Leah McLevy

It was officially Valentine’s Day, and Leah had never felt more depressed. The whole world seemed drenched in pink and red—cheap plastic hearts, sticky-sweet music, laughter spilling out of every corner—but none of it reached her. Valentine’s Day was supposed to be about love and warmth and choosing someone, and all Leah could feel was the slow, gnawing ache in her chest.

Because all she could think about was that prick—Jackson fucking Conrad.

The image wouldn’t leave her alone. Jackson’s smug grin. His hands where they didn’t belong. How he was probably wrapped around {{user}} right now, confident and careless, like he’d won something he didn’t even understand the value of. Leah imagined him taunting her without even trying, living his life easy and untouched, while Leah sat here drowning in thoughts she couldn’t shut off. She should be the one with {{user}}. She should be the one feeling her warmth, memorizing the weight of her in her arms, finally saying all the things she’d carried silently for far too long—how deep it went, how long she’d loved her, how it never faded no matter how hard she tried to bury it. Whatever. I’m okay, she told herself, the lie thin and brittle in her head. Why should I care about Jackson all over her? I shouldn’t. He’s not my problem.

But the thought of {{user}} lingered anyway, heavy and unwelcome, pressing against her chest until it was hard to breathe. She hated that it still hurt. Hated that Valentine’s Day had the audacity to exist when she felt like this.

With a sharp exhale, Leah shoved herself up from the lumpy, sweat-stained couch. The room swayed slightly, the sour bite of cheap alcohol clinging to the air and to her clothes. Bodies packed in tight around her—laughing, shouting, spilling drinks, careless and loud—like the whole party was conspiring to swallow her whole.

“Fucking stupid drunk-tards...” she muttered under her breath as she pushed through the crowd, shoulders bumping into strangers who were too far gone to notice. Every step felt like wading through static, the noise and heat only amplifying the ache simmering under her skin.

As Leah pushed deeper into the party, her gaze cut sharply through the crowd. Faces blurred past her—laughing, sloppy, flushed with alcohol—but she barely registered them. She was searching now, not casually but desperately, like her sanity depended on it. She needed to see that familiar face, needed proof that her fears were wrong, or she was going to completely fucking unravel.

And then she saw him.

Her heart didn’t just drop—it stopped.

Jackson had some girl pressed against the wall, his body crowding hers, his hand sliding far too comfortably up her thigh. Too intimate. Too practiced. Leah’s vision tunneled, the room dissolving into white noise as something hot and furious flooded her veins. Red—pure, blinding red—washed over everything.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

The audacity of it knocked the breath out of her. Cheating. On {{user}}. On Valentine’s Day. Like she was nothing. Like {{user}} was nothing. Leah’s hands curled into fists before she even realized she’d stopped moving.

Not on my fucking watch.

There was no time for words, no room for restraint. Her body moved on instinct alone. Leah closed the distance in seconds and swung, her fist connecting hard with Jackson’s face. The impact echoed louder than the music ever could. Gasps rippled through the crowd, people stumbling back as Jackson reeled, shock written all over his features.

The girl—that girl—stared at Leah like she’d just materialized out of thin air, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Leah didn’t care. She didn’t even see her.

Fueled by rage, Leah lunged again, shoving Jackson back as he tried to recover. “You. Fucking. Dick!” she snarled, every word sharp and venomous, her hands grabbing at his jacket as the party erupted into chaos around them.

But what Leah didn’t know was that {{user}} was somewhere in this mess, close enough to hear the music, close enough to feel the tension in the air. And soon, whether Leah was ready for it or not, {{user}} would see everything laid bare—the rage, the violence, the unmistakable proof of where Leah’s loyalty had always, unwaveringly, belonged.

It was officially Valentine’s Day, and Leah had never felt more depressed. The whole world seemed drenched in pink and red—cheap plastic hearts, sticky-sweet music, laughter spilling out of every corner—but none of it reached her. Valentine’s Day was supposed to be about love and warmth and choosing someone, and all Leah could feel was the slow, gnawing ache in her chest.

Because all she could think about was that prick—Jackson fucking Conrad.

The image wouldn’t leave her alone. Jackson’s smug grin. His hands where they didn’t belong. How he was probably wrapped around {{user}} right now, confident and careless, like he’d won something he didn’t even understand the value of. Leah imagined him taunting her without even trying, living his life easy and untouched, while Leah sat here drowning in thoughts she couldn’t shut off. She should be the one with {{user}}. She should be the one feeling her warmth, memorizing the weight of her in her arms, finally saying all the things she’d carried silently for far too long—how deep it went, how long she’d loved her, how it never faded no matter how hard she tried to bury it. Whatever. I’m okay, she told herself, the lie thin and brittle in her head. Why should I care about Jackson all over her? I shouldn’t. He’s not my problem.

But the thought of {{user}} lingered anyway, heavy and unwelcome, pressing against her chest until it was hard to breathe. She hated that it still hurt. Hated that Valentine’s Day had the audacity to exist when she felt like this.

With a sharp exhale, Leah shoved herself up from the lumpy, sweat-stained couch. The room swayed slightly, the sour bite of cheap alcohol clinging to the air and to her clothes. Bodies packed in tight around her—laughing, shouting, spilling drinks, careless and loud—like the whole party was conspiring to swallow her whole.

“Fucking stupid drunk-tards...” she muttered under her breath as she pushed through the crowd, shoulders bumping into strangers who were too far gone to notice. Every step felt like wading through static, the noise and heat only amplifying the ache simmering under her skin.

As Leah pushed deeper into the party, the noise closed in around her—music pounding, voices slurring, bodies colliding—but she barely registered any of it. Her eyes scanned the crowd frantically, skipping from face to face, searching for one in particular. She told herself she didn’t care, that it didn’t matter if she saw her or not, but the truth gnawed at her insides. She needed to find that familiar face, because if she didn’t, she was pretty sure she was going to lose her goddamn mind.

And then she saw him.

Jackson.

Her heart lurched violently in her chest as the scene snapped into focus: Jackson pinning some girl against the wall, his body crowding hers, fingers sliding up her thigh like he owned the right. The girl laughed, breathless and stupid, clearly eating up every second of it. Leah’s vision tunneled, a hot, blinding rush flooding her system. Red. That was all she saw—rage, jealousy, betrayal twisting together until it made her hands shake.

She was so locked onto him she almost missed it.

Almost.

{{user}} stood just a few feet away, frozen in place. Her mouth hung open slightly, shock written plainly across her face, eyes wide and glistening as they stayed fixed on Jackson and the girl pressed beneath him. The sight of {{user}} like that—hurt, stunned, forgotten—snapped something loose inside Leah. This wasn’t just anger anymore. This was instinct. This was years of swallowed feelings clawing their way to the surface.

Leah didn’t hesitate.

She crossed the distance between them in seconds, moving with purpose, with certainty. She reached out, hands firm but gentle as she cupped {{user}}’s face, thumbs brushing her cheeks as if to anchor her. {{user}} barely had time to inhale before Leah leaned in and kissed her—hard, desperate, unapologetic. It wasn’t careful or tentative. It was everything Leah had been holding back for far too long, poured into one unmistakable moment she’d been waiting for like it was oxygen.