Zoie

It had been over a week since everything came undone, and she still hadn’t heard one word from Tony or Ryin.

The humming of the overhead fluorescent lights buzzed louder than usual, or maybe it just felt that way. Zoie sat at her workstation in the dimly lit radiographic procedures lab, the glowing skeletal image on her monitor casting faint shadows across her face. The hum of the digital X-ray simulator filled the silence between her and her classmates, who whispered softly as they reviewed positioning techniques from their textbook.

Today’s lab was focused on lateral lumbar spine positioning. Normally, Zoie would be the first to volunteer, always careful to align the phantom’s iliac crest just right, angling the tube head with precise efficiency. But today, she hadn’t moved from her stool.

Her lead apron hung beside her, untouched. Her workbook lay open to the required chapter, but she hadn’t read a single word.

“Miss Belafonte,” her instructor called from the front of the room, clipboard in hand. “You alright back there?”

Everyone turned.

She sat up straighter and offered a faint nod. “Yes, ma’am. Just reviewing.”

The instructor eyed her a second longer, then moved on.

Zoie turned her eyes back to the monitor, but the ghostly outline of the spine blurred. It wasn’t the machine’s fault. Her vision had gone misty again.

She closed her eyes. She could still see Ryin’s bruises. Could still hear her voice, flat, withdrawn, and hollow. Something unforgivable had happened. And no matter how many times Zoie replayed it all in her head, none of it made sense.

Her mind wandered so far that she didn’t notice the class ending. The familiar shuffle of binders closing and lead aprons being unbuckled pulled her back to the room.

Students began filing out in pairs, some still chatting about beam angles and proper collimation. Zoie moved slowly, packing her things.

“Hey.”

She looked up.

Harold, one of her classmates, stood beside her workstation, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack. His curly hair was slightly flattened by the safety goggles still pushed up on his head, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with concern.

“You alright?”

She hesitated. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He shifted his weight. “You didn’t participate in any of the positioning sets. You’re usually the first one trying to out-angle everybody.”

Zoie let out a halfhearted breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Yeah, well. . . guess I didn’t feel like being the know-it-all today.”

Harold smiled gently. “You heading home?”

“Yeah.” She zipped her bag and pulled the strap over her shoulder. “I was gonna catch the bus.”

“Let me give you a ride,” he said, a little too fast. Then he cleared his throat. “I mean, only if you want. You don’t have to —”

“Okay.” Her voice was quiet. “Thanks.”

They walked through the glass exit doors of the medical wing, the parking lot still damp from the early morning drizzle.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable — just different. Harold didn’t try to fill it with meaningless chatter, which Zoie appreciated. But as he unlocked his car and opened the passenger door for her, he paused.

“Have you eaten today?”

“No.”

“Then I’m kidnapping you for lunch. My treat.”

She gave him a side glance but didn’t fight it. “Okay.”

***

They ended up at a Chick-fil-A not far from their school. It wasn’t anything special, but it was warm inside. The smell of waffle fries and chicken cut through the chill Zoie hadn’t shaken since the lab.

Harold ordered for both of them. A grilled chicken sandwich and waffle fries for her, a spicy sandwich for himself, then they found a booth in the back, away from the steady flow of the lunch crowd.

Zoie sat across from him, silent, her fingers tugging gently at the corner of her paper straw wrapper. She hadn’t said much during their drive over.

While Zoie picked at her food, across the table, Harold had been talking for the last 15 minutes, and she hadn't heard a word he'd said. Her focus had been off all day. She dusted salt off her fingers and started scrolling through her phone, stopping at Tony's name. Her finger hovered over his text thread. The laughter from other tables in the food court made her feel exposed and foolish. She knew they weren't laughing at her, but at the same time, she felt like they were.

Harold finally stopped talking and noticed the distant look on Zoie's face. "Hey, you feeling alright? You don't look so good."

"Oh, I'm okay. I think I'm just tired from class," she fibbed.

He started to pack up his food. "Oh my gosh, I didn't mean to keep you out. Let me get you home."

She watched His cherub cheeks chomp down one last fry before closing his sandwich. Zoie followed suit. Her wandering thoughts made it almost impossible to enjoy the outing.

