I woke up and she was tattooing me. My boyfriend's childhood friend—art student, steady hand—bent over my bare arm with a needle, completely absorbed, like I was a sketch pad she'd found lying around.

Curtis smiled. "She said your skin's nice and smooth, perfect for practice. What do you think—cute, right?"

I nearly lost it. The police academy physical was two days away.

That tattoo destroyed everything. I would never pass the medical screening now.

Gretchen Winfield pouted and ducked behind Curtis Harding. "Your girlfriend is so scary. I spent three whole hours on that, and she doesn't even appreciate it."

He frowned at me too—like I was the one being cruel.

My vision blurred with heat. "My dad gave his whole life to the force and died before he could make peace with it—and because of you two, I'll never carry his badge number!"

Curtis reached over and patted my head like he was soothing a child. "Look, I just didn't want you grinding yourself down like that, okay? All that pressure, for your whole life? Now we can go to the same school. Isn't that better?"

He'd promised we'd take the academy entrance exam together—but Gretchen could only get into a vocational college, and he'd rather tank his own future than let her feel left behind. He even dragged me down with him.

What he didn't know was that my family, terrified I'd walk the same road as my father, had already quietly arranged a university overseas for me.

The future I'd fought so hard against had become my only way out.

I called my mother.

"Mom, I'll go. Yes, next month."

——

Gretchen hadn't used any anesthetic. My reddened arm still throbbed with a low, constant sting, and the slightest movement sent cold sweat down my back.

I looked at the glass of milk on the table, the one Curtis had brought me himself:

"You're always saying you can't sleep. Warm milk should help."

I've always been wary by nature. That milk was probably not just milk.

I'd had nightmare after nightmare while I was out, but none of them were as horrifying as what I saw when I opened my eyes.

The lines on my arm were crooked, wobbly, childish as a toddler's crayon scrawl—and this pathetic little doodle was enough to erase years of everything I'd worked for.

"Immy, do you think I have talent? I only learned from my instructor for one week, and you got my very first piece! Curtis wanted one, but I couldn't bear to waste it on him!"

Gretchen shot Curtis a coy look, flirting with him right in front of me.

"Curtis, doesn't this design look familiar?"

He thought about it, but couldn't seem to place it.

Gretchen sighed.

"God, boys are so clueless. Imogen, let me tell you. He designed this pattern for me when we were kids."

"Said when we grew up and got married, he'd put it on our marriage certificate. Such a shame—I don't think that's ever going to happen now."

Her face was full of wistful regret. I was shaking with rage.

"If it's your memory together, why didn't you tattoo it on yourself? Why put it on me?"

Gretchen stuck out her tongue, playful as ever.

"Oh come on, I'm scared of pain! Curtis said your dream is to be a police officer, right? This little sting is nothing. Stop being so dramatic."

My fists clenched so tight my knuckles ached, and my gaze cut into her like a blade.

Curtis stepped in front of Gretchen, shielding her. "Imogen, you don't like it, fine, drop it. Why do you have to be so petty about everything? She's our friend. Can't you just support her?"

I laughed—short, hollow. Looked at him with something close to pity.

"Sure. Then go be her friend."

After that day, I didn't say a single word to Curtis.

I hadn't recovered from watching my dream get ripped apart, and he was too proud to come to me first.

He caved before I did. Stood below my building calling my name, over and over and over.

I wouldn't come down. So he kept going.

He kept going until the neighbors started knocking on our door, asking if anyone was even home.

"I know I was wrong. Please stop being angry with me?"

Curtis watched my expression carefully.

"Weather's perfect tomorrow. Let's go hiking—I've mapped out the whole route. I promise I'll get you to the best view on that mountain."

I stared at the pages and pages of notes he'd put together, and my resolve cracked.

I'd been dreaming about that mountain for so long. Curtis and I had agreed ages ago that we'd go right after exams, that we'd make it all the way to the summit to see the famous painted clouds.

"Do you want to go? It's fine if you don't, I've got other ideas too..." He smiled and started flipping through more of his plans.

I pressed my hand over his. "You don't have to. Let's go hiking."

He finally seemed to breathe.

After my father died in the line of duty, I'd taken a week off school.

It was Curtis who gave up the only study trip of senior year, left Gretchen behind, and dragged me to a mountaintop to clear my head.

Under all those stars, I couldn't hold it in anymore—tears sliding down before I even opened my mouth:

"My dad used to take me hiking here when I was little. He'd point down at the city and say, 'This is what Daddy spends his whole life protecting.' And I asked him, 'Then who protects me?'"

"He laughed. He said, 'When it's dark and you can't see the road, look up at the stars. Daddy's always right there beside you.'"

I sobbed until I couldn't breathe. "He's such a liar. You can't see the stars every night. Where's my dad? Where did my dad go?"

A gust of wind swept the last wisps of cloud away, and moonlight spilled across the ground.

Curtis pulled me in, arms tight around me, his chin pressed to my hair. "I'll protect you, Immy. If you can't see the stars, the moon's always there."

Maybe he really had remembered our promise all along.

