The Girl He Called Practice

Kiera Case POV:

I ended the call with Chloe, her enthusiastic cheers still echoing in my ears, a stark contrast to the hollow ache in my chest. The burst of defiant resolve had been exhilarating, but now, alone in the quiet of my room, the weight of everything settled back in. My bed, still warm from Felix' s fleeting presence, felt like a trap. The scent of him, that musk and cologne, was everywhere, clinging to the sheets, to my hair, a ghost of intimacy that now felt like a violation.

I pressed my hands against my temples, trying to push away the images: Felix laughing with Bella, his dismissive words in French, the decade of my life I' d poured into him. It was too much, a cacophony of pain and regret. Stop it, Kiera. Stop thinking. I squeezed my eyes shut, rocking myself gently, desperate for the oblivion of sleep. It was still dark outside, the city lights a distant, shimmering glow against the inky sky.

Sleep, when it finally came, was fitful and shallow, plagued by nightmares of Felix's laughter and Bella' s triumphant smile. I thrashed, mumbling incoherent protests, until a sharp jolt woke me. My eyes flew open, heart pounding. The room was still dark, but a sliver of dawn was just beginning to paint the sky outside my window.

He wasn't there. Of course, he wasn' t.

A chilling wave of understanding washed over me. For years, every argument, every slight disagreement, every misunderstanding, had ended with Felix sending me a "goodnight" text, usually with a heart emoji, a silent peace offering. It was his way of ensuring I wouldn't stay mad, that I'd be waiting for him, ready to forgive, the next morning. It was a habit, a ritual, a tether. And now, it was broken. Not a single text, not a single call. Not even a casual, dismissive "Are you okay?" text. Nothing. The silence was louder than any argument. It confirmed everything. I truly was nothing to him.

A part of me, the old, needy Kiera, wanted to scream, to call him, to demand an explanation, to force him to acknowledge the years, the love, the betrayal. But a new Kiera, a fragile but growing sapling of self-respect, held me back. What would I say? "I know you think I'm just practice"? What would he say? Deny it? Laugh it off? It would only give him more power, more control. He would twist it, make me out to be the jealous, crazy ex. I knew his game, and I refuse to play. Not anymore.

My phone buzzed again. This time it was an alarm, reminding me of my Columbia orientation. I scoffed, a bitter, humorless sound. Columbia. My "shared dream." No, my future was now in California, a clean break, a fresh start.

Before I could even swing my legs out of bed, the door burst open. Not a gentle knock, not a polite entrance. It burst. My heart leaped into my throat, a scream catching there. Felix stood in the doorway, already dressed in crisp chinos and a designer polo shirt, a confident, slightly smug smirk on his face.

"Morning, sunshine," he chirped, striding in as if he owned the place, which, in a way, he did. This was the Decker guest house, after all, my childhood home next door. He' d always had a key, an unspoken right of passage. He still did. He didn't even bother to close the door behind him. He just sauntered over to my bed, his eyes raking over me in my sleep-rumpled t-shirt and shorts. A shiver of revulsion ran down my spine.

He flopped down beside me, leaning over, his face too close. "Rough night? You look a little… pouty." He reached out, his finger tracing my jawline, then pushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture, once intimate, now felt invasive, violating.

I flinched, pulling back abruptly. "Don' t," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion.

His brow furrowed slightly. "Don' t what? Don' t touch my girl?" He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that used to send shivers of delight through me. Now it just made my stomach clench. He reached for me again, his hand falling to my bare thigh, his thumb rubbing slow circles. "Or are you just playing hard to get? You know I love it when you do that, Kiera." His eyes held a predatory glint, a familiar challenge.

I pushed his hand away, harder this time. "Felix. Stop." My voice was still flat, but there was an edge to it, a warning.

He pulled back, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "Whoa. What' s up with you? Cranky this morning? Didn' t I give you enough last night?" He winked, a crude, dismissive gesture that made my blood run cold.

I stared at him, my gaze unwavering, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. My silence seemed to irritate him more than any outburst. His smirk faded, replaced by impatience.