Harold was such a sweetheart. He made a huge effort to make Zoie smile on the short ride to her house. She smiled here and there, but she couldn't get rid of all the feelings she was having. Heartbreak combined with treachery. Betrayed by her boyfriend, whom she loved more than anything, and her best friend, whom she would have died for. When they reached her house, she gathered her things to exit his car.

Harold watched her, but not in a creepy way. Just caring.

“I’m not trying to pry,” he said after a moment. “I just. . . I notice things. And you’re not really you lately.” He bit his lip before continuing. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Zoie. I just wanted to be around in case you needed someone to talk to.”

Zoie could tell he had been holding that in for quite some time and was nervous to speak up.

“I appreciate that”, she said, her voice tight. “But I don’t really have the words right now.”

“That’s fine.” Harold nodded slowly. “Sometimes the words don’t come right away. I’ll be around if and when they do.”

Zoie swallowed hard; his kindness was almost too much to handle. She nodded silently, then whispered, “Thank you.”

He smiled, softly. “Anytime.”

She thanked Harold for the ride, promised to text him later, then hurried inside and threw her back against the front door as it closed, dropping her food bag and class tote to the floor.

The moment Zoie stepped inside the house, she felt the weight of the day collapse on her shoulders. Her mother was in the kitchen, humming softly over a simmering pot of chicken and rice. The scent was warm and familiar. Normally, it made Zoie feel safe. Today, it only turned her stomach.

She sank onto the couch without turning the TV on. Her hands gripped the hem of her jacket. She stared at the wall like it had done something to her.

Her mom peeked around the kitchen doorway. "Yuh eat, baby?"

Zoie nodded faintly. "Harold and I grabbed Chick-fil-A."

Her mother raised an eyebrow. "Harold, eeh?"

Zoie didn’t answer.

She disappeared back into the kitchen, then returned, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "Alright now, wah gwan wid yuh?"

"I'm fine."

"No, yuh not. Yuh been quiet all week. Yuh barely a’ eat, barely a’ sleep. Not even post nuttin’ on yuh socials, and mi know yuh always post somet’ing — even if is just a song lyric. So talk to mi now. Wah really a’ gwan?"

Zoie’s eyes stung, but she held her breath, willing the tears to wait.

Her mother stepped closer, sitting beside her, gently brushing a loose strand from her forehead. “Zoie. . . talk to mi."

And just like that, the tears flowed.

Zoie let out a trembling breath and then started crying, her body folding into itself. Her mother pulled her into her chest and wrapped her arms around her.

"I didn’t know," Zoie sobbed. "I didn’t know it was going on right in front of me. And now it’s too late."

"Baby, wah happen?"

Zoie pulled out her phone and opened the photo album. She turned the screen toward her mom.

The bruises. The swelling. The finger marks.

Her mother’s eyes widened in horror. "Is dis Ryin?"

Zoie nodded. "Tony did it."

Silence.

Her mother covered her mouth. "Jesus."

“I think it’s been going on for a while,” Zoie said quietly. “Not just the abuse. . . them. I think they were messing around behind my back this whole time.”

Her mother stared at the photos like they were evidence from a crime scene.

Then her mother’s brows furrowed. “What yuh mean ‘them’?” she asked, her voice sharp but low.

Zoie sniffled. “Ryin. I think she was with him. Behind my back. For months. Maybe longer.”

Her mother stood upright, stunned silent for a beat. Then she slowly lowered herself back onto the couch, gripping the armrest as if steadying herself.

“Mi cyan believe dis,” she muttered, her voice thick with emotion. “Yuh friend… an’ yuh boyfriend? De two people yuh trust di most? Dem betray yuh like dat?”

She shook her head, her accent growing heavier as her anger deepened. “Mi shoulda known from di first time mi lay eyes on him. Too smooth. Too slick. A real snake.”

Zoie wiped her face, her eyes red and glassy. “I feel so stupid.”

“Stop dat,” her mother said firmly, cupping her chin. “Yuh not stupid, Zoie. Yuh loving. Yuh loyal. Dem people tek advantage of dat. But mi promise yuh, we gon' deal wit' it.”

​ Zoie looked down. "He told me we were gonna move in together. That he loved me."

Her mother stood abruptly. "We’re goin to see dem. Tomorrow. His family. Yuh not carryin dis alone."

