New Hell
The days that followed their very first real fight were unbearable.
Not loud.
Not explosive.
But heavy—like walking through fog with open wounds and no map back to each other.
Their messages grew shorter.
Their words, colder.
The silence between them stretched longer than it ever had before.
Freen tried. God, she tried.
She sent long messages, pouring her heart out at odd hours of the night—telling Becky how sorry she was, how nothing felt right without her, how every good thing felt dull in her absence. She kept trying to explain, hoping the truth would matter more than the headlines, hoping love would still be louder than hurt.
But Becky?
Becky barely responded.
A “yeah.”
A “k.”
An “okay.”
Never “I miss you.”
Never “I love you.”
Never anything that told Freen she still had a place to return to.
It wasn’t silence—it was distance.
And it wasn’t just anger—it was disappointment.
And Freen didn’t know how to fix that.
How do you reach for someone who’s already begun pulling away?
She replayed Becky’s voice in her head every night, trying to hold on to softness, to hope. But even memories started sounding unfamiliar. Even love started to feel like a question.
Soon the final month finally wrapped up and it was time for Freen to go home where her heart belonged.
____
The moment Freen’s plane touched down, her chest tightened like something was sitting on it—heavy, unrelenting. She tried to breathe, but it felt like every inhale scraped against the weight of everything left unsaid.
She didn’t know how to interact with Becky anymore.
She didn’t know if she could.
What if Becky wouldn’t even look at her? What if she had already made peace with Freen’s absence?
What if she had moved on in all the ways Freen hadn’t?
Still, despite every unanswered question clawing at her, there was one thing Freen was certain of— She needed to see Becky.
No delay. No rest. No excuses.
So she went straight to Becky’s house like her heart couldn’t survive another second of waiting.
The front door opened with the familiar warmth of home, and for a fleeting moment, Freen almost allowed herself to believe nothing had changed.
Becky’s parents welcomed her in with kind eyes and soft smiles, their voices laced with the same affection they had always offered her. The way they hugged her, the way her name sounded in their mouths—it should’ve made her feel safe.
But all it did was make her heart splinter further.
Because they didn’t know.
They didn’t know their daughter hadn’t smiled at Freen in weeks.
They didn’t know their daughter hadn’t called her “baby” in just as long.
They didn’t know there was a quiet war raging between the girl they adored and the girl who used to be her everything.
Freen swallowed hard, forcing a smile through the ache rising in her throat.
She nodded, she thanked them, she said all the right things—like a guest.
Not like family.
Not like someone who used to be part of the laughter that filled these walls.
And the house, once so full of warmth and familiarity, now felt off. Like wearing a shirt that used to fit, but didn’t anymore. Like a ghost trying to pretend it belonged among the living.
But Becky wasn’t home yet.
It was already late. Her parents offered her tea and told her to rest. “Becky’s been swamped with work,” they said gently, “Sometimes she gets home late.”
They yawned. They smiled again. They went to bed. Still holding onto the version of things Freen no longer knew how to protect.
But Freen knew the truth.
Becky was late on purpose.
And Freen knew exactly why. Because she wasn’t ready to see her. Because she was trying to delay the moment that would either be their mending—or their undoing.
So Freen sat on the living room couch in the dark, the clock ticking too loudly, her fingers curled tightly around the fabric of her jeans, as if bracing for impact.
Because Becky was coming.
And Freen had no idea if she’d still be wanted when she did.
And yes, Freen was right.
Becky knew.
She knew the second her phone buzzed in her bag—another missed call. She didn’t even have to check to guess who it was.
Then the message came. From her mom.
“Freen’s here! She just got in. You must be so happy!” A little heart emoji at the end, like salt on a wound.
Happy.
The word sat bitter on her tongue, like something she used to believe in but couldn’t remember the taste of anymore.
Because happiness used to be Freen’s arms wrapped tightly around her.
Happiness was late-night calls and sleepy “I miss you”s.
Happiness was Freen’s lips brushing against her forehead, whispering promises she once believed would never be broken.
And now?
Now happiness felt like a stranger.
A ghost.
A lie.
Becky wasn’t ready to go home.
Her legs wouldn’t take her there. Her heart wouldn’t let her.
She wanted to. God, how she wanted to.
To run back, crash into Freen’s arms, bury her face in the warmth of her neck and pretend the last three months hadn’t happened.
