Brent lay sprawled on his dorm bed the ceiling above him blurred and spinning. He hadn’t slept properly in days.
He muttered into the quiet, "How the hell did I screw it up this badly?"
Brent clenched his fists. It wasn’t just Megan—it was everything that led to Megan. His inability to speak his feelings to Betty. His cowardice. His damn, never-ending cowardice.
***
It was late August the campfire crackling against the backdrop of crickets and murmured conversations. Brent remembered sitting cross-legged on the edge of the gathering heart hammering as Betty laughed across the fire. She was wearing a loose sundress, her smile brighter than the flames licking the logs.
He had planned it all out. He’d finally tell her how he felt after years of hiding behind the guise of best-friendship. But as always, Brent hesitated. Someone else was always closer to herlaughing at her jokes pulling her into some activity.
"Hey, you okay?"
He turned to find Megan standing beside him a beer bottle dangling from her fingers. She was slim, petite with Betty’s golden curls but in a perfectly Instagrammed way.
"Fine.Just tired."
"Tired, my ass. You’ve been moping all week."
Brent blinked. "Have I?"
"Yes. And I know why." Megan took a long sip of her drink. Her voice dropping conspiratorially. "You’re hung up on her. Aren’t you, Betty?"
The name hit like a gut punch, but Brent played dumb. "What? No. We’re just..."
Megan cut him off with a sharp laugh. "Spare me. I’ve seen the way you look at her. Honestly, I’m not sure why you haven’t said anything."
"Because she doesn’t feel the same.
"Maybe you’re just scared."
***
The flashback fast-forwarded to the last night of immersion. The bonfire was dying, but the party hadn’t. Megan had cornered Brent again, her gaze mischievous as she dragged him away from the crowd.
"You need to loosen up.
"I’m plenty loose.
"Sure," she teased, stepping closer. Her perfume was light and sweet.
"You deserve someone who sees you, Brent."
The kiss came out of nowhere—hungry and desperate. It was a collision of frustration Megan tasted like fireball whiskey and something forbidden and Brent found himself kissing her back.
Next thinh they know that they stumbled into Megan’s tent. Their laughter muffled by the late-night quiet. The air was thick with heat.
"One time," Megan whispered between gasps as she tugged at his shirt. "That’s it. No strings."
"One time," he echoed, not even thinking about what it meant.
Their clothes hit the floor and Brent’s world narrowed to the feel of her skin the soft sighs she made as they moved together. For the first time in weeks he wasn’t thinking about Bettyor at least that’s what he told himself.
***
Brent rolled onto his side pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. It was a one-time thing when he reminded himself again. Megan had made it clear.
Except it hadn’t been just one time. had it? The revelation sent a fresh wave of nausea through him. Megan’s texts had started coming a month later cryptic at first then increasingly desperate.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Brent groaned and reached for it and his stomach dropping at the name on the screen “Megan”.
He didn’t open the message. He couldn’t.