***

The next day, they pulled up to the Elliot estate. It was as immaculate as Zoie remembered from prom night. They walked the stone path, rang the brass-trimmed doorbell, and waited beneath the awning as wind rustled through the nearby hedges.

The door opened precisely two seconds later.

Mrs. Elliot, Tony’s grandmother, stood in the doorway, dressed in a navy blouse with a silk scarf tied neatly around her neck. Her eyes were sharp, her smile tight.

“Well,” she said, voice clipped and cool. “Right on time.”

Zoie’s mother didn’t flinch. “Mi appreciate yuh takin’ de time. But mi also hope yuh prepared fi truth.”

Mrs. Elliot stepped aside just enough to let them in. “You said you wanted to talk. So let's talk.”

The inside of the house smelled faintly of lavender and polished wood. The walls were lined with expensive paintings and pristine furniture. The silence echoed. Zoie’s stomach turned.

Tony’s mother was already seated in one of the armchairs, a half-empty glass of wine perched on the side table beside her. She didn’t look up when they entered. She didn’t say a word.

Mrs. Elliot gestured toward the velvet settee but didn’t offer them a seat.

Zoie sat tensely beside her mother on a plush cream couch. Across from them sat Mrs. Elliot and Mrs. Ortega. The atmosphere was cold, like the room had been chilled on purpose.

“We here cause dis serious. Mi daughter show mi photos. Ryin, de girl Tony been sneakin’ ‘round wid, she covered in bruises.”

Mrs. Elliot folded her arms. “And you brought them here to what? Accuse my grandson of abuse in my home?” Mrs. Elliot continued, “When my daughter told me of your claims, my husband and I spoke to the manager and employees of the clothing store. They said nothing of the sort happened."

"They’re lying! I saw Ryin’s bruises myself!" Zoie shouted. Tears formed in her eyes.

Her mother raised a hand, silencing her.

“Yuh callin’ mi dawta a liar?” Ms. Delyse snapped, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.

Mrs. Elliot ignored Ms. Delyse and began again, her tone clipped. "We just wanted to make sure everyone was present when we asked you to please have Zoie cease any contact with my grandson, Antonio."

"Excuse me?" Zoie’s mother shot back.

Zoie glanced at Tony’s mother, who just looked away.

Mrs. Elliot raised an eyebrow. "Antonio has been working hard to save money during his gap year. Due to her inability to accept their recent breakup, she made up these horrible accusations."

"That's not true!" Zoie stood, pulling out her phone. "Here! Look at this! This is what he did to Ryin!"

“It nah accusation if it’s true,” Zoie’s mother said, her voice sharpening. “And what mi daughter saw. . . what she documented? Is not mischief. It’s violence.”

Mrs. Ortega continued to look away. Mrs. Elliot talked over her entirely.

"My grandson has no reason to lie.” Mrs. Elliot exhaled through her nose, eyes narrowing. “What I see is a young girl angry about being rejected and now clinging to some dramatic story because she feels. . .  replaced.”

Zoie turned to her mother pleadingly. "Mom, I swear. None of that is true."

“You should know,” Mrs. Elliot continued, “Antonio is leaving early for school. He’s already started moving his things. Your behavior is part of the reason why.”

Zoie’s face twisted. “He said we were getting an apartment. That he wasn’t leaving.”

“Plans change,” she replied simply. “And thank God for it. He’s been under so much pressure. Your meddling isn’t helping.”

Zoie’s mother’s voice dropped to something darker. “Is that what yuh call dis? Meddlin’? Mi daughter has proof. But yuh so concerned wid image, yuh cyah even acknowledge yuh grandson might be dangerous.”

Mrs. Elliot’s mouth tightened. “You should be careful what you say.”

“Go wait fi mi inna di cyar, chile.” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Zoie walked out of the house, her heart pounding. She stepped onto the porch and reached for her phone, ready to call Tony, desperate for answers, even if she didn’t know what she’d say.

Just as her thumb hovered over his name, a voice cut through the cold air.

"I wouldn't do that," it said quietly. "He changed his number anyway."

Startled, Zoie’s eyes darted toward the corner of the porch. She hadn’t noticed someone sitting there in the shadows.

It was Jasper.

