Amy’s POV
I didn’t even feel the doorknob under my hand anymore. My whole body had gone numb, like I had stepped into a dream I couldn’t wake up from. The kind of dream that twists your stomach and squeezes your heart until you can’t breathe. Except it wasn’t a dream. It was real. I was standing there, in Charlie’s bedroom doorway, and I was seeing everything I was never supposed to see.
Charlie jumped up like someone had shocked him, scrambling to pull the blanket over his bare chest, his eyes wide and full of panic. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something—maybe a lie, maybe an apology—but nothing came out. He just stood there, frozen.
Camilla, on the other hand, didn’t move at all. She stayed right where she was, straddling my boyfriend, like she had every right to be there. She didn’t even try to cover herself. She just let out a long, slow sigh, like she was tired of holding in a secret for too long.
“Finally,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “We don’t have to pretend anymore.”
Her voice was so calm. So casual. Like this wasn’t the moment my whole world was falling apart.
I stepped back, the air sharp and painful in my lungs. My hand tightened around the crumpled uniform I still hadn’t let go of.
“How long?” I asked, though my voice cracked so hard I almost couldn’t hear myself. “How long has this been going on?”
Camilla shrugged like I had just asked what time it was. “Does it matter?” she said, raising an eyebrow.
I stared at her, hoping—stupidly hoping—that Charlie would step forward and say this was a mistake, that he didn’t mean it, that Camilla was lying, but he didn’t say anything at all. He just looked down at the floor, his jaw clenched, shame written all over his face but not a single word to fix what he broke.
I could feel something inside me unraveling.
The scream came before I could stop it—loud, broken, wild. It wasn’t graceful or composed like I usually was. It was raw and messy and full of pain. Camilla didn’t flinch. She just rolled her eyes and reached back to adjust her ponytail like my heartbreak was boring her.
“I never wanted to be your bestie, babe,” she said with a smirk. “So let’s not act like this is some big betrayal.”
That was it. I couldn’t take another second.
I turned and ran, the cheer uniform balled up in my fist like a crushed flower. I ran down the stairs, past Charlie’s confused mom who called out my name, but I didn’t stop. My vision blurred from the tears streaming down my face. I could barely breathe. The walls of the house felt like they were closing in on me. I needed to get out. I needed air. I needed to be anywhere but there.
The front door flew open and I burst into the street, my feet slamming against the pavement without thinking. I didn’t look for cars. I didn’t care about the lights or the sounds. I just ran.
And then I heard it.
The sharp blare of a horn.
The screech of tires on asphalt.
I looked up just in time to see a black Jeep swerving violently to the side, narrowly missing me by inches. My heart slammed into my ribs. The uniform dropped from my hand and landed on the ground beside me.
The driver’s door opened fast, and a guy jumped out, slamming it shut behind him. He looked furious.
“Are you trying to die,” he shouted, his voice rough and loud, “or are you just stupid?”
I blinked up at him, still catching my breath. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his dark curls were wild from the wind and heat. He had the kind of presence that made people pause. His jaw was sharp, his eyes intense. But as soon as he saw my face—really saw me—his anger faded.
“Shit,” he muttered, softer now. “Hey… are you okay?”
I wanted to scream again. I wanted to punch the air or throw up or rewind time. But instead, I wiped my face with the back of my hand, smearing mascara across my cheeks, and mumbled, “Do I look okay?”
He crouched down slightly, like he didn’t want to scare me. “No,” he said honestly, his voice quieter now. “You don’t.”
We stood there in the middle of the street, the heat rising off the blacktop and the smell of burnt rubber still fresh from his tires. I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t even care. For the first time in a long time, someone looked at me and actually saw the mess I was. Not Amy the cheerleader. Not Amy the girlfriend. Just… me.
“Hop in,” he said after a moment. “We’re getting ice cream.”
I blinked at him, confused. “What?”
“Ice cream,” he said again, with the tiniest smile. “You look like someone who needs something cold and sweet and not as terrible as whatever just happened to you.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Maybe he was a serial killer. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe I was.
But right then, I didn’t care.
I climbed into the passenger seat of a stranger’s Jeep, not caring if I lived, died, or disappeared forever.