[[౨ৎmusique ౨ৎ]
Amani did not flinch when he could be cheap, instead she laughed–yes, she laughed, a soft faint laugh. Her face did not convey true laughter, but from her eyes and her lips you could tell she was laughing, that she was amused, and why shouldn’t she? He, Vincenzo, was calling her cheap? The irony was too funny for her not to laugh, however faint it was. Her fingers reach to play with her golden right, “I suppose you do know a lot about cheap,” Her smile was cruel, but she didn’t say anything cruel, it had simply been a statement. “Like I said, I had hoped you were my fiance or Jesse, two which are neither strangers to me. How could a possible stranger have access to my room or know what I liked,” She rolled her eyes, “Besides this dress was ugly, I was curious to see what my gifter wanted, it seems,” Her lips pursed, “That was a foolish idea, for my gifter is nothing more than a misguided fool.” Amani’s fingers twisted the ring lightly, she had known Vincenzo could be cruel, so she had expected something more, something hurtful, but did he truly think that he of all people calling her cheap would make her cry like a little girl? Had he forgotten who she was, how she behaved. She was everything but cheap, so a mindless insult like that did nothing nor wounded her pride, it would have been the same as someone calling her ugly–simply untrue.
They continued their fight, throwing words to each other that only the bitterness of enemies could ever muster. If someone had been standing with them, watching them, taking notes of their interactions, perhaps they will never know that once they had been a certain kind of love between them. They would never understand, that Amani had cared for him in her own way, that she had seen him as her best friend, a platonic soulmate, that they had once been an Amani and Vinnie and not a Amani or Vinnie. “You’ve truly never understood me have you?” Her lips pursed, "I’m not like you, I’ve never been like you, my worth is not determined by who likes me or not, if they choose to abandon me, I’ll abandon first. I take what I want, and when I’m done, I move on. If Jesse likes my body, good for him. If Azriel wants me as an accessory, then maybe I’ll wear him like a charm on a bracelet for as long as it suits me. " She smiles, “Didn’t I do it with you? Abandoned you, when I got tired, even though we were using each other in a way. We used each other as a means to feel safe and loved, did we not? And when I got tired of it, I left, I abandoned first, I’ve done that all my life.”
Amani’s smile deepened, but it was void of warmth, more like a calculated smirk than any sign of true feeling. She watched Vincenzo’s face, waiting for the moment when her words would sink in, waiting for the tension in his jaw to show she had hit her mark.
“I’ve abandoned everyone,” he continued, her voice steady, almost calm, like she was recounting a simple fact rather than something deeply personal. “It’s how I like to live. I let them get close enough to think they matter, then I leave before they have a chance …”" to hurt me “To truly get to know me. I let them dream of the type of person they want me to be, I play the role, till I get bored. That’s how you win, Vincenzo. Not by hoping people will love you for who you are, but by making sure they never get the chance to love you at all.”
She tilted her head, studying him like he was a puzzle she had already solved. “You were just another piece of that game. A temporary fix to keep me entertained, to make me feel something when I wanted to. But I always knew I’d leave you behind, the same way I’ve left everyone else.” She played with the straps of her dress, as she gazed at the man she had once trusted, “You see, Vincenzo, I don’t need sincerity. I need control. And control means never letting anyone get too close, never letting them think they’ve won me over. If they think they have, it’s only because I’ve allowed it. Naive, foolish Vincenzo, you were always my favorite chess piece, you truly think a btch cares to be liked like you do? Everyone in my life benefits from me and I benefit from them, we’ll forever be useful to each other in that way, so I am not worried.” There were some truths, and false tales in her words. No matter how many times she said this, how many times she recited this, she did care to be liked, but not in the way Vincenzo thought, and she had not always been the first to abandon no, she had not. She cared to be understood, to be seen, but had she ever been seen? She had thought that with him… with her high school sweetheart, she had found her spectator-- someone who saw her in a way no one else did, who understood her but it had proved… it had proved false. There had been Arya who had understood her for a while, before she left, left for gardens, and she had hoped that Vincenzo could understand her perfectly well, that he would understand that she would never leave him just because of his lack of money like he had believed. Vincenzzo for a while had been her everything, did he not know that being around him use to help her nightmares? That she had truly been fond of him? And such a little insignificant thing wouldn’t matter if there was more to it. Moreover, what Vincenzo also didn’t understand, is that Azriel understood her, he saw her–not fully, not thoroughly but still he did see her in a way she no longer taught Vincenzo capable of, and that was her nightmare. She wanted him to understand her, she did not want to hate him, but that was the only way to keep her safe, to keep him safe. Her foolish, naive Vincenzo, her devilish nightmare.
