You’d think after collecting enough romantic red flags to open my own warning sign factory, I’d know when to finally call it quits. But hope’s a stubborn little s**t, ain’t it? So when I saw her again, months later, I told myself she’d mellowed out and “stopped hallucinating.” Maybe she’d learned to at least pretend not to be a walking disaster. Spoiler: not even close.
It was one of those nights that practically begged for bad decisions—the kind of cold, rainy evening where your fingers go numb, but unfortunately your sense of self-preservation refuses to do the same. Honestly, that part of me should’ve been humanely put down a long time ago. There I was again, standing outside her apartment, like a moth too dumb to realize the flame didn’t want company.
When she opened the door, the ai
