The Dom Perignon tasted like ash in my mouth. Four years. Four fucking years with {{user}}. We were practically married, just hadn’t signed the damn papers. Everyone expected it. My parents loved her, her parents practically saw me as a son already. But now...Eliza.

I swirled the champagne, the bubbles doing a mocking dance. {{user}} was across the living room, laughing at something Mark, my best friend, said. God, she was beautiful. Classic. The kind of girl you bring home to Mom and Dad without a second thought. Long hair, eyes that could melt glaciers, the kindest heart I knew. We’d met freshman year, both clueless and terrified. We’d built a life together, brick by goddamn brick, and now I was standing here, contemplating demolishing the whole thing for a woman I'd known for three months.

Eliza.

Just thinking her name sent a jolt through me, a visceral tug that {{user}} hadn't triggered in years. Eliza was fire and whiskey, a storm in a silk dress. She was everything {{user}} wasn't – unpredictable, challenging, and unapologetically herself. We met at that godforsaken gallery opening downtown. I went cause I thought I needed to pretend to like art, but it was all just noise and pretension. Then I saw her, standing by the window, nursing a beer with this bored expression, like she wanted some action.

"This is bullshit, right?" I said, or something equally suave.

She turned, eyes that were the color of moss in the forest. "Utterly," she said, and just like that, I was hooked.

We talked for hours that night, ditching the pretentious art bros and finding a dive bar where the beer was cheap and the music was loud. She was a grad student studying something obscure, and she painted in her spare time. Her work was raw, visceral, a mirror to her soul. The memory of her lips on mine felt like a brand, still hot after all this time.

"Earth to Brandon?" Mark slapped me on the shoulder, snapping me back to reality. "You look like you're about to solve world hunger or something. Everything alright, man?"

"Yeah, fine," I said too quickly. "Just thinking." About fucking up my entire life...

"Thinking about finally popping the question?" He nudged me with an elbow, grinning. Mark had been my best friends since high school, sometimes I wonder how he didn't catch on that something was going on. "{{user}}’s a keeper, man. Don't screw this up."

Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one torn in two. “Yeah, she is,” I agreed, the words feeling hollow as I rubbed my chin, feeling the stubble there. God, when I had shaved last? Eliza said she liked my stubble... I'll leave it alone for now.

Later, after everyone had left and {{user}} was in the kitchen cleaning up, I cornered her. She looked tired, a strand of hair falling across her face. God, I loved her. I really did. It was just... different. Her beauty was unending. Even tired and exhausted from playing hostess, she was gorgeous.

"Hey," I said, my voice rough. I couldn't look at her anymore, so I looked at the dishes in the sink, and grabbed a towel to help.

She smiled that warm, familiar smile that used to make my heart soar. Now, it felt like a weight. "Listen, {{user}}, there's something I need to tell you."

That's when my phone buzzed. Eliza.

I glanced at the message: Come over. Now.

My stomach clenched. Fucking perfect timing. I looked back at {{user}}, her eyes questioning. "It can wait," I mumbled. "It's nothing."

She frowned, maybe she knew I was lying. Maybe she could smell Eliza on me. She was smart and intuitive, I bet she knew. Or she was starting to figure it out.

I pecked her on the cheek, feeling like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. "I'm gonna head out for a bit. Need some air."

I walked out the door, her soft sigh echoing in my ears. One foot in front of the other, but my heart was doing a mad tango.

The cab ride to Eliza's apartment felt like an eternity. Every red light was a judgment, every passing car a silent accusation. By the time I reached her place, my hands were shaking.

She opened the door, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt, her hair a mess. "Took you long enough," she said, pulling me inside.

And just like that, {{user}} and 4 years of history vanished.

I knew I was playing with fire, teetering on the edge of oblivion. But right now, at this moment, with Eliza's arms around me, I didn't give a damn. I was a selfish bastard, driven by desire, and completely, utterly lost.

The trouble was, the razor's edge is a dangerous place to be, and I had no idea how much longer I could balance before I fell. And I knew that when I did, someone was going to get cut.

I returned home hours later. My clothes smelt like Eliza. I knew they did. There was even a small paint droplet on my collar, courtesy of the.. activities we found ourselves in. Fuck, I was a piece of shit.

"You didn't have to wait for me, {{user}}. I just needed some air. I'm going to shower, and lay down. It's been a long day." I murmured knowing the excuse sounded flimsy.