The Falcone Brothers want me

Vivian’s POV

You know that feeling when your life keeps spinning in circles but not the kind that makes you dizzy or light-headed. The kind where you’re just… stuck. Watching everything blur past you while you sit dead still in the middle.

That’s me. Right now.

Lying in my room. Naked. Eyes fixed on the ceiling like it might give me something....God, purpose, a crack, anything at all.

I should probably make pancakes. Midnight snacks always feel like a small kind of rescue.

Then someone clears their throat.

I turn my head slowly to the side but there’s no one beside me but then I glance down.

Oh.

Shit.

Scott’s between my legs. Just there. Staring up at me. Eyes locked on mine like I’m supposed to be doing something.

Right this was supposed to give me pleasure

I shape my mouth into a soft 'O', wrinkle my brows like maybe confusion can pass for ecstasy.”

He doesn’t react , I glance sideways and catch myself in the mirror.

I look constipated.

Great.

I dropped the expression going neutral that’s my default anyway.

“Are you kidding me, Vivian?” he says, he wasn't yelling but close enough

I just shake my head.

Nothing.

He huffs?... scoffs?.....whatever that sound is.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been down there?”

He gestures like the act owes him a medal.

“Thirty minutes, Vivian. Thirty and you’re just… what? Staring at the ceiling?”

We’ve been dating for three months. Supposedly.

I barely remember it. Just little flashes.....a blurry photo on my phone. A doughnut he brought me once that I didn’t even finish. His toothbrush in my bathroom keeps falling on the floor

That’s it.

That’s us.

I tug the blanket up over my chest like it can shield me from the awkwardness in the room . I grabbed my phone on the nightstand. I type:

“I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood maybe another night.”

I hold it up for him to read.

He stares at the screen, then at me. His face? Still pissed. Maybe disappointed. Honestly, I can’t even tell anymore.

We’ve been trying to have sex for weeks now. Maybe months. I’ve lost track, but my body never gets the memo. It just checks out, like it’s tuned to a different frequency. Like it doesn’t even register that someone else is in the room or even touching me

Sometimes, most times, I forget he’s even there.

There was this one time I felt something brush my thigh, and I panicked, thinking it was a mosquito. I slapped him.

I would break up with him. Honestly.

But he’s the first boyfriend I’ve ever had. The first person to claim that title, even if it doesn't quite feel real. Since I never dated in high school, my friends said I should try something new before college officially starts. “Live a little,” they said.

So I picked dating. That’s how I ended up here. In this exact moment.

One more month and I’ll just ghost him.

No breakup talk. No explanations. No need to sit across from someone and watch their face fall while I say nothing.

I’ll just vanish.

I never really dated, not because I didn’t want to, but because people only ever came close for one reason.

The way I looked.

Curvy, soft in the right places. Pretty, but not overwhelming. Just enough to be wanted. Just enough to be imagined, not known.

But that was all they ever saw.

What they didn’t see, what they didn’t stick around long enough to understand, is that I’m broken. Not in the poetic way. In the real, exhausting, unfixable way.

I can’t speak. Haven’t in years.

And when you live like that long enough, you learn something ugly.

People don’t stay kind to what they can’t understand.

At first, they try. They smile harder, lean in more, say things like “you’re so strong” and “it doesn’t matter.” But slowly, quietly, they start to shift. You become a burden. A silence they don’t know how to fill.

And then the little comments start. The impatience. The jokes that don’t feel like jokes.

And you realize you’ve become something they have to carry.

I’m not ready for that.

Not now. Maybe not ever.

Besides, my monster is still out there.

Why attach anyone to me when they’d only end up in danger

My eyes drift back to Scott. He’s already dressed, keys in hand, jaw tight I showed him the message again, just in case he forgot.....I’m sorry.

“Forget it,” he mutters. “I’m going home. See you monday.”

He doesn’t look back. He just leaves.

I sit up, wrap a robe around my shoulders, and walk to the kitchen to make pancakes. The scent of butter hitting the pan helps. A little.

My phone buzzes on the counter.

Lisa: I just went over the paintings. They’re so beautiful. The showcase will be amazing.

A small smile tugged at my lips. Lisa has been my agent since I decided to take painting seriously two months ago, but it already feels like a different life. She gets me in that quiet way. She knows I don’t want my identity out there, so she’s helping me sell them anonymously. This showcase would be my first. Nothing grand, but it would pay half a quarter of the debts.

The only reason I still have a roof over my head is because Grandma paid the rent ahead of time before the cancer took her. I couldn’t let her die so I took out loans, desperate to save her, but she died anyway.

With the loan hanging over me, college was out of the question. So while everyone else was packing up for campus, I was preparing to move to a smaller town and settle down on my own. I loved painting, but I still had to pick up side jobs. Serving food at events was the easiest to get.

I sent Lisa a simple thank you and carried my pancakes back to my room.

The cold air drifted in from the windows. I walked over to close them...

And then I saw him again.

Same place across the street. Just beyond the broken streetlight that flickers like it’s thinking. He just stood there, smoking.

The red ember of his cigarette gave him away. I couldn’t make out his face, just the broad shape of him.

That’s the fourth time this week.

Someone else has to see him, right? A neighbor. A dog walker. A car passing by. Anyone.

Why isn’t anyone disturbed?

But then a thought crossed my mind.

I stepped back from the window and went to the nightstand where my meds sit in their organizer. One for every day. Tiny white reminders that my brain isn’t always on my side.

I checked today’s slot.

Empty.

I took them.

I’m not hallucinating.

I rubbed my eyes just in case and looked back outside. But he was gone.

Again.

Always.

He never stays long enough to prove he’s real,

Just when I start to believe he’s there, he vanishes. Like he knows the exact second doubt creeps in. Like he’s waiting for me to break

I went out once Just to check but there was nothing. No footprints. No finished cigarette.

Nothing.

And it makes me wonder.......Really wonder.

What if I am going crazy?