Pretend Freen hadn’t chosen silence.
Pretend Freen hadn’t signed without telling her.
Pretend she hadn’t been left behind while Freen soared forward.
But pretending was too painful now.
She didn’t know how to face her anymore.
She didn’t know if she wanted to.
Not tonight. Not while the ache still sat raw and restless in her chest, curling tighter every time she thought of that damn message.
So she did the only thing that made sense in her chaos.
She didn’t go home.
She went to a club.
With Nop.
Where the music was too loud, the lights too bright, the drinks too strong.
Where everything felt too much and not enough all at once.
Where she laughed too hard at Nop’s jokes and drank too fast and let herself forget—just for a few hours.
Maybe she was doing it on purpose.
Maybe not.
All she knew was that the alcohol dulled the sharp edges.
Muted the echo of Freen’s voice in her head.
And for a little while, that was easier than feeling everything all at once.
Freen sat in Becky’s living room, her heart pounding with every second that passed.
Becky’s parents had gone to bed hours ago but she was waiting, and didn't even drink the water since she arrived, she was only craving for Becky's presence.
But Freen knew Becky. And she knew Becky was avoiding her.
She got up for what felt like the hundredth time, stepping outside, staring down the street as if she could will Becky’s car to appear.
And then, finally—a pair of headlights cut through the night.
Freen’s stomach twisted the second she saw who was bringing Becky home.
Nop.
And Becky?
She was barely standing.
Freen rushed forward as Nop pulled Becky out of the car, her body limp, her head lolling against his shoulder.
A bitter taste filled Freen’s mouth. Becky’s been drinking?
Freen stepped in, her voice tight. “I’ve got her.”
Nop didn’t move immediately. He adjusted Becky in his arms, his expression unreadable as he looked at Freen. “She had a rough night.”
Freen’s jaw clenched. “I can see that.” staring straight in nop’s eyes for way too long.
Nop sighed. “Maybe instead of glaring at me, you should ask yourself why she didn’t want to come home.”
Freen’s patience snapped.
She stepped closer, voice low and edged with warning. “I don’t need you to tell me how to take care of Becky. And I sure as hell don’t need you hovering around her like you belong in her life.”
Nop’s jaw ticked. “Maybe if you weren’t breaking her heart, she wouldn’t need someone else to pick up the pieces.”
Freen’s hands curled into fists. “She doesn’t need you.”
“She needed someone tonight,” Nop shot back. “And you weren’t it.”
Freen’s breath hitched. The words cut deep, but she refused to show it. Instead, she took a step closer, her voice dropping even lower.
“I don’t care how long you’ve been circling,” she said. “You’re not taking my place.”
Nop held her gaze for a long moment before finally exhaling and shaking his head. “Maybe you should focus less on me,” he murmured, brushing past her to the car, “and more on fixing what’s already broken.”
Freen didn’t bother watching him leave.
She was already pulling Becky into her arms.
Becky barely stirred as Freen carried her inside, her body warm, the scent of alcohol heavy on her skin.
Freen’s heart clenched.
This wasn’t how their reunion was supposed to go.
She carried Becky to her room, gently lowering her onto the bed. Becky stirred, her eyes fluttering open for a split second before closing again.
Freen sat beside her, brushing damp strands of hair from Becky’s face.
For a long moment, she just watched her.
This was the girl who had once been her home.
Now, she felt more distant than ever.
Swallowing hard, Freen reached for Becky’s hand, threading their fingers together like she always used to.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Becky didn’t respond. She was barely conscious and went straight to sleep.
And maybe that hurt the most.
_____
The morning light crept through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Becky stirred, her body heavy, her head throbbing—a cruel reminder of last night’s choices.
And then she saw her.
Freen.
Asleep by her bedside on the floor, still in the clothes from yesterday, her head resting against the bedside mattress, her hand wrapped tightly around Becky’s like she was afraid to let go even in sleep.
Becky’s breath hitched.
It hurt.
It hurt to see her like this—to see the exhaustion written all over her face, the dark circles under her eyes, the tension still lingering even in rest.
Freen hadn’t slept. Not properly. Probably not in days.
Becky wanted to pull her hand away, to create distance, to guard the parts of herself that still ached. But she didn’t.
Instead, she nudged Freen gently.
