Her eyes flash—a predator sensing prey slipping away. "That sounds serious." The mockery in her tone can't quite mask the venom underneath.

My silence answers for me, and I watch as playful contempt morphs into pure fury.

"You think you're breaking up with me?" Her laugh is winter frost creeping across glass—cold, spreading, destructive.

I draw in a breath that tastes like courage.

"I'm not thinking about it. It's official, we're done. Whatever this fucked-up thing between us is needs to stop."

"No." The word drops between us like a gauntlet.

"What do you mean, no?"

Her arms cross, a barrier between us that feels more symbolic than physical. "I mean, no. We're not breaking up, Nate. You don't get to walk away from me. We both decide when this ends, and guess what? It's not over."

My fingers rake through my hair, frustration building like steam in a pressure cooker. "Farrah, this isn't working. We're not good for each other. You've known that for a long time."

She steps closer, and there's something dark swimming in those eyes—something that's always been there, but I've chosen to ignore. "Don't pull that 'we're not good for each other' bullshit. You're always the one that comes crawling back."

"It's not happening," I say, my voice rising with the tide of emotions I've kept bottled up. "I'm done. I don't want this, and I don't want you calling or texting me anymore. It's over."

Her face twists into something cruel, a mask finally slipping to reveal what's always lurked beneath. "You're seriously breaking up with me for that little whore?"

The word ignites something primal inside me. My vision narrows to a tunnel of red, and before I can process the movement, I'm in her space, finger jabbing toward her face like a weapon.

"Don't," I snarl, rage making my voice unrecognizable. "Don't let her name cross your mind or leave your mouth again, do you hear me?"

Farrah doesn't flinch—she never has. Instead, her lips curl into a familiar twisted smile, the one that's always preceded pain. Her head tilts, calculating, like a snake preparing to strike. "You think you can protect her? Or worse, save her? You can't even save yourself. A junkie like you always comes back for another hit. Stop lying to yourself. It's pathetic."

Her words hit their mark with surgical precision, each one a blade sliding between my ribs. But I've spent too long letting her see me bleed. I step back, my breathing harsh in the silence, fists clenched so tight my knuckles ache.

"Not this time," I say, the words carrying the weight of a vow. "It's over, Farrah."