But the next morning, I watched Gretchen ordering Curtis around, loading him up with bag after bag of her things.

She turned back to me with a smug little smile:

"Oh, Immy—I wanted to sketch up on the mountain, and it'd be so boring by myself, so I brought you along too. You don't mind, do you?"

My face went cold. I looked at Curtis, who said nothing.

"And if I do mind, Gretchen? Why do you have to be everywhere?"

Gretchen glared at me.

"Wow, how can you even say that? I felt bad watching you mope around, so I talked Curtis into inviting you. Don't want to come? Fine. He wasn't planning to bring you anyway."

My nails bit into my palms, and the pain shot straight to my heart.

I stared at Curtis, waiting for anything. He gave me nothing. Eventually I had to look away.

"Go ahead, you two. Have fun. From now on, do whatever you want. Just leave me out of it."

Every word came out measured and deliberate: "Especially hiking. I hate hiking more than anything in this world."

Curtis frowned. "Imogen, why are you making this into a thing? Gretchen just happened to pick the same mountain. You've wanted to go forever—stop being stubborn. Any later and we'll miss the clouds."

I let out a cold laugh, swung the backpack I'd stayed up all night packing back onto my shoulders, and turned away.

"I said I'm not going. I'm not going."

By the time I walked away, I'd already missed the way Curtis's face went dark.

Gretchen's photos blanketed my Instagram feed—every time I scrolled, another one appeared, like she was terrified I might look away for even a second.

One was two silhouettes watching the clouds together, pressed so close that Gretchen's head tilted toward Curtis's profile, lips almost grazing his cheek. The intimacy was deliberate and impossible to miss.

Her caption was loaded with smug little emojis:

Childhood sweethearts, together forever! @Curtis Harding

The comments were a parade of congratulations:

Finally together! It's about time! Couple goals, locked in forever!

Told you—no rebound fling can compete with a childhood sweetheart. Curtis Harding can turn all the heads he wants, but my girl Gretta's still got him on a leash.

I screenshotted the post and flung it at Curtis, demanding an explanation.

He told me not to worry. He'd handle it.

"That's just how Gretchen is—she's like a kid, always getting into trouble without thinking. But she really doesn't mean any harm. Trust me, I'll get her to set the record straight."

What I got instead was a brand-new Instagram post from Gretchen.

I want to publicly apologize to Imogen. I shouldn't have gone hiking with Curtis. I shouldn't have clung to him for photos. I shouldn't still need to be around him every second the way I did when we were kids. I'm sorry. I'm just so used to it being just the two of us.

The comments piled on: Who's Imogen? Whoever she is, can she back off? Can't she see these two were literally made for each other? Way to kill the vibe.

Seriously, bullying a sweet, gentle girl like Gretchen? What kind of person does that?

Curtis replied with a hug emoji:

There's a part of my life that can never be replaced. It will always belong to you.

Everyone praised how pure and real their bond was after all these years. And through all of it, Curtis never once stepped forward to acknowledge me. He just let me become the single ugly stain on their beautiful story.

Something inside me broke, and the sharp edges stayed where they landed.

Curtis messaged me:

Gretchen already apologized. Can you just let it go and stop being mad at her?

I was so angry I laughed. I was an only child. Nobody ever taught me how to "be the bigger person."

They only ever taught me that if I believed in something, I should be brave enough to act on it.

Right now was no different.

No.

Curtis, if you keep protecting her like this, we're done.

Nothing from his end for a long time. Then, finally:

I swear it won't happen again.

Things between Curtis and me stiffened after that—not a clean break, but a barb lodged just under the skin.

He still shared bits of his day with me, still invited me out.

After the humiliation on the mountain, I turned him down every time. He never pushed.

With my departure approaching, I decided to find the right moment to say a proper goodbye.

As it happened, he mentioned a new shop that had opened nearby and asked if I wanted to check it out together.

This time, I said yes.

I just never expected it to be a tattoo shop—or that the one greeting us would be Gretchen Winfield.

She shot Curtis a knowing look, all playful eyes and raised brows:

"Oh wow, what are the chances! Imogen, I swear this is totally random—Curtis and I are just destined to keep bumping into each other, what can I do? So don't go around crying that I stole your boyfriend again, okay?"

My expression went ice-cold. I shook Curtis's hand off and turned to leave.

He caught up in a few quick strides:

"What now? She works here part-time—the owner's still deciding whether to keep her on. We're her friends, can't we at least show up and make the place look busier? Is that really too much to ask?"

I didn't turn around. My voice came out flat and hard. "She's your friend, not mine. Why should I have to help her?"

Curtis grabbed my hand, pleading. "Just do it as a favor to me, okay? After this, I promise I won't let her show up in front of you again. Being caught between you two is hard on me too."

I couldn't win against him. In the end, he pulled me back inside.

Gretchen was propped on one hand, watching us walk back in. She curled her lip:

"Imogen's got quite the temper, huh. I don't know how you deal with her. I mean, last time she made me apologize in front of everyone, and I just went and did it—not a peep out of me."