She walked slowly toward the sound of his voice and took a seat across from him in one of the white wicker chairs. The cushions were cold against her legs, but she barely noticed.

“You really were gonna call him after all that?”

"I just wanted to hear him say it wasn’t true. Why would he do all of this?" she asked, her voice small, as she wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

​ “Because it’s Tony,” Jasper said, leaning back in his chair, his voice low and steady. “He doesn’t take accountability for anything.”

Zoie sniffled, wiping at her face again.

Jasper tilted his head, eyeing her. “Can I ask you something, Zo?”

“What?”

“Why’d you date my brother in the first place?”

She blinked, taken aback. “What kind of question is that?”

“I mean it,” he said, tucking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “What did you actually like about him?”

Zoie hesitated, her voice soft. She sniffled. "I love how sweet he is to me. How much thought he puts into the gifts he gives me." She smiled a little. "I also love that— "

Jasper let out a scoff and shook his head.

“What?”

"Do you hear yourself?" He looked her in the eye and waited for an answer. When she remained quiet, he continued. "I love my brother, but if he weren't my brother, I would have nothing to do with him." He pointed to his chest. "I chose all your gifts, Zoie; he had no clue what you liked, and I'm going to be honest with you; he doesn't care." A tinge of bitterness could be heard in his voice. "Just like he didn't care that you and his ex were best friends, and he doesn't care about you now and put all this mess on you to save his own ass!"

The words stung worse than Zoie could imagine. Jasper had never spoken to her that way or been that blunt with her. Embarrassed, she sat quietly for a second.

Her heart sank deeper with every word. Her throat tightened. “So. . . everyone knew except me?” she whispered, a single tear rolled down her cheek. “You knew and didn’t say anything?”

Jasper really liked Zoie. More than she knew. All he ever wanted to do was see her smile. That's why he willingly chose her gifts and kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to see her hurt, but ended up hurting her anyway. "Look, I'm sorry—"

Zoie cut him off, “Why are you telling me this now?”

He looked at her with pleading eyes, “Because I love you. I always have.”

Before Zoie could respond, the front door opened, and loud arguing echoed from inside. "Yuh continue fi protect and condone a man who abuse women!" her mother shouted, her voice sharp with fury.

Jasper leaned in and grabbed Zoie's hands, but she snatched them back. He spoke quietly and quickly, “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. But I need you to listen to me. Do what my grandma says. Don’t contact my brother. Don’t let him back into your life. He will come back. Ignore him. Block him. Change your number. Do whatever you have to do. Just don’t give him another chance. He will act like he's sorry and genuine, but he's not. He never is. If you let him back in, things will be worse for you, Zoie."

Zoie sniffled and nodded. She was still angry with him, but looking at his face, she could tell Jasper was truly sorry and cared about her. He stood up, pulled her in for a hug, and squeezed her tightly.

The arguing became louder: "I want you both off my property!" Mrs. Elliot snapped.

Zoie quickly stepped out of the darkness so that her mother and Mrs. Elliott wouldn't see Jasper slip around the side of the house.

Mrs. Elliott waved her finger in Ms. Delyse's face. "Stay away from my grandson, or I will take legal action for harassment and defamation!" she threatened before slamming the front door behind her.

Zoie could tell her mother was flustered. "Are you ok?" She asked softly.

Her mother turned around, slightly confused. “Why yuh still deh yah? Mi tell yuh wait inna di car! Yuh deaf ?!”

Zoie quietly went to their Jeep and climbed in.

The ride home was silent. There was no music playing, no discussion of what had just happened, nothing. As they parked, her mother grabbed her arm.

"Yuh listen to mi, Zoie. Stay away from dat bwoy. Him mother too. She nuh defend yuh even after seein di truth. Yuh a queen. Yuh deserve a king."

Zoie nodded and hugged her tight.

***

That night, the silence in the house was unbearable. Her mom’s soft music played in the kitchen as she chopped vegetables for a stew, but even that felt hollow. Zoie went upstairs to her room and sat at the edge of the bed, still in her jeans, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The ache in her chest was sharp and constant, like a weight pressing inward from every direction.

​ Jasper’s words kept echoing in her head.

But the thing that haunted her most now was Ryin’s silence.

