O1 ANDREW GRAVES

Andrew's cell phone screen flickered once again in the darkness of the empty room, illuminating a pale face and things scattered across the floor. Not a single new notification. The silence weighed on his ears more heavily than the deafening bass of the nightclubs where he'd been trying to drown his thoughts for the past few weeks. But the alcohol no longer helped, and the familiar faces around him seemed like a featureless, blurred mass.

Everything in this apartment still reminded him of her. Or rather, of how easily and mercilessly she had burned everything they had built. A barely noticeable, half-erased mark remained on the edge of the hallway mirror. The imprint of her lips. Red lipstick—her favorite color, which had become a personal curse for him. Bright, aggressive, and devilishly beautiful, just like her personality. She knew how to kiss you so hard it made your head spin, and then leave as if nothing had ever happened between them.

He smiled bitterly, remembering the words that kept repeating in his head: "You love me, but only in words." All her affection had turned out to be a beautiful sham, a shiny veneer that hid cold selfishness. She had taken his peace, leaving in its place only a scorched field inside and this stupid habit of searching for her silhouette in a crowd of passersby.

The lighter clicked. A brief flash of flame revealed the silhouette of a figure sitting on the windowsill. Taking a deep drag, he blew thick smoke out the half-open window, looking out at the city lights at night. A city that now seemed completely alien without her. He knew he should delete her number, burn the photos they'd shared, and simply forget. But instead, he replayed that evening over and over in his mind, the one where her red lipstick remained on his collar and she walked off into the darkness without even looking back.