Perfume & Regret

The music thumped through the walls, a steady pulse that matched the rhythm in my chest. It was supposed to be just another night—loud, crowded, and meaningless. I told myself I wasn’t here for her. That I wouldn’t let her ruin me again.

And yet, the moment she walked in, I felt the air shift.

She had always known how to make an entrance. Head high, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips, like the world existed solely for her amusement. She glowed under the dim lights, moving through the crowd like she was untouchable. Unbothered.

I wasn’t supposed to care.

But then I caught a whiff of her perfume—soft, sweet, laced with something sharp beneath. The same one she used to wear when she’d sneak into my jacket, whispering that I smelled like home.

My grip tightened around my drink.

I turned away, forcing myself to focus on the conversation in front of me. Some joke was told. Laughter followed. I faked a smile, nodded at the right moments. But I could feel her presence like a slow burn against my skin.

Don’t look. Don’t give her the satisfaction.

But she knew. Of course she knew.

I felt it before I saw it—the weight of her gaze settling on me from across the room.

And just like that, I was hers again.

She was standing by the bar now, laughing at something someone said. A guy leaned in close, whispering in her ear. She tilted her head, lips parted in amusement, eyes flicking in my direction for just a second. A test.

She wanted to see if I’d react. If I’d storm over, drag her away, demand to know why she was playing this game again. But that’s the thing about her—she never needed to ask for attention. She simply took it.

And I had spent too long letting her take mine.

I turned away again, but it was useless. Every nerve in my body was hyper-aware of her, of the way she moved through the room like she belonged to no one—but let everyone believe they had a chance.

I had loved her once. Maybe I still did.

But she never loved me. Not in the way that mattered.

The first time she left, she didn’t even say goodbye.

No closure, no explanation—just silence. And then, weeks later, she reappeared, acting like nothing had happened.

I should’ve walked away then.

But I let her pull me back in, let her lean into my touch and murmur “Did you miss me?” like she hadn’t been the one to disappear.

She never stayed, but she never let me go either.

Every time I tried to move on, she would re-enter my life, perfectly timed, like a ghost who refused to be forgotten. She’d show up at parties she never used to attend. Wear that dress she knew I loved. Pretend our history didn’t exist—until she wanted it to.

And I was always stupid enough to fall for it.

"Hey, man, you good?"

I blinked, realizing someone had been talking to me. My friend, Liam, gave me a knowing look before following my gaze.

"Ah," he sighed. "Her again?"

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair. "Doesn’t matter."

Liam scoffed. "Yeah? Then why do you look like you’re about to set the whole place on fire?"

I didn’t answer.

Because the truth was, he was right.

She was still at the bar, still leaning too close to that guy. I knew what would happen next. I had seen this play out before. She’d laugh, brush his arm, let him think he had a chance—just enough to get under my skin.

And when she was done?

She’d look at me again.

That was her favorite part.

Not the guy. Not the flirting.

Just me—watching.

I should’ve left.

Should’ve walked out before she had the chance to ruin me again.

But then she moved, weaving through the crowd, heading straight for me.

I tensed.

She stopped in front of me, tilting her head. "No hello?"

I stared at her, unsure if I wanted to pull her closer or push her away.

She smiled, like she knew exactly what I was thinking. Like she always did.

"You’ve been avoiding me," she murmured.

I let out a dry laugh. "Can you blame me?"

She pouted. "That’s not fair. We’re friends, aren’t we?"

Friends.

I almost laughed at the word.

Friends didn’t play these games. Friends didn’t haunt each other like shadows of a love that never fully existed. Friends didn’t wear the perfume they knew would break you.

But she wasn’t here to be fair.

She was here because she knew she still had control.

I took a step back, shaking my head. "You don’t actually care, do you?"

Her expression flickered, just for a second. "What are you talking about?"

I exhaled, finally saying what I should’ve said a long time ago.

"You just want attention."

Silence.

A beat passed. Then another.

And then she smiled.

A small, knowing smile.

She didn’t deny it.

Because we both knew it was true.

The worst part?

I still wanted her.

Even now, knowing she was poison, knowing she’d do this again, knowing she’d never choose me—I still wanted her.

But I was done letting her win.

I looked at her one last time, memorizing the way she stood, the way she smelled, the way she looked at me like she already knew I’d come running back.

And then, I walked away.

For the first time.

For the last time.

And I didn’t look back.