Unspoken Vows and Shattered Ties

The beat of the bass vibrated through the floorboards, a steady pulse rattling the creaky walls of the old frat house. I stood against the chipped paint, a sweating beer in my hand, and observed Timothy spin his new girlfriend around the impromptu dance floor. She was blonde this time—tart, all hard angles and laughter that sliced through the room like glass. Transient, like the rest. He twirled her under the string lights, their glow dim and sparse, his smile wide enough to light up the room, and I counted out the steps. One, two, three. He's dancing with some other girl, always, and I'm here, always counting.

The night was filled with spilled liquor and stenchy perfume, the kind of night when everyone behaves like they're infinite. Graduation party. Four years of late-night cramming and awful coffee reduced to this—a hot, screaming farewell. I should have been out there, laughing, drunk on freedom like the others. I was trapped, though, eyes on Timothy as he lowered her, her hair dragging on the floor. My chest tightened, an old ache I'd learned to swallow.

"Staring again, Mo?" Leo's voice crept up beside me, low and goading. He leaned against the wall too, arms folded, his dark curls shining in the light. He'd lost his graduation cap somewhere, so his tie was loose like he'd already clocked out of this life.

"I'm not staring," I growled, taking a swig of the beer. It tasted like regret—flat, warm, a mistake I kept making.

"Sure you're not." He smiled, that smug look he'd been perfecting since sophomore year. "You've got it bad, huh?"

"Shut up, Leo." I pushed him, but it wasn't with any passion. He wasn't wrong. He never was, not about this.

Timothy laughed from the other side of the room, loud and happy, the sound piercing the noise like it was made for me to hear. Golden hair mussed from dancing, hazel eyes glinting in the light—he was the kind of pretty that made you forgive him everything. Forgetting your birthday. Swiping your notes and then losing them. Making you attend parties you did not want to go to, like this one. I had forgiven him a thousand times before, and I would do so a thousand times again. Leo elbowed me again. "You gonna tell him tonight? Big night, big confession. Perfect movie moment."

"No." The word was brusquer than I meant, and I softened it with a shrug. "He's happy. Look at him."

"Happy's overrated," grumbled Leo, but dropped it, sipping his own drink. He knew when to rock the boat and when to keep quiet. That was how he'd lasted as my friend—ours, in fact. Timothy's too.

The music shifted, slower now, and Timothy let go of the blonde, winking at her teasingly. She stumbled to her group, and he glanced around, eyes locking on me. My breathing hitched. He started toward me, working his way through the crowd, all smooth steps and that smile that could ruin me if I let it.

"Mo!" he yelled, voice carrying over the commotion. "You sneaking over here?"

"Not sneaking," I lied, trying to hold my head high. "Just. observing."

"Watching's boring." He pulled me by the arm, toward the rear door. "You're coming out with me. Come on."

I didn't struggle.

I never could. Leo gave me an eyebrow as we passed him, but I brushed him aside and let Timothy drag me through the door. Night dropped cool against my skin, a relief from the damp heat inside. Stars sparkled in the sky, small against the light of the city, and music quieted to a distant thump behind us. Timothy stood with his back against the wall, pockets held in his hands, and I stood beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. "Man," he said, reclining on his head, "that was insane. Four years, done. You think it? "

"Yeah," I replied, because what else was I to say? My throat was tight, words piling up I couldn't let out.

He gazed at me, his face soft in the gloom. "She's great, you know? Jess. Funny, loud. But." He stopped there, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know, Mo. None of them are it. Like, what if I never do find it? The one?"

My heart thudded against my ribs. Say it. Say it now. "You will," I managed, voice steady in spite of what was churning inside. "You always think it out."

He smiled, low and a little sad. "You give me too much credit."

If you only knew. I had opened my lips, the words just there—It's you, it's always been you—but the door burst open and Leo stumbled out, a bottle held aloft above his head.

"To the end of an era!" he shouted, spilling whatever was in it onto the porch. Some of the others cheered from inside, and Timothy grinned, patting me on the shoulder.

"Saved by the bell, eh?" he said, stepping away from the wall. "One dance more, come on."

I followed him back, the moment lost, consumed by the noise. He swept Jess up again, spinning her into the crowd, and I leaned against the wall, Leo appearing beside me.

"You were going to do it," he said, his voice gentler now. "I saw it."

"Doesn't matter," I said, glancing at Timothy. "He wouldn't understand."

Leo didn't object. He just stood there with me, the two of us silent as the party roared around us. And then I heard it—Sarah's voice, sharp and fast, cutting through the giggles around the door. My mother, steel and tradition, standing there in navy, phone to her ear. She'd flatly refused to come—"Waste of time," she'd said—but now here she was, probably here to drag me in.

Emma's family is waiting for the engagement by summer," she said, speaking loudly enough for me to hear above the music. Her eyes snapped in my direction, narrowing as they fell on Timothy spinning Jess around. She disapproved of him—always had. Too boisterous, too wild, too everything she wasn't.

My stomach dropped, a shiver creeping in. Engagement. The term was a noose, tightening with every breath. I'd realized it was going to happen—Sarah had been dropping hints for months—but to hear it like that, so definitively, made it concrete. Emma. Sweet, demure Emma, whom I barely knew beyond formal dinners and Sarah's fulsome praise.

"Mo?" Leo's voice brought me back. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'm good," I lied, attempting to smile. "Just tired."

He didn't buy it, but he did release it. On the other side of the room, Timothy laughed again, spinning Jess around him, oblivious to the hurricane starting to form inside of me. The lights flashed, the music pounded, and I stood there, beer abandoned in my hand, watching him dance.

He'll never have a clue, I thought, hurt seeping through me like water and ink. And I'll never be free.

The party continued, but I was elsewhere, stuck between the world I desired and the one coming at me.