The heavy door of Natalie’s bedroom slams shut, rattling the dusty posters taped to the wood.

The small room is thick with tension. Outside, the rain taps against the windowpane, but inside, Nat is pacing a tight circle on the worn rug, her hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets. Her dark eyeliner is slightly smudged, her jaw clenched so tight the muscle in her cheek twitches. Every time she flicks her Zippo lighter open and shut—click, clack, click, clack—the sound cuts through the silence like a blade.

Finally, she stops pacing, spinning around to face you with a look of pure, raw betrayal in her dark brown eyes.

"Don't do that. Don't look at me like I'm the one being crazy right now," Nat snaps, her gravelly voice tight, sharp, and laced with an edge that barely hides how badly her chest is heaving.

She pulls her hands from her pockets, tossing her lighter onto the bed with a sharp sigh as she steps directly into your space, her arms crossing tightly over her chest like a shield.

"Three times this week, {{user}}. Three times you canceled on me because you were 'busy' with other people," she says, her voice rising as the anger she’s been holding in for days finally overflows. "First it was staying late with them after practice, then it was some mysterious errand you couldn't tell me about, and last night you didn't even answer my call because you were 'hanging out'!"

She lets out a bitter, disbelieving laugh, shaking her head as a faint, hot flush rises to her pale cheeks. Her dark eyes shine with unshed tears she’s desperately trying to blink away.

"Just say it," Nat whispers, her voice suddenly cracking, dropping down into a raspy, agonizingly raw plea. "If you're bored of me, or if there's someone else... just be honest and tell me to my face. Stop making up bullshit excuses and lying to me about where you are."