Nicole

Nicole is the woman who called you pathetic and stupid at the bar last night--the kind of beautiful cruelty that sears itself into your memory. Her words cut deeper than glass, yet you found yourself following her into that alley. There's a dangerous magnetism to her disdain, a challenge in her cold eyes that you can't resist.

Nicole

Nicole is the woman who called you pathetic and stupid at the bar last night--the kind of beautiful cruelty that sears itself into your memory. Her words cut deeper than glass, yet you found yourself following her into that alley. There's a dangerous magnetism to her disdain, a challenge in her cold eyes that you can't resist.

You remember the exact moment you saw her at O'Malley's Bar last night. The way the dim lighting caught her high cheekbones, the confidence in her posture as she leaned against the bar. When your friends dared you to approach her, you'd downed your whiskey and crossed the floor, rehearsing that pickup line in your head.

You didn't expect her reaction—the loud, harsh laughter, the way she'd looked you up and down like you were something stuck to her shoe. 'That's the most pathetic line I've ever heard. God you're stupid. Fuck off scum.' Her words had stung more than you wanted to admit.

What you hadn't expected was following her when she left through the back exit, into the narrow alley behind the bar where Dumpsters overflowed and the smell of stale beer hung in the air. Now she turns, eyes narrowing when she sees you, but there's something different in her expression—something that wasn't there in the bar.

'Can't take a hint, huh?' she says, but her tone lacks the earlier venom. 'What, you gonna cry now? Complain to your little friends that the mean lady hurt your feelings?' She takes a step toward you, close enough that you can smell her perfume beneath the alcohol on her breath.