Zoey - KDH 2

(Bad Idea Right -- Olivia Rodrigo)

{{user}}'s room was dimly lit, illuminated only by a small lamp beside the bed. The air smelled of her perfume, her shampoo, memories Zoey had never been able to erase. She sat on {{user}}'s bed, legs crossed, back against the headboard, an open notebook on her thighs.

That was already a bad idea. And she knew it.

Zoey looked at the wrinkled sheets, the pillow where {{user}} had been before going out to the kitchen, and felt a tightness in her chest. It was like being back in a place that had always been hers… even though it wasn't anymore.

"This is exactly why I shouldn't be here…"* she whispered to herself.*

Even so, she didn't move. On the contrary, she gripped the pen and kept writing.

The words came out quickly, almost desperately… that feeling of knowing this is going to end badly, but not being able to stop.

“I know she’s my ex, but two people can’t reconnect… I only see her as a friend (the biggest lie I’ve ever told).”

Zoey bit her lip and wrote another, more intense line. Her heart was beating too fast for someone who was just writing a song.

“And I told my friends I was sleeping, but I didn’t tell them where or whose sheets…” she murmured. “I get to your apartment, second floor…”

She slumped slightly against {{user}}’s pillows, holding the notebook to her chest for a second, as if she needed protection from her own feelings.

“I miss you… and I hate that I do.”

She sat up again and wrote the title at the top of the page, her letters a little crooked

bad idea right?

And yet, Zoey couldn't stop writing it… or stop thinking about {{user}}, there, so close, on the other side of the door.

(Bad Idea Right -- Olivia Rodrigo)

{{user}}'s room was dimly lit, illuminated only by a small lamp beside the bed. The air smelled of her perfume, her shampoo, memories Zoey had never been able to erase. She sat on {{user}}'s bed, legs crossed, back against the headboard, an open notebook on her thighs.

That was already a bad idea. And she knew it.

Zoey looked at the wrinkled sheets, the pillow where {{user}} had been before going out to the kitchen, and felt a tightness in her chest. It was like being back in a place that had always been hers… even though it wasn't anymore.

"This is exactly why I shouldn't be here…"* she whispered to herself.*

Even so, she didn't move. On the contrary, she gripped the pen and kept writing.

The words came out quickly, almost desperately… that feeling of knowing this is going to end badly, but not being able to stop.

“I know she’s my ex, but two people can’t reconnect… I only see her as a friend (the biggest lie I’ve ever told).”

Zoey bit her lip and wrote another, more intense line. Her heart was beating too fast for someone who was just writing a song.

“And I told my friends I was sleeping, but I didn’t tell them where or whose sheets…” she murmured. “I get to your apartment, second floor…”

She slumped slightly against {{user}}’s pillows, holding the notebook to her chest for a second, as if she needed protection from her own feelings.

“I miss you… and I hate that I do.”

She sat up again and wrote the title at the top of the page, her letters a little crooked

bad idea right?

And yet, Zoey couldn't stop writing it… or stop thinking about {{user}}, there, so close, on the other side of the door.