Page 51 of Overdose

I tap the bar lazily, watching a couple suck face over a spilled drink like it’s the only thing keeping them alive. My head’s mostly clear now. No neon fuzz. No floaty euphoria. Just the familiar comedown, like someone yanked the floor out from under me and replaced it with cold, hard reality.

Well. Lukewarm, sticky reality that smells like spilled rum and regret.

Better than the motel room, though. Better than silence. Better than the kind of quiet that lets thoughts crawl out of the walls and whisper things you don’t want to hear.

Cass drops a tequila flight in front of some girls who look like they’re about to lose their lashes in the battle. She whirls around, grabs a bottle, shoots me a look.

“You good?”

“Define good.”

My voice is dry, eyes unfocused, but my head’s already spinning, just not from the drugs this time.

Because the second Cass moves to pour another drink, my brain does what it always fucking does lately. It circles the drain and lands dead center onthem.

The boys.

The war.

This fucking tug-of-war they’ve got going, like I’m the rope, not a person. Like my ribs were made to be yanked from both sides until something snaps.

And maybe Iamthe prize, sure. But I’m not stupid enough to think I’m the reason it all started. Nah. This shit? It’s older. Deeper. Built on bad blood and unfinished business they don’t talk about. Something sharp they’ve both been bleeding from for years.

But still, they drag me into it like I’m theirs to fight over. Like I’m the spoils. A fix. A stand-in. A way to win without ever saying what they’re really after.

And the worst part?

I don’t hate it.

I like the way Dagger looked at me that night in the motel. Like he wanted to ruin me slow, savor every crack. Like he planned to own every shattered piece when he was done. His mouth on my stomach, his tongue hot enough to burn through the drugs still buzzing in my system.

And Noir—Noir fucked me like I was a fever dream, something he couldn’t let himself believe was real. And then left. Just walked away like none of it touched him. LikeIdidn’t touch him.

Fuck him.

Fuck both of them.

Now I’m here, pretending I’m fine, while my chest’s torn up like a battlefield with both their names carved into the wreckage.

I lean closer. “What’s the deal with those two anyway?”

Cass pauses. Barely a beat. But it’s there. “What two?”

I shoot her a look. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Cass.”

She sighs, heavy like she’s been carrying this too long. “It’s not my story to tell.”

“But youdoknow.”

Her silence is answer enough.

Figures. Everyone’s got secrets but no one ever wants to hand over the damn receipts. And I’m sick of being the only one stuck trying to solve the puzzle without all the pieces.

I sink back on the stool, eyes scanning the crowd. Dagger. Noir. Two sides of the same cursed coin. And I keep flipping it like I won’t lose no matter how it lands.