His Poisoned Love, My Shattered Heart

Faith Frazier POV:

I told my best friend everything. She slammed her fist on the table, her face contorted with fury. "That bastard!" she snarled, then her eyes softened with concern. "Are you really okay, Faith?"

I shook my head, my voice a hollow whisper. "I'm past being sad."

She nursed her drink, tears streaming down her face. "He was always so arrogant, so sure of himself," she muttered, "so sure he had you wrapped around his finger." She looked at me, her eyes bloodshot. "You're too good, Faith. You always choose to break rather than bend." She finished her drink, slamming the glass down. "I hope he tastes what it's like to truly lose you. I hope he searches the ends of the earth and never finds you. He'll regret it for the rest of his life."

Then she buried her face in her arms on the bar, sobbing.

I stared at her, then at my own reflection in the dimly lit glass. Would he regret it? Would he really?

Her boyfriend came to pick her up, still half-asleep and confused. I paid the bill, a strange sense of detachment washing over me. As I turned to leave, I bumped into one of Dale's friends. His eyes lit up with recognition. "Faith!" he exclaimed, grabbing my arm. "Thank God! Can you please talk some sense into Dale? He's completely wasted."

Before I could protest, he dragged me into a private room. Laughter and loud music assaulted my ears. Jetta, her eyes sparkling with false innocence, had just lost a game. Her "punishment" was to kiss a random person. She glanced at Dale, a sly, predatory glint in her eyes, then sidled up to him, her voice a soft purr. "Help me, Dale," she pleaded, her hands playfully tracing the outline of his chest.

Dale, his collar slightly open, his eyes glazed with alcohol, blinked slowly. "What?" he mumbled, clearly disoriented. He tried to shake his head, but Jetta was already too close. Her soft fingers brushed against his abs, and a shiver ran through him. His eyes darkened, his throat bobbed.

Then, he leaned in and kissed her. Hard.

His back was to the door, shielding him from my view, from the world. But Jetta saw me. Her eyes met mine, a smirk twisting her lips. She mouthed a word, a cruel, cutting whisper that pierced through the noise: "Old hag."

My eyes turned to ice. "Let me go," I snarled at Dale's friend, my voice low and dangerous.

"Faith, I'm so sorry," he stammered, trying to appease me. "It's just the alcohol, he doesn't mean it…"

Jetta glided over, her smile saccharine. "Did you see that, Faith? He kisses so passionately. Are you jealous?"

"You shameless little slut," I spat, my voice dripping with venom. "A home-wrecker, that's what you are."

Her face twisted in fury. "I'm not a home-wrecker!" she shrieked. "The one who isn't loved is the real home-wrecker! Look at you, so old, so ugly. And you think you're so smart, getting your degrees by sleeping with professors, don't you?"

My hand moved before I could even think. A sharp crack echoed through the room as my palm connected with her cheek. Her head snapped back, a crimson mark blooming on her pale skin.

"How dare you!" she screeched, clutching her face.

"How dare I?" I spat, my voice laced with pure rage. "Shut up, you pathetic little bitch!"

The shouting grew louder, drawing attention. Dale, his eyes still heavy with drink, finally turned towards the commotion.