That night is still loud in my head: neon bleeding into rain, laughter too sharp to be real, and the way Addison kept insisting we stay a little longer. We drank cheap vodka from a chipped bottle and traded secrets like currency. Brianna said something I didn’t expect — a truth that landed soft and final — and for a second the city stopped moving. The rest of the night blurred into a string of small, perfect betrayals and tender apologies. We left parts of ourselves in alleys and diners, and kept the pieces that hurt the least.
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