“Why did you do it?” August asks, her voice unsteady, every muscle in her body working hard to force the words out. “What were you thinking? Did you think... I mean, d-did you think about how it would… hurt me?”

Celeste cowers under the weight of August’s words, cutting right to their bones, and they’re unable to look August in the eye. The guilt knotting deep and low in their belly, eating from the inside out.

“Yes.” Celeste replies, arms crossing, body folding, cerulean eyes low.

A beat. quiet and violent. Anger rising.

August can feel the white-hot malice rushing through her veins. Boiling and painful. Undampened by the pouring rain, beating down on the awning above.

“Is… is that all you have to say?” August asks, fists clenching, bistre eyes shooting to the sky, hoping to hold the tears in.

“I don't think there's anything… I-I can say…” Celeste tries, flashing a look to a tense August, seeing the effect of her words, scrambling to find ones that could fit. “A-anything that can r-really get across how… how s-sorry I am, and… h-how wrong I was.”

August can feel the urge to scream, to cry, to slap Celeste right across their cheating face, all fighting to come to the surface, to express this burning betrayal.

“You could start by…” August forces out, jaw tight, full lips still, breath fast and scalding. “By saying that you were wrong… and even… that you're sorry.”

Celeste looks again to August, catching the words as each one escapes, shame rushing her system, sweaty and sticky, even as the heat-breaking rain pelts hard around them.

“You're… you’re r-right.” Celeste concedes, eyes looking through mousy blonde locks, words full of penance. “I was wr-wrong. Really re-really wrong and I'm… so fucking s-sorry, I'm so sorry August.”

Their words hit August where she was already bleeding. Why not call her: ‘August Tandi-Andersen, child of Dr. Faye Tandi and Mx. Alf Andersen’, while they’re at it.

Though perhaps a nickname, or term of endearment, would plunge the knife in further, cut through the fleshy insides, spilling fiery burgundy onto the handle, and down onto the concrete.

“And I th-think like, why I'm so like, q-quiet…” Celeste begins again, seeing the hurt her words are causing, but knowing she has to push on. “I th-think… I’m quiet b-because… because… my brain is, like, tr-trying to say all this st-stuff and I want it to c-come out… right.”

August nods. Small and pulsing with anger. Breaths weighty, puffing out her chest completely, the air granting her strength and patience with each inhale.

Small sprinkles sinking into her pumpkin t-shirt, sticking to brown skin, gluing short, dark, ringlet curls to her tense jaw, the water inescapable, finding its way onto August, like the rage. Twisting and winding and seeping through her body, despite her best efforts to remain as calm and open as possible.

“Because I-I think… well, m-maybe I know… that t-there's nothing, not one th-thing, like, at all, that I can say to t-take any of it b-back.” They continue, watching August inflate and deflate, cursing their past choices. “I d-don't… like, I don’t th-think there's anything I can s-say that can r-really fix any… any of th-this.”

August breathing Celeste’s words in, bobbing on the balls of her feet, gaze locked on the awning, unaware of watching cerulean eyes.

“Ok, I mean… that’s a good start.” She replies finally, words tight, as though they can barely get past her rose lips.

“And I mean... If it's any c-consolation...” Celeste continues, unsure if she’s digging her own grave, or stepping into the cleansing light of forgiveness. “It was only th-the… one time.”

“I don't know if it is, Cee.” August stiffly replies, jaw tight enough to crack walnuts, rich rage raspberry bubbling under prominent brown cheeks. “But like, I think on some level I… did wanna know.”

“Well, I’m g-glad to… help with th-that at least.” Celeste manages, the tiniest bit of humour in their tone.

August snaps her focus to Celeste, bistre eyes potent enough to cut right through human bone.

“You’re making jokes right now.” She accuses, tone stern and bold, pure venom running through her words. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Sorry, I… th-that was fucked up. I didn’t- I mean… th-that was stupid.” Celeste apologises, feeling pure regret run right through her.

All at once, the voices are swirling, as they often do. Affirming that they’re not worthy of love, of tenderness, not by August, not by anyone.

And, if they’ve poisoned the well with August, they’ve not just lost a girlfriend, but a best friend too.

Only an Absolute Fuckup could fuck up so royally.

“Yeah.” August agrees, looking Celeste dead in the eyes, ablaze with anger. “You did fuck up. It was stupid.”

So simple, so genuine, searing through right to the core.

“…yeah.” Celeste admits defeat, small and recoiling.

The voices. Spitting their venom. Correct and gloating. Circling, sinking, like the rain, soaking deep into Celeste, finding the smallest spaces, and growing riddling roots, right into the soft flesh.

“Ok, well…” August replies, rage subsiding, coming back into her body, finally feeling the ricocheting rain sink into light Summer clothes.

“You probably wanna break up, right?” Celeste asks, returning her gaze to August.

She stares back. Dark eyes usually shining richest honey, now burning like devastating fire.

“What are you talking about right now?” August questions, disappointment flying through her words, like bullets through glass. “What are you even…?”

“Like, do you w-wanna… break up, or like… t-try and work through this?” Celeste prods, brave enough to be honest, now at least.

August looks up the awning, bowing and buckling under the thunderous water, pelting it with no remorse. Counting to ten, trying to avoid saying something she can’t take back.

“Be honest, Cee, do you want to work through this?” She asks, eyes fixed on the rain.

Celeste tries to start their sentence several times. Clumsy half-words flopping out of their mouth, before being pulled back, all the while, unable to look up from dirty, white Converse, face hidden by their fringe.

“Ok. You think about it, and get back to me.” August cuts through, looking to Celeste, gaze boring into short mousy hair.

She’s waiting. Hoping Celeste will look at her. Wishing upon a star, for this teenager to cross a heart, and hope to die.

But as they feel August’s gaze on them, Celeste can’t bring themself to look up from their shamefully shuffling shoes.

“I’ll go th-”

“I d-don’t think…” Celeste tries, hoping this one will come all the way out. “t-that I want to work it… out. I’m s-sorry…”

Molten wrath. Coming up from the cement. Into crème Volleys. Coursing through bare legs. Past lime shorts. Up through the torso. Under a thin pumpkin t-shirt. Settling in the shoulders. Wrapping around the neck.

Eyes closing, breathe in, counting, breathe out.

“Ok.” August replies simply.

Heavy silence. Potent and hateful. Neither moving. Seconds stretching into hours. Horrid and permanent. Scarring instantly.

And she’s gone. Walking into the pounding rain, soaking into her clothes in seconds, gluing the thin fabric to brown skin, translucent and exposing. But she can’t care.

August opens the car door, soaking rain into the seat, shivering, alone and angry.

Deep breath. Loud scream. Cleansing. Exorcising. Scratching on the way out.

Staring forward. Hands on the top of the steering wheel. Forehead sinking to knuckles. Tears coming thick and fast.

It’s not okay. And it won’t be okay for a while.