"Come on, Kiera. Don' t be like this. I told you I had to go to the office early. It' s important. We' re talking about the Ramsey deal, after all." He said "Ramsey" with an almost exaggerated causalness, as if testing the waters.

I remained silent, my eyes fixed on a point just past his shoulder.

He scoffed. "Are you upset about her? Seriously? You know Bella' s just for show. Public relations. You' re… you' re Kiera. That' s different. That' s real." His voice was tinged with a patronizing tone, as if I were a child he needed to placate with empty words. A wave of bitterness washed over me. He really thought I was that naive, that stupid?

My lips almost formed a thin, bitter smile. Real. He called me "real" while his words in French echoed in my head, branding me as "practice." The sheer arrogance, the audacity of it, was breathtaking. I pushed myself up from the bed, avoiding his gaze, and headed towards the door.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, his voice sharper now, accustomed to my instant obedience.

I didn' t answer. I just kept walking, out of the room, down the stairs. The house felt huge, empty, echoing with the silence of my shattered illusions. He followed, his footsteps heavy on the polished wood. I noticed, with a detached sort of observation, that his patience for my moods seemed to have worn thin. Usually, he'd charm me out of it, or wait for me to come around. Now, he was just annoyed.

In the kitchen, I went straight for the fridge. "I had the caterers stock up on all your favorites for breakfast," he said, his voice attempting a conciliatory tone, but still edged with impatience. "Pancakes, bacon, those little fruit tarts you love. Come on, let' s eat."

I ignored the spread, pulling out a plain yogurt and some granola. My appetite had vanished somewhere between pratique and Bella.

He watched me, his face darkening. "Yogurt? Seriously? I went to all that trouble, Kiera."

I poured the granola into the yogurt, carefully avoiding his gaze. "I' m not hungry for pastries, Felix."

His hand slammed down on the counter, making me jump. The glass of orange juice next to it toppled, spilling a bright, sticky mess across the pristine white marble. "What is your problem, Kiera? Is it Bella? Are you jealous?" His voice was a low snarl, his eyes blazing.

I sighed, a long, weary sound that came from the depths of my soul. "Jealous of what, Felix?" I countered, finally meeting his furious gaze. My voice was calm, almost detached. "Of being a 'safety net' ?"

His eyes widened fractionally, a flicker of surprise, then suspicion. "What are you talking about? What 'safety net' ?" He scoffed, looking away, then back at me. "Don' t be ridiculous. You' re my best friend, Kiera. You' re like… family." The word "family" was laced with a chilling dismissal. He'd never used that word when describing our intimacy.

Family. My best friend. Just a few hours ago, I'd been his lover. Now I was "family," a term he used to conveniently distance himself, to deny the intimacy we'd shared, to invalidate my feelings. The casual cruelty of it made my body tremble, not with fear, but with a cold, righteous anger.

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring his enraged face. A single tear escaped, tracing a path down my cheek. I hadn' t meant to cry, not in front of him, not now, when I needed to be strong.

He stared at me, his anger momentarily replaced by a flicker of bewilderment. "Kiera? What the hell? Why are you crying?" He sounded genuinely surprised, almost confused. He took a step towards me, reaching out a hesitant hand. "Hey, come on. Don' t cry. You know I hate it when you cry." He tried to pull me into a hug, a clumsy, forced gesture.

Just then, his phone buzzed. A vibrant, upbeat pop song blared from his pocket. He glanced down, his eyes widening slightly. He muttered a quick apology, pulling out his phone. His face immediately softened, a smile replacing his confused frown. "Hey, baby," he purred into the phone, his voice suddenly full of warmth and affection, a stark contrast to the anger he' d just directed at me. "Yeah, I just woke up. Just grabbing… um… coffee. Be there in twenty." He shot me a quick, dismissive glance, his eyes cold again. "Gotta go, Kiera. You know… work. Get over it."

Then he was gone, striding out of the kitchen, his voice already fading as he continued his sweet nothings to Bella. The heavy front door clicked shut, leaving me standing alone in the silent, messy kitchen, the spilled orange juice a bright, sticky stain on the marble.

My tears, which had paused, now started again, hot and heavy.