Oriel. Oriel. Fucking Oriel.

I hate that name, and the person and memories associated with it.

Hate that he left me. Left me for some blond bitch who looks like he belongs in fucking Hannah Montana.

'Never trust the pretty ones'. I should've known, goddammit.

What I hate most, probably, is that the cheating bastard had me so attached. Two weeks later and I'm lying on the couch, scrolling through Hannah Montana wannabe's TikTok page, wishing that the pictures of him with Oriel didn't make my eyes well up.

I lock my phone and put it down. I turn over on my side and stare at the carpet.

How could I hate Oriel's new guy for being happy? I can, for sure, hate Oriel. But I can't hate the new guy.

I drift into a loose sleep.

Somewhere around two hours later, I'm awoken by a knock. It's gentle, hesitant.

I sit up and wipe the sleep from my eyes.

The door is only ten feet away, but I don't want to move.

However; after the second knock, I get up and open it.

On the other side stands Hannah Montana wannabe.

He's fidgeting, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and not looking me in the eye. It occurs to me that I'm taller than him.

His blond hair covers most of his face, but I remember from the pictures that his eyes are brown, and he has freckles. He's dressed in classic skater fashion; with a couple books tucked under his arm.

He finally looks up and those eyes, rich brown and puffy from crying, take my breath.

"Can we talk?"