the bowl, and took a long swig. The grimace on his face was so exaggerated I choked back a laugh. He sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tastes like cola and regret.” Ethan fist-bumped him, and the bottle spun again. This time, it pointed at Mya, her fake lashes blinking like spider legs. “Truth!” she declared, raising her chin. Ben smirked, waggling his brows. “Who was your first kiss? Tell the truth, not the PR version.” Mya flushed, fiddling with her chipped nail polish. “Ethan in sixth grade, after math club. It was…very…wet. He had a blue raspberry Jolly Rancher in his mouth.” Ethan whooped, his cheeks scarlet as the group cackled. “Gross, but cute!” Sasha snorted, pausing for a sip of her drink. I couldn’t stop smiling. My cheeks hurt. I wished I could freeze this second, keep it somewhere for later, like a pressed flower I’d open years from now. I wished it so hard it hurt. Next was Jack. The bottle wobbled, slowing on him. He had that glint in his eye, the one I’d fallen hard for. “Okay, Romeo—truth or dare?” Ben leaned forward, grinning evilly. Jack shot me a look. “Dare.” Mya shrieked. “I dare you to give a lap dance to anyone in this circle.” Groans and laughter. Jack’s bravado faded for half a second, then he grinned, slinking over to Ethan. Ethan covered his face, but Jack, ever the performer, shimmied his hips, belted out a terrible rendition of “Pony,” making the whole group absolutely lose it. Ethan’s face turned purple, and Sasha hollered, tears running down her face. The air was alive with laughter and childish chaos. I clapped, giggling so hard my stomach ached. The bottle spun: Ethan. He chose truth. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?” Jack shouted, “His mom’s tofu loaf!” “It’s not that bad!” Ethan protested, deadpan. “But I once ate a worm on a dare, so I guess that’s worse.” Next, Ben again. “Dare!” Mya dared him to prank call his ex. He did a flawless imitation of her voice, making us all howl. Music, laughter, questions that got bolder—who’s your secret crush, who’d you marry, f**k, or kill, ever cheated on a test, which teacher you think is low-key hot. The darkness outside pressed close, but inside we were shielded, bright with something close to joy. Then, the bottle spun again and landed on Sasha. Jack shifted beside me, something tense in his jaw. I ignored it. Ben leaned in, wolfish. “Sasha! Birthday rules. Truth or dare?” She shrugged, crossing her arms. “Truth.” “Lame!” Mya stuck her tongue out. Ben grinned. “Alright…what’s the wildest thing you’ve done lately? Full details.” The air crackled—everyone expected some cosmetic shoplifting story or a hookup with a college guy. Sasha loved to shock, but it was always easy, shallow, safe. But this time, something was different. She gave a slow, measured glance around the circle, her gaze finally settling on me. I felt my chest tighten, something dark flickering in her eyes. She smiled, lips gleaming. “Alright. Last week, when I had that fever? Jack came over. He brought me soup. But, you know…things happened. A lot of things.” She let her voice trail off, her gaze never leaving my face. Ben, ever clueless, snorted. “You f****d with the flu? Hardcore, girl.” The room bristled, some catching on—others just smirking. Sasha’s voice sharpened, slicing through the laughter. “Let’s not play dumb. Jack and I made love. Right there, on my bed. It wasn’t even the first time.” At first, nobody moved. The words hovered, impossible. “Shut the f**k up, Sasha!” Jack’s voice cracked, sharp and desperate. She just smiled wider, her words unforgiving. “Why should I, Jack? She deserves to know.” I couldn’t breathe. I wanted the floor to swallow me, time to rewind, anything to wipe away the way everyone was staring. I stared at Sasha, my jaw clamped, waiting for some punchline. “Sasha. Stop,” I whispered, barely audible. But she wasn’t done.