Zoie stared at her phone, her thumb hovering over the screen. She opened their last conversation. It had been over a week. Ryin hadn’t said anything. Not once. Not a single reply.

How could she have dated him. . . and never told me? Why didn’t she say something?

Her fingers trembled as she typed out a message.

Please call me. I need to talk to you.

She hit send.

The bubble turned green.

Her stomach dropped.

She tried calling next, hand already gripping the strings of her hoodie tight. Immediately, an automated voice answered:

“We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service. . .”

Zoie stared at the screen, the words blurring behind a sudden rush of tears. Everything felt fractured, like all the pieces of her life had been swept off a table in one violent motion. And now, even Ryin was unreachable.

She set the phone down beside her and curled tighter into herself.

No one was answering.

And the people who did have answers. . . had chosen to lie.

***

Zoie finished the last of her reheated soup and placed the empty bowl on the coffee table. The soft hum of the TV filled the dark living room with low flickers of light, but she wasn’t really watching. Her eyes were heavy, her thoughts even heavier. She hadn’t left the house all day.

Her mom had left for her night shift at the ER just an hour earlier, promising they’d go to the police together soon. Zoie had nodded, but the truth was, she still felt like her world was spinning too fast to keep up with. The people she thought she knew, the truths she thought were solid, were collapsing.

Then came the doorbell.

Once.

Twice.

A few seconds later, knocking followed. Not loud, but insistent.

Zoie sat up slowly, tension curling in her chest. She hadn’t ordered anything and wasn’t expecting anyone.

She padded toward the door, hesitating before unlocking it.

When she finally pulled it open, her breath caught.

Tony stood there.

His face was sheepish, lips slightly parted, hands shoved deep in his pockets like he was trying to shrink himself.

Her heart thudded so hard she felt it in her ears. Just seeing him triggered a confusing wave of emotions. Familiar warmth tangled with cold dread. Jasper’s warning rang loud in her head: Don’t let him back in your life.

She moved to shut the door without a word, but his foot shot out, wedging in the frame.

“Wait,” he said quickly. “Zoie, please. I just need to explain. Ten minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

She hesitated, fingers still clutching the doorknob. Her stomach twisted.

“Ten minutes,” she said, her voice low. “Then you have to leave.”

Tony nodded.

They sat in the living room, Zoie perched on the far edge of the couch, arms crossed over her chest like armor. Tony sat beside her, but not too close, yet close enough to keep her on edge.

“I love you,” he said first.

She shook her head. “Don’t start with that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Then why’d you do all of this? Why did you hurt Ryin like that?”

Tony looked confused. “What?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Zoie snapped. “I saw her bruises with my own eyes.”

“I haven’t seen or talked to Ryin in —”

“Stop lying!” Her voice cracked. She pointed at her phone sitting on the coffee table. “I have pictures. And your coworkers — your former coworkers — said you were fired because of it.”

Tony stayed quiet for a second, then tilted his head. “But did Ryin ever say I hurt her?”

Zoie faltered. “No. . . but your coworker —”

“Exactly. Gossip.” He leaned forward. “Did you see any proof that it was me?”

“No, but that’s because the manager wouldn’t show me the security footage .”

“Right,” he said, like he’d just won a debate. “Because there isn’t any footage. Because nothing happened. They didn’t show you anything because there wasn’t anything to show. Somebody else could have did something to Ryin." Tony shrugged his shoulders "All I know is it wasn't me.”

Zoie narrowed her eyes. “Then why were you fired?”

“I wasn’t fired. I quit.” He replied nonchalantly.

“That doesn’t make sense,” she replied quickly. “You told me we were moving in together. You wouldn’t just quit. And then you told your grandmother that wasn’t true?”

“I only said that because I knew she wouldn’t approve,” he answered smoothly. “She’s old school. . . and controlling. I didn’t want her in our business.”

Zoie’s defenses started to wobble. Her head felt like it was splitting from all the conflicting stories.

She steadied herself. “Is Ryin really your ex?”

Tony’s face stiffened for just a beat too long.

“Who told you that?” he asked, his voice low and sharp.

“Jasper.”

A flash of something dark flickered across Tony’s face. Zoie wasn’t sure if she imagined it. It vanished too quickly, replaced with a soft, hurt expression.

