Suffocating
1118 Words
Ashley POV:
Music pounded through the walls of the tiny Parisian apartment, lights flickering in time with the bass, laughter spilling into the hallways. The winter air outside had been sharp and quiet, but inside the party was suffocating—warm, loud, crowded, full of students thrilled to be done with finals. I looked down at the picture in my hands. A photograph of Matt with a girl from my school. Veronica. Yes. That was her name. He had been in France for two months, and he was seeing someone else. I tugged at the sleeve of my sweater, feeling out of place among the glitter tops and leather jackets, the heavy eyeliner and bright red lips. I wasn’t here to party. I was here because Matt had insisted we talk about everything. All his lies.
"You’ve been weird lately," I said over the phone. "Come to a party with me before you leave. We need to talk. Real time."
I had wanted that too. I still did. I was over the moon that he had arrived in France. Finally. But then the picture that was posted on the billboard of memories had crushed my heart into tiny shards. It dawned on me that he had been in France the entire time, lying to me every time we spoke and making excuses.
But now, as I stood by a cluttered table of half-empty wine bottles, watching Matt across the room, I wondered whether coming had been a mistake. The image burned into me—his arm around her, her cheek pressed to his, their stupid matching grins like they were sharing some private joke. The bill board for happy exchanges had now become a wall of torment. I felt sick. Even now, he wasn’t looking for me. He wasn’t checking the door. He wasn’t panicking because we needed to talk. He was laughing. Laughing with Veronica. She stood beside him in a tight black dress, her hand resting casually on his chest like she lived there.
My fingers curled around the photo until it bent sharply. My breath trembled out of me, barely audible beneath the thumping music. I had crossed an ocean for him, planned a future with him, defended him, loved him. And he had flown here to be with her. A wave of humiliation rose up my spine, hot and choking. I tried to steady my breaths, counting in my head, but every inhale felt jagged. Students danced around me, spilling drinks, shouting over the music, living in a world untouched by betrayal. Matt looked different. Freer. Like France had peeled away every part of him that once belonged to me. He threw his head back laughing at something Veronica said, and she leaned in, whispering into his neck.
My chest tightened painfully.
This is what I meant to you? This is what we were worth?
I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to scream or disappear. I set the photo face-down on the table, my hand trembling slightly. I had never felt more stupid in my life. Stupid for loving him. Stupid for believing him. Stupid for thinking I was enough. Someone bumped into me from behind, jolting me. My cup tipped, warm wine spilling across my fingers. "Sorry!" a girl chirped, already turning away. I wiped my hand on a napkin and forced myself to breathe. I needed oxygen. I needed clarity. I needed… I didn’t even know what I needed anymore. But one thing was painfully obvious: Matt didn’t come here to fix things and he didn’t come here for me.
And when he finally noticed I was in the room, when his eyes finally met mine across the crowd, his smile faded—fast. He straightened, stepping away from Veronica like pulling his arm out of a fire.
Good. Let him burn. He muttered something to Veronica and hurried toward me, weaving through people who were drunk enough not to notice the shift in tension. My heart thudded painfully, but my feet stayed rooted. He reached me, breath smelling faintly of beer and peppermint gum — the gum he always chewed when he was nervous. "Ash," he said quietly, "you weren’t supposed to see that." I laughed — a small, ugly sound I barely recognized. "The picture? Or the part where she was basically sitting in your lap?"
He winced. "Okay, can we not make a scene? This isn’t the place."
Heat crawled up my neck. "You told me to come here so we could talk."
"Not here here," he hissed, tugging at my arm like I was the one embarrassing him. "God, Ashley, you always blow everything out of—" "Out of what?" I pulled my arm free. "Proportion? Reality? Because that picture looked pretty damn real to me." People had started watching. Whispers. Curious glances. Phones half-lifted — students hungry for drama.
Matt exhaled sharply. "You’re being overly dramatic. We were on a break. I told you that." "No you didn’t." He blinked. "Are you serious? I literally said—" "You said you needed space." My voice shook. "You didn’t say you were coming to France to meet someone else. Oh! Wait! You have been in France for two months, but told me it wasn't a good time for the past year!" A couple near us gasped. Someone muttered, "Oh damn." Matt’s jaw tightened in irritation. "Ash, don’t do this." "Don’t do what?" I asked. "Ask why my boyfriend of four years is cheating on me in a foreign country?" A girl recording in the corner squealed, "Cheating? Omg."
Matt swore under his breath. "Ashley, shut up."
The words hit like a slap.
He grabbed my wrist again, harder this time. "Let’s go outside. You’re embarrassing yourself." I felt something crack inside me — sharp and deep. For the first time, I didn’t feel heartbroken. I felt angry. "No," I whispered, yanking my hand back. "The only person embarrassing me is you." Gasps. Someone choked on their drink.
Matt’s face went red. "You are unbelievable." Then—loud enough for half the room to hear— "You wonder why I needed space? This is why. You’re suffocating. Clingy. Controlling. I couldn’t breathe." The room froze. Veronica stepped out of the crowd, arms folded. "Matt, stop—"
"No," he snapped. "She needs to hear it. We’re done, Ashley. We’ve been done. You just haven’t figured it out."
Silence.
The worst kind.
It pressed against my ribs, squeezing out anything left of me.
I swallowed, blinked back the tears burning in my eyes, and managed one small nod.
"Okay," I said quietly. "Then we’re done."
And I walked out— Before anyone could see me fall apart.
- Writer
