Justin pov:
Saturdays were for sleeping in.
While the rest of the campus got hyped over game day, I couldn't care less. Who won, who lost—none of it mattered to me.
Let them scream in the stands. Let them paint their faces and act like it meant something.
I had better things to do.
Sleep. Yeah, what could be better than that?
So I did what I do best—I slept the whole damn day. Only woke up when the sky had started turning dark.
I grabbed my phone. 6 PM.
No messages. No missed calls. No surprise there.
That's just how it is when you live alone.
Dragging myself out of bed, I threw on my hoodie, grabbed my keys and helmet. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten all day. Time to fix that.
Riding at night was always better—less traffic, less people, less bullshit.
Fast forward.
Coming out of McDonald's with a takeout bag, I made my way to the parking lot. That's when I saw her.
June.
Still in her cheer uniform.
Her back was turned, giving me a second to admire her without being noticed.
She always looked good in those clothes—not that I'd ever say it out loud.
I reached for my helmet, ready to leave before her stupid boyfriend showed up. But then she turned around—and I froze.
Her face was pale, streaked with tears. Eyes red. Cheeks damp, no matter how many times she tried to wipe them dry.
And then, her gaze met mine.
Something in my chest tightened. Anger? No. I didn't care. I shouldn't care.
Before I could convince myself to leave, he showed up.
Bart Anderson.
Right on cue.
My grip on my helmet tightened. Fucking asshole.
"You gotta be kidding me, June," he snapped. "Why are you still hanging around my car? I fucking told you—it's over. I don't do failures."
Then he shoved her.
That did it.
Despite every reasonable thought in my head telling me to get on my bike and ride the fuck away, my feet didn't move.
I stood there. Watching.
Watching as the self-righteous queen bee tried to beg her stupid, pathetic excuse of a boyfriend to take her back.
And watching as he chuckled wickedly, shaking his head.
"I can't believe I even dated you in the first place," he scoffed.
"Count yourself lucky."
Narcissistic prick.
Seriously—what the fuck did she even see in that guy?
I should've left.
I should've gotten on my bike, driven off, and erased this whole pathetic scene from my mind. But for some reason, I just stood there, gripping my helmet like it could somehow ground me.
And watched.
Watched as June fucking Matthews—queen bee, cheer captain, the girl who walked around like she owned the damn place—begged.
"Bart, please," she whispered, stepping closer, her voice desperate. "You don't mean that… we can fix this, I swear."
Pathetic.
Bart only scoffed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, his expression bored, amused. Like she wasn't worth his time.
"Fix what, June?" he said mockingly. "You being a complete fucking disappointment?"
She flinched.
I clenched my jaw. Fucking asshole.
"I'll do better," she tried again, her voice cracking. "I—I can change, Bart. Just tell me what you want—"
God, she was still going.
I had to look away, had to remind myself that I didn't care. That this had nothing to do with me.
And then, she showed up.
The best friend.
The girl June was always hanging around with, the one she used to laugh with in the hallways. The one who should've been here, pulling her away from this bullshit.
For a second, I thought she was.
For a second, I thought she was here to save June from herself.
But then she walked right past her.
Didn't even spare her a glance.
And went straight to Bart.
Sliding into his arms like she fucking belonged there.
June froze.
Her eyes widened, lips parting slightly like she couldn't quite process what was happening. And when she did—when it finally clicked—she turned to Bart with a look of pure devastation.
"You…?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "Her?"
Bart smirked, pulling the other girl closer.
"Come on, June," he drawled, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Don't look so surprised."
And just like that, it all made sense.
The real reason Bart dumped her.
The way her so-called best friend hadn't even looked at her once.
I'd seen this shit too many times before.
That's why I hated people who got too close. They pretend to have your back, only to stab you the second you stop looking.
And that's exactly what was happening here.
June had trusted the wrong people.
And now she was paying for it.
And what pissed me off the most?
It wasn't even Bart. Wasn't even her backstabbing best friend.
It was June.
The way she kept begging like Bart was the only fucking guy left in the world. Like he was worth her humiliation.
How the hell could she degrade herself like this for someone like him?
Pathetic.
Fucking pathetic.
I should've left.
I should've looked away.
But I didn't.
Because something about this scene—something about June standing there, looking like the ground had been ripped out from under her—made me want to burn the whole fucking place down.
June just stood there, her whole body still—too still.
Like her mind hadn't caught up with what was happening.
Like she was glitching.
Bart tightened his arm around her ex-best friend's waist, smirking down at her like this was all a joke. Like her humiliation was some kind of game.
And maybe to him, it was.
But to June?
This was everything.
Her hands trembled as she stepped forward, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"Why?"
Pathetic.
Her voice, her posture, the way her shoulders slumped forward, like she was folding in on herself.
I hated it.
Bart sighed, like she was some annoying kid asking too many questions.
"God, June, stop making this a big deal." He scoffed, looking at her like she was beneath him. "You're acting like I cheated or something. But let's be real—you and I? We were done before this even happened."
June shook her head rapidly. "No. No, we weren't! I didn't even know anything was wrong. You—you never said—"
"Oh, come on," her ex-best friend cut in, rolling her eyes. "You had to know, June. You were always so desperate to please him. It was embarrassing to watch."
June's lips parted slightly, her breathing uneven.
"That's not true," she whispered. "I—"
"It is," Bart cut her off, bored. "And honestly? I did you a favor."
A favor.
That's what he called it.
A favor.
Like he'd just helped her with homework. Like he hadn't just ripped her apart in front of everyone.
June swayed slightly, like her legs couldn't hold her up anymore.
Her eyes darted back and forth between them, like she was still hoping this was some misunderstanding.
Like she still couldn't believe it.
Pathetic.
For a second, I thought she might scream.
That she'd claw at them, slap Bart across the face, give me something to respect.
But she didn't.
Instead, she let out a sharp, choked sound.
Then she turned around, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, and ran.
I watched her go.
Watched as she disappeared into the night, her sobs still echoing in the parking lot.
I should've been relieved that it was over.
That I could finally leave.
But for some reason, my fingers tightened around my helmet—so tight my knuckles cracked.
Because as much as I hated to admit it…
Something about watching June Matthews completely shatter left a bad fucking taste in my mouth.
******
I should've left.
I should've turned around, gotten on my bike, and driven the hell away like I didn't just witness June Matthews crumble.
But instead?
I did something fucking stupid.
I swung my leg over my bike, kicked the engine to life, and before I could stop myself—before I could even think about why the hell I was doing this—I followed her.
The streets blurred past me, my grip tightening on the handlebars as my mind replayed the scene. Her face. That lost, wrecked look in her eyes. The way she'd clutched her arms around herself like they were the only thing keeping her together.
Why the fuck did I care?
I didn't.
I told myself I didn't.
That I was just curious. That I just wanted to see where she'd go.
And then I spotted her.
She was walking down a dimly lit street, arms still wrapped around herself, her pace unsteady—like her own legs didn't know where the hell she was going either.
I slowed my bike, keeping my distance.
Watching.
She stopped at a bus shelter, but she didn't sit. She just stood there, back pressed against the glass, eyes locked on the pavement.
Her shoulders shook.
She was crying again.
I should've driven off.
I should've left her there to deal with her shit alone, the same way I always dealt with mine.
But for some reason, I didn't move.
I just sat there, watching her fall apart.
And for the first time in a long time…
I felt something I didn't fucking like.