She listened to him speak, it was his turn now, and she listened, her brown face still filled with a red anger, to mask the blue that painted her actual emotions. “And how did I put it too far? By cuddling with you as friends often do?” She rolled her eyes, “I was playing my part as a friend, if you truly felt guilty about what we–innocent in that act cause happened and I felt nothing, were doing, then it was your responsibility not mine to push that away. Sellenova wa your girlfriend, what does she have to do with me?”
A lot, she suppose, Sellenova was her childhood best friend, and though they were not friends then, she supposed that no matter what, Sellenova and her will always be connected in a way, in a bond that will forever be hard to cut off. They could make the bond longer, yes, put distance between them, but due to their family history, their own personal history, how their friendship began and ended, they were interconnected, and she suppose that if she did actually want to do something with Vincenzo during that time, she would have felt guilty, and hated herself and Sellenova for feeling guilty but she had not wanted to do anything with him.
Her heart beat erratically, a rhythm that betrayed the calm facade she wore so effortlessly. Each thud echoed in her chest, loud enough that she wondered if Vincenzo could hear it, if he knew what was creeping beneath her surface. She hadn’t expected this—hadn’t anticipated the sudden shift in the air between them, thickening with a tension that curled tight in her stomach. He had wanted to kiss her, he was about to kiss her, and would have succeeded if Amani did not put a stop to the madness. It had been different, when she had fcked, at least they wore masks, could pretend it was someone else. But they were maskless and bare, and he seen her, and had wanted to kiss her, had wanted to change the whole trajectory of their relationship. They were no lovers, no, no they could not be. Though they were not Amani and Vincenzo anymore, there had still been a friendship between them, and the hate that now colored them, still reminded her about their former relationship, what they had once been. If they had kissed like lovers did, that would truly be the end of them, they would have crossed every line imaginable. They would no longer be able to go back to their factory settings, they would never… Couldn’t he see that? Couldn’t he understand that? That they would be breaking every barrier imaginable, that the distance between them will only grow?
Though they didn’t externally fall, she could feel tears sprinkled in the inside, and she could feel her breath be cut short. If she was any weaker, she would have fallen to the ground, and curse at him, she would have ripped her own skin off. But she did nothing, but stand still, because she couldn’t show weakness to her enemy, to the boy she hated. But then he began to talk, and she listened, though everything in her was screaming to run away, and at his words. She realized something, “It’s not September 28th,” She whispered, as she counted the days she had spent studying. She had forgotten that time moved by due to her own stress.
Her body betrayed her once again, and this time, it wasn’t just her heart pounding in fear—it was her entire being rebelling against the walls she had spent so long building. She felt the tears welling up inside her, not falling but gathering in the quiet spaces where she couldn’t let them out. They pooled beneath the surface, unseen yet undeniably present, like an ache she couldn’t name.
Her breath hitched as the realization washed over her—October 1st. She bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood, trying to ground herself, to pull back from the precipice of emotion. It was their friendiversary. She had forgotten, buried it under layers of stress, resentment, and the constant need to push forward without looking back. But now, standing here, with Vincenzo so close, she couldn’t ignore it.
She couldn’t run.
Her feet moved of their own accord, each step feeling like she was stepping through quicksand, sinking deeper into something she couldn’t control. Her mind screamed at her to stop, to pull herself back into the cold, calculated persona that kept her safe, but her heart, traitorous and raw, pushed her forward. It beat louder, faster, as if urging her toward this moment, this inevitable breaking point.
Before she knew what she was doing, her arms wrapped around him. Her fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt, holding him close as if anchoring herself in a storm she didn’t know how to weather. The warmth of his body against hers was both comforting and terrifying. She hated him. She hated him so deeply, and yet here she was, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping her from falling apart entirely.
Her breath came out in shaky, uneven bursts as she rested her forehead against his chest, her face hidden from his view, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to cry, not in front of him, not like this. But the vulnerability of the moment cut her deeper than any insult ever could.
For a long moment, she said nothing, just held him there, letting the weight of everything settle between them. Her mind raced with a thousand thoughts, memories of their twisted history, the battles fought, the bitter words exchanged. And yet, despite everything, here she stood, locked in a silent embrace with the boy she she hated.
When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper, trembling with the fragility of a truth she didn’t want to admit. “I didn’t forget.” She blinked, “I-knew our thing was october 1st but I thought today was a different date.” She almost killed herself telling him this words, because why was she doing this? She should have laughed at him being so crestfallen, she should have thrown a party, and headed back to her own room to sleep and live him with his depression, but It seem she had not cut their ties fully yet. That her scissors had been safety scissors instead of powerful and sharp. She had to find a different way to cut the ties that bind.
