POV
I don't know why I called her.
Maybe I wanted her to say it was fake.
Maybe I wanted her to sound insecure.
Maybe I wanted to hear weakness in her voice.
She didn't pick up the first time.
My anxiety started crawling up my throat.
I called again.
This time she answered.
"I'm busy. I'll call you at ten," she said flatly.
And cut the call.
Just like that.
Busy.
Busy with what?
With him?
I stared at the screen until ten.
I don't even know what I wanted to ask her.
What do you say to the girl your boyfriend is kissing?
"Hi?" "Since when?" "Am I the other one?"
Ten o'clock.
I called.
She picked up.
We talked.
Until four in the morning.
I don't remember the order of the conversation.
I don't remember the exact sentences.
Everything feels blurred.
But I remember the pieces.
The pieces that cut.
"He calls me Bunny too."
My chest tightened.
"He says I'm the only one."
My breathing became uneven.
"He takes money from me sometimes. For investments."
Money.
Again.
"He gambles," she said casually.
"What?" I whispered.
"Satta. Cards. Whatever he gets."
No.
"No, he doesn't."
"He does."
Silence.
"He drinks too," she added.
"Sometimes too much."
That can't be true.
I would know.
Wouldn't I?
"He gets angry if I question him."
My stomach dropped.
"He blocks me when I fight."
The pattern.
The same pattern.
"How long have you been with him?" I asked.
"Two years."
Two years.
I felt something inside me crack.
Six months of me.
Two years of her.
Room 407.
The kisses.
The promises.
The marriage talk.
He used the same lines.
The same tone.
The same affection.
Not special.
Not rare.
Replaceable.
My hands were shaking.
"He said he'll marry me," I whispered.
She laughed softly.
"He says that when he wants you to stay."
Silence swallowed us.
At some point she said,
"You should leave him."
Should.
The word felt heavy.
When the call ended at four in the morning—
I sat on the floor of my room.
I couldn't feel my legs.
I couldn't feel my face.
I could only hear one thing in my head—
Two Bunnies.
He calls her Bunny too.
He hugs her like he hugs me.
He kisses her the way he kisses me.
And he takes money from both of us.
I never knew he gambled.
I never knew he drank.
I never knew anything real about him.
I knew the version he sold me.
And I bought it.
With love.
With money.
With myself.
"I can't be with a man like him," I whispered to the empty room.
I can't.
I shouldn't.
I won't.
I broke down completely.
Crying.
Shaking.
On the floor.
For the first time—
It wasn't about losing him.
It was about losing myself.