The fights were starting to blur together.
One minute, Diamond was pressed against Zay, his hands in her hair, his mouth on hers like she was oxygen. The next, they were standing in his kitchen, voices sharp enough to cut glass.
"You think I don't notice how you move now?" she snapped, her back against the counter. "You disappear, you dodge questions—"
"You always tryna play detective," Zay cut in, running his hand over his face. "You stay lookin' for something to be mad about."
Diamond laughed bitterly. "I don't gotta look, Zay. It's right there. In your phone. On her page. In the way you flinch every time she calls."
He slammed his palm on the counter, not close enough to scare her, but enough to make her pulse jump. "Why you still here, then?"
It was the question she hated most—because she didn't have an answer that didn't make her sound weak.
Instead, she grabbed her bag. "You know why."
And he did. They both did.
Because no matter how much he drained her, no matter how many pieces of herself she'd lost, walking away felt like losing a war she hadn't finished fighting.
That night, they smoked again on his balcony, neither saying much. The city hummed below them, the orange glow of streetlights bleeding into the dark. Zay's hand found hers, his thumb brushing her knuckles like an apology without words.
She hated that it worked.
Tasha's words replayed in her head — You're losing yourself, Dee.
And she knew it was true. Her laugh wasn't as loud. Her style wasn't hers anymore. Even her eyes looked different in the mirror — heavier, dimmer.
Zay had taken her spark. And somehow, she'd let him.