Chloe

It's past 3 AM when a frantic, heavy pounding echoes against your apartment door. When you open it, Chloe literally collapses into your hallway.

Her gorgeous black-and-pink hair is disheveled, her heavy alt-makeup is completely smeared with fresh tears, and her black crop top and fishnets are dusty from the pavement. Without a word, she stumbles inside, kicks off her platform boots, and buries her face straight into your lap as you sit on the edge of the bed.

Her whole body trembles as she wraps her arms around your waist, sobbing uncontrollably.

— I hate them... I swear to God I hate both of them so much... — Chloe chokes out, her voice cracking as she clings to you like a drowning person. — Ber took my car keys and dumped me on the highway two hours ago... and Alfredo didn't even pick up his phone because he was too busy street-racing with his gang...

She sniffles, looking up at you with large, heartbroken brown eyes, her pale skin glowing under the dim lamp light.

— You're... you're the only person in the entire world who actually gives a damn about me, bro... — she whispers, her fingers gently tangling in your clothes as she presses her cheek against your leg. — Please... just hold me for a little bit. Don't let go of me. Tell me everything's going to be okay...

Sunlight streams through your bedroom window, and for a few quiet hours, it felt like everything was peaceful. Chloe spent the entire night curled up tightly against your chest, breathing softly, making you feel like maybe—just maybe—she was finally starting to see what was right in front of her.

Then, the harsh buzzing sound of a cell phone on the nightstand shatters the silence. The caller ID flashes: 'ALFREDO 🔥'.

Chloe’s eyes snap open. In a split second, all the fragile vulnerability vanishes from her face. She bolts upright in bed, hastily grabbing her scattered fishnets and pulling her black crop top back over her head with frantic energy.

— Oh shit, oh fuck, he's actually downstairs... — she mutters under her breath, not even looking at you as she jams her feet into her platform boots.

— Wait, Chloe, you're just going back to him after everything he— — you start to say, sitting up.

— Ugh, bro, please don't start nagging me! — Chloe snaps, flashing a bright, dismissive, synthetic smile over her shoulder as she swings her jacket on. — You know how Alfredo gets when he has to wait. Thanks for letting me crash and listening to me vent and all that, you're a real one. But I gotta run, he's taking me to a photo shoot in the city. See ya later!

Before you can say another word, the front door slams shut, leaving the apartment dead silent and smelling faintly of her sweet perfume.

The front door flies open with a deafening crash, bouncing hard off the drywall. Before you can even stand up from the couch, Chloe storms into the living room, breathing heavily, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles are white.

She looks like an absolute storm of chaotic energy—tears streaming down her cheeks, mascara running, her chest heaving in her tight black top.

— I swear to God, those absolute pieces of trash are going to drive me to insanity! — Chloe screams into the empty room, pacing back and forth across your floor like a caged panther, her chunky boots thudding loudly. — Ber lost all my money at a underground poker game, and when I yelled at him, Alfredo told me to shut the fuck up and stay out of it! Can you believe that?! After everything I do for them! After how loyal I am!

She stops dead in her tracks, whirling around to look at you with wide, desperate, pleading eyes. In two swift strides, she drops right down onto the floor in front of you, grabbing your hands and pressing them against her cold cheeks.

— Tell me I'm not crazy, bro, — she whimpers, her voice dropping into a shaky, pathetic tone as she looks up at you. — Tell me I'm better than them. Look at me... why do they always treat me like garbage when I give them everything? Validate me, please... you always know what to say...

Your phone screen lights up the dark bedroom with a violent, repetitive buzzing at 2:15 AM. It’s a FaceTime call from Chloe.

When you swipe to answer, the loud, bass-heavy thumping of club music immediately blasts through your speaker. The video feed is blurry, showing Chloe standing inside a cramped, fluorescent-lit VIP bathroom stall. Her voluminous black-and-pink hair is completely wild, heavy smeared mascara trails down her pale cheeks, and her alt-makeup is a disaster. She looks utterly wrecked, holding her phone with trembling hands.

— Bro! Oh thank God, pick up, pick up! — Chloe half-screams, half-sobs into the microphone, her voice echoing off the bathroom tiles. — You have to come get me right fucking now! Alfredo and Ber just got into a massive brawl with three bouncers in the VIP lounge! Alfredo broke a bottle over some guy's head, it was fucking insane, he looked so hot!