“Hey,” her voice came out softer than she intended.
Freen stirred but didn’t wake fully, her fingers instinctively tightening around Becky’s. A quiet, sleepy murmur left her lips.
Becky swallowed. “Come up on the bed. You’ll hurt your back.”
Freen barely opened her eyes, groggy, already protesting wanting to talk it out with her. “Bec—”
“Shhhh!! It can wait,” Becky cut in, her tone cold but not unkind. “Sleep for now.”
Freen blinked at her, still caught in that in-between haze of exhaustion and wakefulness. Becky could see the questions forming in her eyes, the things she wanted to say, but she was too tired to fight. Too drained.
So she let Becky pull her up onto the bed.
And even as she curled into the blankets, even as sleep dragged her under again, she didn’t let go of Becky’s hand.
Becky sat there. Watching her.
Like her life depended on it.
She traced every inch of Freen’s face with her eyes—the curve of her cheekbones, the faint crease between her brows, the lips that had whispered a thousand promises, some broken, some still lingering in the air between them.
And then her mind went back to the storm.
The fight. The distance. The rumors. The fear.
Did Freen still love her the same?
___
By the time Freen woke, the bed was empty.
A hollow ache settled in her chest as she blinked against the daylight.
Becky was gone.
She stumbled out of the room, still sluggish with sleep, searching—until she found Becky’s mom in the kitchen.
“She left early dear,” her voice was kind, oblivious. “Straight to work.”
The words felt like a slap.
Freen stood there, silent.
She didn’t know what she was expecting. That Becky would stay? That she’d wake up next to her and everything would magically be okay?
Her mind circled back—spinning, twisting—to last night.
To Becky in Nop’s arms.
To the way Nop looked at her, like she was the only thing he ever wished for, something worth having.
To the way Becky had let him.
Freen’s jaw clenched so tight it ached.
And that’s when it happened—when she happened.
She lost it.
Something inside her cracked wide open, like a dam that had been holding back too many nights of silence, too many unread messages, too many versions of Becky in her mind—smiling, laughing, gone.
Before she could stop herself, her trembling fingers flew to her phone. She dialed Becky once.
No answer.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Each unanswered ring was a punch to the gut.
Each silence screamed louder than the last.
Her hands were shaking, her breath short, shallow. She could feel the lump in her throat swelling—but she didn’t let it fall. Not yet.
Then, her fingers moved on their own, guided by hurt more than sense.
BB: Please pick up the call becbec, I can’t live like this?
The ache in her chest exploded, and she kept calling her yet Becky was not picking up or cutting the call.
Her thumb hovered on the screen—but only for a second. Before she lost it.
BB: Can you please, for once, act your age, Becky,
BB: Why aren’t you picking up my calls? I’m finally here and you left me alone. Why? Aren’t you happy I’m back? Or are you too happy with your so-called best friend’s company now?
A choked sound left her lips as she hit send.
Her breathing was uneven, her hands cold.
But the storm inside her hadn’t passed.
She stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed her, and still—it didn’t blink. No reply. Just the echo of her own words, now staring back at her, twisted with desperation.
She opened the chat again. Her fingers moved before logic could catch up.
BB: And since when did you start drinking? You’re just 20, Becky. Twenty. Can you get that?
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
One beat.
Two.
Send.
It was out.
There was no taking it back.
And the second she hit send, a tear slipped down her cheek—followed by another.
And another.
Because she hadn’t messaged Becky to hurt her.
She’d messaged her because it hurt too much not to.
Because anger was the only thing louder than the fear.
Because jealousy was easier than confessing how scared she was.
Because Freen had no idea how to love Becky quietly.
And because in all the ways she tried to say I miss you, this was the only way she could scream Please come back to me.
The moment the message left her screen, she thought it would give Becky an idea how hurt she was feeling right now and how worried she became after watching her all drunk last night.
But alas fate has its ways to make the situation even worse.
Coz on the other side of town, Becky stared at the notification, something inside her breaking.
20.
The number Freen always protected her with, the number freen always made her sure doesn’t matter.
The number that now felt like a slap in the face.
Did Freen had made a big mistake or it was all in Becky's head?
🎶 They say all's well that ends well
But I'm in a new hell every time
You double-cross my mind
You said if we had been closer in age
Maybe it would've been fine
And that made me want to die…. 🎶