“We dated in eighth grade,” he said. “Way before I even met you. I'm assuming Jasper probably left that part out.”

Zoie rubbed her temples. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

Tony moved closer. “I think Jasper told you that because he’s always had a thing for you. He’s jealous. He’s always been jealous.”

Zoie closed her eyes and exhaled. “You need to go. I have a headache.”

“I’ll get you some water,” he offered quickly. “And Tylenol. Your mom still keeps them in the drawer by the fridge, right?”

Zoie hesitated, then nodded and collapsed back onto the couch. “Yeah. . .”

A minute later, he returned with a cold glass of water and two blue pills. She took them from his hand without a word.

Tony gently sat beside her and guided her head onto his lap, his fingers stroking the length of her French braids.

“Just rest,” he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered.

And then everything went dark.

***

Zoie’s heart sank as she watched the disturbing scene unfold on the security footage.

Tony was there—clear as day—his hands around Ryin’s neck as she gasped and struggled. He shoved her, smacked her across the face. Her body crumpled to the floor, only to be dragged up again.

“No,” Zoie whispered, frozen in horror. “No, no, no…”

She looked back and forth between the two employees standing nearby.

“Do something! Call the police!” she screamed at them, eyes wide with panic.

Fabian rolled his eyes and waved a hand dismissively. “It’s above me,” he replied nonchalantly, then turned and sashayed off as if it were nothing.

Zoie spun toward Emelie. “You’re supposed to be the one in charge! You can’t let him get away with this!”

Emelie only shrugged. “I don’t see anything to report.” Her voice was flat and detached, as if she were reading from a script.

Then, without hesitation, she walked over to the computer and began deleting the footage.

“Stop!” Zoie cried out, running toward her—but her legs felt like they were moving through wet cement. No matter how hard she pushed, Emelie only got farther and farther away.

Suddenly, loud banging came from the store’s back door. Muffled cries — Ryin’s voice — pierced the air.

“Help! Please—somebody!”

“I’m coming!” Zoie shouted, turning toward the noise.

But Emelie was faster.

She grabbed a box cutter from the counter. “Oh no, you don’t!” she shrieked, lunging forward.

Zoie barely had time to raise her hands in defense before the blade slashed through the air.

Then —

She jolted awake.

It took a second to remember where she was.

Her chest heaved, heart galloping. She was still on the living room couch. The soft flicker of the TV cast long shadows against the walls. Her clothes clung to her damp skin, and her forehead was slick with sweat.

She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to slow her breathing.

It was just a dream.

Only a dream.

She reached for her glass of water on the side table and took a shaky sip, trying to steady herself.

Zoie sat there for a moment, catching her breath. The dream had felt so real.

She called out softly, “Tony?”

No answer.

She stood slowly, legs unsteady, and glanced around the dimly lit room. The bathroom light was off. She walked over and cracked the half-bath door open.

Empty.

Her eyes darted to the front door. The chain was undone.

But the bottom lock was turned.

Her stomach flipped.

He left.

She didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t hear it close.

She must’ve been out cold.

Her mind raced as she shuffled into the kitchen to grab a snack, anything to ground herself. She reached into the cabinet for a granola bar and tore it open with shaky hands. Her head still throbbed.

She walked into the kitchen, opening the drawer where they kept random meds. Her fingers closed around the bottle of Tylenol. She shook two pills into her hand.

They were white.

She frowned.

Her mind flashed back to the ones Tony had handed her just a few hours ago — blue pills.

Her stomach tightened.

She reached back into the drawer and pulled out the rest of the bottles. Ibuprofen. Motrin. Aspirin. All white or orange. Nothing blue.

Her heart started to race.

What did he give me?

She turned the bottles over again and again, but none of them matched what she remembered. Whatever it was, it had knocked her out cold. She didn’t even remember falling asleep — just waking up groggy and disoriented on the couch, hours gone without explanation. 

Her throat went dry. 

He drugged me.

She staggered backward, dropping the granola bar on the counter. Panic clawed at her chest as she rushed back to the living room, eyes scanning the coffee table for her phone.

It wasn’t there.

Her breath quickened.

She dug into the couch cushions. Checked the rug beneath the table.

Nothing.

Her hands trembled as she darted back to the kitchen.

