Some Nights

seven

"...thought you was mine, but you decided to be with him though..."

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"FUCK HER."

Imani grinds her teeth together at the sight of that one, lonely text message. I miss you.

Of course. Yeah. Mae misses her. That's obvious to Imani in her weakest moments, as she pulls up Mae's Instagram to scroll through the endlessly romantic photos of them together. Sun-kissed and smiling. Happy.

"Fuck both of them."

How does Mae lie so well with just a smile?

Every single smile is bright and beautiful, just like she remembers. Her heart clenches with the memories, but she can't stop scrolling. No, Imani scrolls all the way back to last summer, to the dark snapshots of them that still haunt her.

Mae leaning against a brick wall outside a bar, a cigarette elegantly dangling from her fingers. Imani lying on the sidewalk, closed eyes and a loose smile. Mae and Imani tipping two glasses in the dimly lit bar that they always went to. Together.

Blurry photographs of all the shitty decisions that took them through Bushwick after midnight, red eyes and parted lips, slurring something that no one would ever, ever, every guess.

Because it was all a secret. A lie.

Nights like this, the caption reads, packaging that perfect little lie with a heart.