Chapter 4 With friends like these

I still remember the day I met Chloe.

It was raining-not heavy rain, just that kind that makes everything feel gray and cold. We were both in senior school then, and I was already used to minding my business. Walk to class, sit by the window, wait for the bell, rinse and repeat. But that day, something pulled me out of that rhythm.

There was a crowd near the old locker block. You know how high school is-people form circles like that when someone's getting embarrassed. I wasn't going to get involved. I wasn't that type of girl. But something about the small, shaky voice crying in the middle of that noise... it did something to me.

I pushed through and saw her. Chloe.

She was sitting on the floor, her books scattered, her blouse torn at the shoulder. Three girls stood around her, laughing like they had just won a prize. One of them, Sandra-I still remember her name-had her hand on Chloe's hair, like she was about to yank it again.

"Hey!" I heard my voice before I even thought it through. "Get your hands off her."

They all turned to me like I'd grown two heads.

Sandra scoffed. "Mind your business, Ella."

But I didn't. I walked right up, bent down, and helped Chloe gather her books. "Let them talk," I whispered to her. "They don't matter."

She looked up at me with these wide, teary eyes, and something in them felt familiar. Like loneliness. Like someone who had forgotten what kindness looked like.

That was the beginning.

We became friends slowly. The kind where you sit together at lunch and share music playlists. We weren't the loudest in school, but we had each other. I guess that's what made everything now... hurt more.

Funny how betrayal never comes from enemies.

---

The clink of glass snapped me back.

I blinked down at my drink. I hadn't even realized my fingers were shaking around the cup. My nails tapped lightly against the rim, and I sighed, swallowing the rest of the liquor in one breath. God, how did we even get here?

I shifted on the bar stool, the room humming with low music and murmurs. There were people laughing behind me. I hated that sound right now. It felt too alive. Too bright.

I was wearing black again. Not because I was going to a funeral-well, not a real one. But my life? Yeah. That deserved mourning.

Jason was gone. Solace was gone too-even though he still walked the earth. And Chloe? She had buried herself the day she opened that door in a robe.

I signaled the bartender for another drink.

"Is this seat taken?" a voice asked.

I turned slowly.

Tall, with deep brown skin and soft, kind eyes. His shirt was tucked casually, sleeves rolled to the elbows. There was something calm about him, like he didn't rush much in life.

I didn't say a word. Just stared at him, then at the empty seat across from me. He hesitated, then started to sit.

"Did I say you could sit?" I asked flatly.

He paused mid-motion, one brow raised. "Didn't think I needed a permission slip."

I scoffed. "Typical."

Still, he sat. Bold.

"I'm Charles," he said, offering a hand like we were at a damn seminar or something.

I looked at his hand like it was diseased, then back at my drink. "Ella."

He left his hand hanging for a second longer, then dropped it. His smile didn't even crack. "Rough day?"

"You're nosy."

"I noticed the look on your face. I thought maybe talking might help."

I turned to him slowly. "You think I need help?"

He didn't answer.

"You think I'm just sitting here waiting for some stranger to come save the day? That's not how this works. You see a woman alone and assume she's some charity case?"

"Whoa-" he began, hands raised a little.

"No," I cut him off. "Don't 'whoa' me. There are tons of women here, doctor, lawyer, nurse, secretary, God knows what else. Why me? Why not the blonde two seats down? Or the one with the fake lashes who's been staring at you since you walked in?"

He blinked. "Okay. I didn't mean to stress you-"

"You are stressing me," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "You think you're doing something noble by sitting here? You're not. I don't need company. I don't need conversation. I need silence."

He nodded slowly. "Alright. Silence it is."

He turned back to his drink. Didn't say a word. Didn't shift in his seat. Didn't even glance at me.

And yet somehow, the silence wasn't peaceful anymore. It throbbed.

I swallowed hard, fingers curling around the glass.

"I lost someone," I muttered, and immediately hated that I'd said it.

He didn't jump on it. Just turned his head a little. "I'm sorry."

"My son," I added, biting the inside of my cheek. "Jason. He drowned. In our pool."

There it was. Spoken aloud, like it hadn't been enough inside my head all day.

Charles didn't react the way people usually did. No dramatic gasp. No performative sadness.

"That's... heavy," he said, soft.

I stared at the bottles lining the bar. "And then I lost my husband too. Not to death. To someone else. Chloe."

The name felt like poison on my tongue.

Charles looked at me like he saw right through the layers.

"You're still here though," he murmured. "Still pushing through."

That was when I smirked. "Barely."

We talked more. Not the kind of talk that fixes anything. But it was... warm. Easy. Like old music in the background. He told me about how he liked photography. How he once lived in Italy. How his mom used to say the only way to heal was to walk through the fire, not around it.

And then I did the usual thing I do now.

I got up.

"Thanks for the talk," I said flatly, then left–

He followed. "Ella-"

I turned to him, hands on my hips. "Let's just do this, okay? Isn't that what this is about? You followed me out, you want to sleep with me. Fine. Let's get it over with."

His eyes didn't change. Didn't flicker with excitement or shame or anything. He just... looked hurt.

"No," he said simply. "That's not why I followed you. I enjoyed your company. That's all."

I blinked.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small white card, and handed it to me. His number.

"If you ever want to talk. Or not talk. Just... call me."

And then he walked off.

No big drama. No begging. No smooth lines. Just... honest.

I looked down at the card in my hand. For a second, I almost felt like breathing again.

Almost.