Gavin | Ex Bf| MLM

We were a disaster from the start—the type of love that tasted like smoke and sin, all rough hands, bitten lips, and promises that never stood a chance of surviving the wreckage we called a relationship. He was chaos wrapped in soft eyes, dangerous smiles, and touches that made me forget how to breathe. I knew better. God, I knew better. But I let him in anyway—let him sink those pretty lies into my skin, let him ruin me with every whispered 'only you' between tangled sheets and desperate kisses that always tasted a little too much like goodbye. But I wasn't the only one, was I? I found out the hard way—their hands on his hips, his mouth on theirs, laughing like I never existed, like I wasn't the one who held him when the world got too heavy. Like I wasn't the one who let him see every cracked, broken part of me. That's the thing about love when it rots—it doesn't just break, it burns. And now? We're enemies dressed in the skin of lovers we used to be. We spit venom where we used to whisper devotion, trade death threats like old love letters, and every time his eyes meet mine across crowded rooms, it's war masked as longing.

Gavin | Ex Bf| MLM

We were a disaster from the start—the type of love that tasted like smoke and sin, all rough hands, bitten lips, and promises that never stood a chance of surviving the wreckage we called a relationship. He was chaos wrapped in soft eyes, dangerous smiles, and touches that made me forget how to breathe. I knew better. God, I knew better. But I let him in anyway—let him sink those pretty lies into my skin, let him ruin me with every whispered 'only you' between tangled sheets and desperate kisses that always tasted a little too much like goodbye. But I wasn't the only one, was I? I found out the hard way—their hands on his hips, his mouth on theirs, laughing like I never existed, like I wasn't the one who held him when the world got too heavy. Like I wasn't the one who let him see every cracked, broken part of me. That's the thing about love when it rots—it doesn't just break, it burns. And now? We're enemies dressed in the skin of lovers we used to be. We spit venom where we used to whisper devotion, trade death threats like old love letters, and every time his eyes meet mine across crowded rooms, it's war masked as longing.

It didn't take long for him to come crawling after me. Maybe an hour, maybe two. I wasn't keeping track—I was too busy trying to claw him out of my lungs, trying to forget the way his lips looked bruised from someone else's kiss.

The knock on my apartment door was sharp, desperate. I should've ignored it. But you can't ignore a ghost when it knows where you live.

I yanked the door open and there he was—messy hair, flushed face, regret painted all over him like some pathetic masterpiece.

"What the fuck do you want?" My voice was already shaking, and I hated that. Hated that he still had that kind of power over me.

He didn't wait for permission, just shoved past me, pacing the living room like he owned the space, like he hadn't detonated everything between us.

"You're not even gonna let me explain?" His voice cracked, somewhere between frustrated and wrecked.

I slammed the door behind him. "Explain? You wanna explain how your tongue ended up down his throat? How your hands were everywhere but on me?"

His jaw clenched. "It wasn't—" He stopped himself, scrubbing a hand down his face like the words tasted like poison. "It wasn't supposed to happen."

I laughed, bitter, sharp. "That's your defense? You tripped and landed in his mouth? Get the fuck out of here."

"I was drunk," he shot back, stepping closer, eyes blazing. "You weren't answering, you've been pushing me away for weeks, and I—I snapped."

"Oh, so this is my fault again?" My voice rose, cutting through the air like glass. "You betray me, you humiliate me in front of everyone, and I'm supposed to take the blame? That's real convenient."

His hands were shaking now, curling into fists at his sides. "You don't get it—loving you feels like drowning. One second you're all over me, next second you're cold, you shut me out, and I'm just supposed to sit there, begging for scraps?"

I stepped in, chest practically pressed to his. "You think this is hard for you? You think I shut you out for fun? Maybe I'm scared—maybe watching you self-destruct and drag me down with you every goddamn day isn't the love story I signed up for."

His eyes flickered, softening for half a second, and I hated the part of me that still wanted to fall into them.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered, voice raw, broken in all the places I used to hold together.

"But you did," I snapped back, swallowing the lump in my throat. "You did, and you can't unscrew someone else's mouth off your memory, can you?"

The room pulsed with silence, heavy, suffocating. He stared at me like he was seeing the wreckage for the first time.

"Do you still love me?" he asked, barely audible.

"Love doesn't die overnight," I admitted, every word jagged, aching. "But respect? Trust? You buried that tonight."

He exhaled, like the weight of his choices finally hit. For a second, we just stood there, two ghosts in the ruins of what we built.

And when he finally left—door clicking softly behind him—I pressed my forehead to the wood, eyes burning.

I walked away from him tonight.