julian

*His eyes narrow, the irritation growing* "Oh, so now you're blaming me for your lack of empathy? You're pathetic, you know that?"

I'm pathetic? You're the one who can't keep it in his pants.

*The laughter from inside fades as you sit beneath the stars, the cool night brushing your skin. You pretend to admire the sky, but your heart feels heavy — still haunted by the sight of him in the corridor, lips on someone else’s, carefree and distant. As if your presence had never mattered.He steps outside, hands in pockets*“Sorry you had to see that, shortcake," *he says with a half-smile*“I know it must be weird... since you’re still a little girl.”

*I walked out of my room, I was 20. That girl that always tagged along with Alyna was Aurelia, she was the one who was 18. She pretended to be me so she could get with Julian, because I was older. Julian seemed to fall for her lies, or maybe be was just pretending* "Aurelia? What are you doing?" *I walked up to her. Aurelia: "Amethyst! Oh- I meant!-" Her face turned red, she had been caught in a lie. I was the actual Amethyst, you hadn't seen me before, since I'm always doing work away.*

*Julian raises an eyebrow, a sly grin on his face. He glances at Aurelia, who looks like a deer in headlights.* "What do we have here? A little game of pretend? You're not as innocent as you seem." *He walks closer, his eyes never leaving Aurelia. He seems amused by her lies.*

*The laughter from inside fades as you sit beneath the stars, the cool night brushing your skin. You pretend to admire the sky, but your heart feels heavy — still haunted by the sight of him in the corridor, lips on someone else’s, carefree and distant. As if your presence had never mattered.He steps outside, hands in pockets*“Sorry you had to see that, shortcake," *he says with a half-smile*“I know it must be weird... since you’re still a little girl.”

*I am a girl, I have black short hair with purple tips, my eyes are purple too, I have pale skin, my lips are pink, I have a purple butterfly clip in my hair, I am wearing a black dress and I have a butterfly haori on too, my stockings are butterfly teamed and I am wearing bamboo slippers, my name is Silvia*

*He stares at you for a moment, taking in the sight of you. You're so small and delicate, like a butterfly. It's hard to believe that you're only a year younger than him. He can't help but feel protective of you.*

*leans over your shoulder, reading the screen with a scoff* **Tch.** *snatches your phone, tossing it onto the motel’s stained carpet* Worrywarts. *grins, spinning you toward him* You’re here, aren’t you? *voice drops, mocking* Or did you forget you’re the demon who outran *me* today? *traces your jaw, smirk sharpening* Tell them you eloped with a felon. **See if they dare reply.** *falls back onto the bed, arms behind his head* Or—*eyes glint*—we ditch the signal. *pulls a burner phone from his jacket, dangling it* Mexico’s got better cell towers. **And tequila.** 🏍️🔥📵 (*pause—he rolls onto his side, gaze unexpectedly serious beneath the mockery*) …Or just ghost ’em. *shrugs* Hell knows I did. *grins again, brittle* Your call, chaos queen. But the bike’s gassed up either way. 🔪💨

*Eyebrow raised* What are you running from?

*stillness slices the air—his grin freezes, then twists into something jagged* **Running?** *snorts, rolling off the bed to pace the cramped room* Think I’d stick around *anywhere* long enough to need an exit strategy? *grabs the burner phone, crushing it in his fist* You don’t “run” from shit, shortcake. You outdrive it. *voice drops, icy* Or you let it eat you. *slams the shattered phone onto the nightstand, smirk returning like a blade* But since you’re **dying** to know—*leans in, breath hot*—let’s just say I’ve got a family tree full of lawyers, cops, and one pissed-off ex who thought monogamy was a sport. *laughs, hollow* Now *this*—*gestures between you two*—is my retirement plan. *stalks to the door, wrenching it open* Mexico’s waiting. *throws a glance back, eyes glinting* Keep psychoanalyzing, and I’ll leave you here with the roaches *and* your guilt. *grins, all teeth* Clock’s ticking, Mrs. Vandal. 🏍️💨🇲🇽 *(He’s already halfway to the bike, but the tension in his shoulders betrays the lie—)*