There’s muffled sobbing in the next room. Irene is crying again. Wendy has lost count of how many nights she’s been crying. She thinks it might be every night. Wendy does not comfort her. (She never comforts anyone. She won’t make an exception, not for Irene.)

She likes pretty girls. She likes Irene well enough, but it's the thrill of the chase that she adores. And though Irene is very, very pretty, she’s just too easy a catch. She had fallen for Wendy, hard and fast, and she thinks it’s all something from a song.

She knows that she’s hurting Irene. She had known from the start. It’s inevitable, it’s end game. She’s surprised that Irene didn’t anticipate it; everybody else did. She thinks that Irene is a little too naive, that she needs a little more edge. (She’s pretty in the streets and pretty in the sheets and Wendy is satisfied for a little while. She knows it won't last. It never does.)

Her friends tell her that it doesn’t matter. ‘She’s too good for you’, they said, ‘She’s going to change you’, they said. She enjoys proving people wrong.

She wonders what Irene’s friends told her.

She thinks it’s probably something along the lines of ‘She’s going to break your ing heart, you idiot’, or ‘You can do so much better’, possibly even ‘What the , Irene’.

Irene is special. Wendy knows that. She is sweet, she is caring, she is beautiful. It should be enough for her, it’s enough for everyone else. Everybody thinks that one day Irene is going to come to her senses and that she’s going to leave. She knows this. (They never realise that Wendy is the one that never stays.)

Irene wants her to change, their friends want her to change. Everyone expects her to change. Wendy likes to defy expectations. (She doesn’t want to change. Not for Irene.)

Every single one of Irene’s friends had known she was going to stray. Wendy remembers the disapproving looks, the cold shoulders, the angry whispers into Irene’s ears They weren’t subtle. They didn’t like her and they made sure she knew. One had glared particularly fiercely. And Wendy had taken note. She watches her watch Irene. She makes her conclusions.

Monolids stares at Irene the way Wendy should. It’s amusing to watch. Irene doesn’t notice that she’s a tangle of jealousy and anger and something a little dark. (Wendy thinks there's something about her.)

Wendy is not nice. This everybody knows. She can be petty and spiteful and she always get what she wants. And she wants monolids to lose.

It’s easy enough. Irene already thinks she’s a dream come true. Wendy doesn’t pretend to be something she’s not. Irene makes the mistake that they all do. They think that she’s acting tough, that deep down she’s has a poet’s soul. And that all they need to do is change her, all they need to do is fix her. (What you see is what you get. They never seem to understand that she doesn’t need saving.)

She’s more affectionate with Irene. She keeps Monolids in her line of sight. It becomes a game, how far Wendy can push before she retreats. It’s push and pull and it makes her feel alive.

They meet up in dingy bars when the moon in high and take shots until the dawn breaks. Wendy is surprised that Irene has a friend like that. They are night and day. She starts her first bar fight and she gives as good as she gets. Irene's friend leans against the wall and laughs when the doctor gives her stitches. (There’s a scar over her eyebrow now. Wendy doesn’t mind. Chicks dig scars.)

They end up at at a dark club with ty lights. Wendy grinds against Irene on the dance floor and puts on the best show of her life. She can feel almond eyes burning into her back. She pulls Irene closer. They get drinks, all of them. One shot, two shot, three.

Irene leaves early. She’s never been one for much excitement. So Wendy dances with a random girl. She makes sure she’s seen. Her hands slide lower and lower. Until they’re wrenched away and she’s being dragged off into the crowd. She's done this a thousand times and it's never failed her. It's almost too easy. 

There’s angry words and nails digging into her skin. Wendy relishes in her rage. This is new. It’s exhilarating and she wants more. She presses Monolids against the wall , slides clawed hands into auburn hair and tastes her fury. They kiss with clashing teeth and Wendy has never felt so alive. There's surprise and resentment, but no guilt. Wendy smirks and slides her hand up smooth skin. She isn't told to stop.

She takes her home. The sheets still smell like Irene. And they both know it. It doesn’t stop either of them. Wendy wakes with bruises on her wrists and teeth marks scattered across her neck.

There’s a familiar shirt on the floor and she puts it on. It puts all the marks on display and Wendy keeps it on. Irene recognises it and her smile dims. She should have seen this coming. 

Wendy wonders if it will happen again, now that Irene knows. (They start and they don’t stop. Every time they kiss, Wendy tastes victory on her tongue.)