And there it was.

Sitting face down on the kitchen table.

She hadn’t left it there.

She snatched it up, unlocked the screen—and froze.

Her Photos app was already open.

But there were no pictures.

No folders.

No screenshots.

No Ryin.

Everything gone.

She tapped into Recently Deleted.

Empty.

She opened iCloud.

Zero photos stored.

A lump rose in her throat as she opened her last hope — Google Photos.

Nothing there either.

Her entire body turned cold.

He had deleted everything.

The evidence.

All her memories.

Even her backups.

Jasper’s words echoed in her head, sharp and merciless:

“He will act like he's sorry and genuine, but he's not. He never is.”

Zoie stood frozen, the weight of what had just happened sinking in like a stone in her chest. Tears blurred her vision as she gripped the phone in both hands.

She should’ve listened.

Her voice cracked as she scolded herself aloud:

“Why didn’t I change my password?”

She pressed her palms to her temples, fury and shame crashing over her in waves.

It was still the same password she’d been using for years, Tony’s birthday. So of course, he knew it.

“Stupid,” she muttered under her breath, pacing the kitchen. “So stupid.”

I should’ve known better. She thought.

Zoie’s head began to throb. Shame burned in her chest, rising hotter with every passing second. She thought about all the double dates, the friend group photos, the late-night calls with people she thought had her back.

How many times had she stood next to them, laughing, while they already knew?

How many times had they smiled in her face, knowing she was being played?

She clutched her phone, pacing across the kitchen floor in tight circles. Her heart was racing like she was about to step into a fight. She didn’t even remember dialing—her fingers had moved faster than her thoughts.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

He’s not gonna answer.

But then —

“Hey, Zo. Wassup?”

The moment she heard Dorian’s voice, tears came fast and hard, her breath hitching before she could form a sentence.

"Zoie?" He called out softly.

“Did you know?” she cried, barely above a whisper.

There was a pause.

“Were you all just laughing at me?” she whimpered, her voice drenched in betrayal.

Dorian’s sigh was soft but heavy. “Never, Zo. I would never do something like that.”

Something inside her snapped.

“You’re lying!” she shouted. “He’s your best friend! How did you not know!?”

“I swear! They played me, too!” Dorian’s voice cracked with desperation. “I didn’t know, Zo. I had no idea. . .”

But she wasn’t listening anymore.

“All of you were standing by, letting them make a fool of me!” she yelled, each word sharper than the last. “Laughing behind my back like I was some — some joke!”

Dorian went quiet. Her pain bled through the speaker, leaving nothing but the weight of everything he couldn’t say. Everything that was already too late to speak on.

Zoie drew in a shaky breath, wiping her face with trembling hands. Her voice was eerily calm now.

“Silly me for thinking we were friends.”

“Zoie —” he started.

But she hung up before he could say another word.

She tossed her phone onto the table, unable to look at it a second longer. Her chest still rose and fell with uneven breaths, the sting of betrayal pressing against her ribs like a bruise that wouldn’t stop throbbing.

She looked around the kitchen, hoping for something to ground her, but it all just felt hollow. Her home. Her memories. Her life.

How could everything she thought she knew fall apart so easily?

Tony had manipulated her. Gaslit her. Drugged her. And deleted everything.

Jasper tried to warn her.

Ryin. . .  Her supposed best friend had said nothing. Just up and vanished. Changed her number and left Zoie drowning in confusion and silence.

Am I not worth an explanation? An apology? Is Jasper right? Has Tony ever really cared?

Her voice cracked as she whispered into the quiet,  “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

But no answer came.

Just the distant hum of the fridge and the ache curling in her stomach.

She had never felt more foolish. Or more alone.

And even though her mother had her back, even though she’d said they could go to the police, Zoie couldn’t shake the weight that wrapped around her like a wet blanket. Shame, grief, and heartbreak. Because now she no longer has proof, and there’s no victim. So in the end, he gets away with it.

She made her way back to the living room and curled into the couch, burying herself beneath a throw blanket that just couldn’t seem to warm her.

The pain had carved something out of her.

Something that might never grow back.

Because love wasn’t safe. And trust was a risk she couldn’t afford anymore.

I should’ve known better. She thought as she silently cried herself to sleep.