[Marcus’s POV]
Stacey's words echoed in my head like a poison, seeping deeper with each passing moment. I paced the empty parking lot behind the gym, my thoughts a chaotic mess of who I used to be and who I'd become.
"And now look at you," Stacey continued, her lips curving into a cruel smile. "Letting some pathetic fatso turn you into a joke."
I clenched my fists, my jaw tightening as I sat there, trying to tune her out. But the damage was done.
Because she wasn’t wrong. Not completely.
I used to be untouchable. Ruthless. Focused. I didn’t let distractions get in my way. I had a plan, and I stuck to it.
And then Betty happened.
She was everywhere, all the time, consuming my thoughts, pulling me into a world I never asked to be in. I felt weak when I wasn’t near her, like something inside me was missing.
And when she was with me? She made me want things I never should have wanted.
"Do you really think anyone respects you after that?" Stacey’s voice was laced with poison, her smirk taunting. "You’re not the Marcus Archibald I knew. Now you’re just whipped over some charity case."
My fingers curled tighter into my palms. My head pounded.
I hated that she had this power over me, that her words slithered their way into the cracks I was trying to ignore.
She leaned closer, her voice dropping lower, silkier. "But you can change that, you know. You can take back control. You can be him again."
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head, trying to get a grip. “Shut the fuck up, Stacey.”
But she just laughed, tilting her head. "Oh, so you’re fine with being someone’s little lapdog now? With losing to that pretty nerd?"
Him. Brent.
"You know I'm right," Stacey continued, her nails lightly dragging across my arm, her touch deliberate. "You think Brent's just gonna sit there forever, playing the ‘best friend’ role? Please. He's waiting for his shot."
I knew that. And I hated that I knew that. And I hated even more that I was sitting here, doing nothing.
Maybe it was anger. Maybe it was frustration.
Or maybe it was the fact that I needed to feel in control again.
Without thinking, I reached out, gripping Stacey’s wrist, pulling her toward my car.
She didn't resist as I kissed her roughly, desperately – not out of desire, but out of a need to prove something. To prove I was still in control. Still the Marcus everyone feared and respected.
Her smirk widened like she had been waiting for this exact moment.
"There he is," Stacey whispered against my lips, triumph in her voice. "There's the Marcus I remember."
I didn’t stop her when she slid her hands up my chest. Didn’t stop myself when I grabbed the back of her neck and crushed my lips against hers.
I wasn’t thinking. I just needed something.
Something to remind me that I was still me. That I hadn’t completely lost myself in her. But the second my lips touched Stacey’s—it felt wrong.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t Betty.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, but I ignored it. Forced myself to push further, to deepen the kiss, to convince myself that this was exactly what I needed.
Stacey gasped against my mouth, her fingers tangling in my hair as she pulled me toward my car. And I let her.
The back seat of my car was cramped, the air heavy with heat and something else—something desperate, something I didn’t want to name.
Stacey’s lips were on my throat, her hands tugging at my clothes, her voice a breathy mess of satisfaction.
"Mmm, you missed this, didn’t you?" she purred against my skin.
I didn’t answer. Because no, I fucking didn’t.
But I let her think I did. Let her grind against me. Let her touch me. Let myself believe that this was fixing something.
That this was making it better. That this would make me forget.
I barely heard her. Because my mind was somewhere else. With someone else.
I gripped her hips, forcing her movements to slow, controlling the pace. She moaned again, arching beneath me.
But I wasn’t thinking about her. I was thinking about Betty.
I was picturing her. Her voice. Her body. Her lips.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to chase the image away, trying to stay present, trying to drown myself in this.
But it wasn’t working. Because everything felt wrong. The way Stacey touched me. The way she moved. The way she wasn’t her.
I gritted my teeth, thrusting harder, rougher, trying to pull myself out of this mental prison.
"Yes," Stacey gasped. "That’s more like it."
But I wasn’t thinking about her.
"Betty."
The name left my lips before I could stop it. The second it did—Stacey froze. A suffocating silence filled the car.
Then—she shoved me off her. “What the fuck did you just say?”
I blinked, dazed, my heart still hammering in my chest. Reality slammed into me hard. And the second I realized what had just happened, I wanted to fucking disappear.
Stacey stared at me, eyes wide, livid. Her breath came fast, uneven, her chest rising and falling as she processed what I had just done.
I swallowed, running a hand through my damp hair, trying to gather my thoughts.
But there was no coming back from this. Because we both knew the truth.
I had just fucked Stacey. While thinking about Betty.
"You’re pathetic," she spat, shoving me back again. "You’re really, actually, in love with her, aren’t you?"
My stomach twisted into knots.
I didn’t say anything. Didn’t deny it. Couldn’t deny it. And that fucking killed me.
She scoffed, opening the car door. “I hope you know you’re going to regret this.”
And with that—she was gone.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t even blink as I stared at the empty passenger seat. Betty’s name was still burning on my lips.
It wouldn’t leave me. Wouldn’t fade. Wouldn’t stop reminding me of the unavoidable, undeniable truth.
She had me. Completely. Entirely. Irrevocably.
And no matter how much I tried to fight it—I had already lost.