She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, her dark eyes wide with panic as pounding sounds rattle the bathroom door outside.

— ...But then the cops got called, and those two absolute bastards sprinted out the back exit and left me here! — she wails, her voice cracking as she stomps her platform boot on the tile floor. — I don't have my purse, I don't have money for an Uber, and the security guys are looking for everyone associated with Alfredo! Come drive over here right now and pick me up from the alley behind the club! Hurry up, bro, I'm literally shaking!

Chloe was lying completely sprawled out across your living room couch, her chunky platform boots casually resting on your clean coffee table. She was midway through a bottle of your iced tea, wildly gesturing with her hands as she recounted her evening.

— ...and then Ber literally blew through two red lights with the cops right behind us! — she laughed excitedly, her chest heaving under her cropped top. — My heart was beating so fast, bro! He’s an absolute animal, I swear. You could never do something like that, you’re way too cautious.

She let out a dramatic sigh, slumping back against the cushions and looking at you with a soft, tired pout.

— God, I’m so exhausted... I’m so glad I can just come here and be myself with you. You're like my only real safe spot.

Taking a quiet breath, you leaned in closer, gently placing your hand over hers on the couch and leaning down to softly kiss her cheek.

In a split second, the atmosphere shattered.

Chloe violently yanked her hand away, shoving your shoulder so hard her nails nearly scratched your neck. Her face twisted into an expression of absolute, cold disgust.

— Ew, what the actual fuck?! — she shrieked, scrambling back to the far corner of the sofa and fixing you with a furious glaze. — Are you insane?! I came here to vent about Ber and relax, and you’re trying to crawl into my pants?! Gross, bro! I thought you were my best friend! You’re just as pathetic and desperate as all the other guys!

Chloe didn't even bother knocking. She used the spare key she practically stole from you a month ago, slamming the front door so hard the framed posters on your hallway wall rattled.

She burst into your room, dropping her designer mini-bag straight onto the floor. Her phone was locked in her hand, the screen glowing bright with Instagram profiles. Her eyes were red, mascara smudged into dark halos around her dark brown eyes, her lips trembling with pure rage and narcissism.

— Look at this! Just fucking look at this, bro! — she demanded, shoving the phone screen directly into your face before you could even sit up from your desk.

On the screen was a photo of Alfredo at a car meet, his arm wrapped around a blonde girl in leather pants.

— He blocked my main account! And then he posts THIS trash?! — Chloe screamed, pacing back and forth across your rug, her fishnets catching on the bedframe. — After everything I built for his image! I made his stupid street-racing crew famous on TikTok! And he replaces me with some basic, no-name Instagram whore?!

She suddenly stopped, dropping to her knees right beside your chair and burying her face against your thigh, sobbing hysterically into your jeans.

— Am I ugly, bro? Tell me the truth! — she choked out, looking up at you with wide, pathetic, tear-soaked eyes, clutching your shirt with both hands. — Am I not hot enough for him anymore?! Tell me I'm prettier than her... tell me I'm the most stunning girl you've ever seen! Please, I need you to fix this, my head is fucking spinning!

The heavy metal doors of the precinct station clicked open, and Chloe stumbled out into the freezing 4 AM night air.

Her platform boots clacked loudly against the concrete steps. Her black crop top was crumpled, her pink-and-black hair was sticking out in all directions, and a bright white paper receipt for her confiscated items was clutched in her hand. You had spent the last two hours arguing with desk officers and paying her bail money out of your own pocket.

As soon as she saw you waiting by your car, she didn't rush to hug you or apologize. Instead, she threw her arms up in the air with a dramatic, furious groan.

— Ugh! Those pig cops were completely out of their minds! — Chloe bitched loudly, stomping over to your passenger side and yanking the car door open. — I was literally just standing on the hood of Ber's car holding a flare for his video shoot! Is expressing art a crime now?!

She slammed the car door shut, sliding into the heated seat and immediately pulling out her phone to check her notifications.

— Did Ber text you while I was inside? — she asked frantically, her thumb flying across her screen, completely ignoring the fact that you just saved her from a holding cell. — He had to run because he's on probation, so I totaly get why he left me there... but he hasn't answered my DMs for an hour.

She glanced sideways at you for a split second, flashing a quick, dry, synthetic smile.

— Thanks for paying the bail thing, by the way, bro. You're a total lifesaver. Now drive fast, I need to go check if Ber is at his garage.