Their apartment is the biggest and that’s why it’s the designated place for everyone to hang out. Irene’s always had a bit of a cleaning thing going on so it’s definitely the cleanest too.

She’s surrounded by friends, there’s chicken on the table and a cold beer in her hand. Wendy should be feeling great.

She doesn’t feel great at all.

There’s a bitter taste in and Wendy knows exactly why. There’s a girl in Irene’s lap, pretty and blushing, and oh what a pair they make.

I met her first. She thinks these words but she never said them. Every time Irene introduces another pretty face, every time she brings somebody new home. They won’t be said: there’s words lodged in , letters clenched between her teeth and not a syllable escapes.

Unsaid words always leave behind an unpleasant aftertaste.

She’s not too sure how long she’s been zoning out for. Her beer’s no longer cold and the skin is drawn tight over her knuckles. She can feel the tension in her hands. Just a little more strength and she could shatter the bottle.

Wendy gulps down her now lukewarm beer. It tastes bitter.

She adores sweet foods. She likes to bake. She likes making desserts. As a result, she’s also really keen on dental hygiene. (She might have recurring nightmares about her teeth falling out, but who needs to know about those. Nobody needs about the ones involving Irene either.)

Recently, everything just tastes bitter. She’d measure out perfect quantities of sugar and syrup and it wouldn’t taste sweet at all. Everyone else assures that her creations taste heavenly, like always, so maybe it’s all just in her head.

She knows exactly what it is. It’s a cycle. The bitterness starts when the words begin.

I loved you first. They’re not the usual words that every girl wants to hear. Wendy doesn’t think she’ll be able to say them. Things that are supposed to be sweet end up bitter when it comes to her.

Irene deserves better than that.