The room was a testament to Clara Belle's emotional state: a tornado of pink glitter and abandoned mascara tubes. Clothes, still scented with the ghost of last night's perfume, littered the floor, a chaotic archipelago in a sea of silk and sequins. Framed photos of Clara posing with giggling girls and sculpted hunks leaned haphazardly against a wall plastered with glossy magazine cutouts – relics of a life once consumed by parties, fleeting romances, and the relentless pursuit of "looking effortlessly cool."

A half-eaten plate of takeout, gone cold, sat precariously on her desk, perched beside a tangle of tangled headphones and a half-finished bottle of tequila. Tears, leaving shimmering tracks through her carefully applied makeup, streamed down Clara Belle's face, punctuated by violent, snorting sobs.

Two months. Two months since Clay, her impossibly perfect, impossibly tailored ex-boyfriend, had dumped her – not with the classic dramatic display of a high school soap opera, but with a detached, almost clinical explanation that felt like being dissected by a surprisingly boring surgeon.

He'd said it was "complicated," a word that felt heavier than any anvil, a cold, clinical explanation that felt devoid of the passion, the fire, the complete heart-stopping chaos that had defined their whirlwind romance.

She'd tried to move on, of course. She’d danced on tables, downed tequila shots that tasted like regret, and texted her ex a few choice words she wouldn’t repeat. But the echo of his absence resonated in the empty spaces between reality and her carefully constructed facade.

A piercing, "WAAAAAAA-" ripped through the virtual air as Clara Belle's face contorted into a mask of anguish. Her laptop, precariously perched on the edge of her bed and slick with smeared mascara, showed a snapshot of her friend Kendall, whose perfectly highlighted hair and pouty lips betrayed both her concern and boredom.

"Relax- relax- Belle!" Kendall intoned, her voice dripping with a practiced nonchalance that clashed spectacularly with the typhoon of emotions engulfing her friend. "I swear, you're gonna make that poor laptop cry!"

"I CAN'T- KENDALL!!" Clara Belle wailed, each word a guttural sob, "I SWEAR I CAN'T!!"

"He's just a jerk, aight?" Kendall countered, rolling her eyes, "He doesn't deserve your kind ass-"

"BUT I WANT HIM!!! I JUST WANT HIM!!!" Clara Belle shrieked, her voice cracking like a poorly tuned violin.

"Belle! Belle - you're the hottest bitch in this whole campus... you can take any other boys if you fucking want to - you're the goddamn… CLARA- BELLE!" Kendall punctuated her pep talk with a theatrical wink, defying the limitations of Zoom.

For a moment, Clara Belle paused, a flicker of her usual defiant spirit in her teary eyes. "Yeah! That's right-" Kendall continued, urging her on.

But the hope was fleeting. "B-but- I don't want other boys... I just want him…" she confessed, her voice a broken whisper, "and he doesn't even want me anymore..."

The dam broke once more. A fresh wave of sobs engulfed Clara Belle, and she grabbed a plush pillow, ripping into it with primal fury before burying her face within its shredded remains.

"D-DON'T- ugh…" Belle hiccuped, punctuated by the quiet rustling of shredded pillow stuffing. Kendall stared, speechless, at the implosion of her friend's attempts at casual relaxation. This was the third 'therapy session' this month, and Kendall was starting to think Belle's emotional outbursts were scheduled into her weekly routine, much like her tequila-fueled Netflix binges.

"Okay, so... maybe don't rip the pillows next time," Kendall said cautiously, trying to inject a sliver of normalcy into the situation. Clearly, Belle was beyond logic, and anyone who’d ever attempted to navigate a dating drama with a two-litre bottle of cheap wine next to her knew logic wasn't your best friend.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The silence stretched, broken only by Belle’s sniffles and the occasional muffled grumble. Belle seemed to have stopped crying, instead burrowing deeper into the pillow mountain. Kendall could practically feel her eyes dragging all the way to the back of her head.

"Can I… ask you something?" Kendall asked hesitantly, already anticipating a dramatic reply.

"Yeah?" Belle mumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow fuzz.

"What's so special about this Clay guy? His friend Caesar is way hotter for me…"

Belle finally lifted her head, her face streaked with tears and sleep-deprived exhaustion.

"It's... not just about that…" she said, her tone quiet but firm.

Kendall leaned closer, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Hm? What then?"

Belle didn't answer. She just stared out of the laptop screen, lost in thought. The light from the screen cast a melancholic silhouette of her face, a mixture of sadness and a strange, yearning longing. Believe it or not, she knew what the answer was. Someone like Clay didn't see the "Belle" who attracted lustful boys, the one who wore her calculated 'slut' persona like a trophy. He had seen something else, something buried deep inside her, something she barely recognized. It terrified her, because this 'something else' felt too real, too vulnerable, and it was terrifyingly nice.

But telling Kendall about it? Good luck with that.

Kendall, confused and a little bit annoyed, waited for Belle to elaborate. She wasn’t getting through to her friend. Sometimes, she thought, life was just one giant baffling riddle, and Belinda was a mess of contradictions wrapped in a satin bomber jacket.

A sudden ping jolted Belle out of her post-depression slumber. Her finger danced across the screen, hand hovering hesitantly over answer. Someone was calling.

"HOLY SHIT- IT'S ROSE!" Belle exclaimed, scrambling closer to the laptop as if peering into a sacred relic.

"Shit- what does she want now?!" Kendall mumbled, her face etched with a mix of boredom and vague apprehension.

"I dunno- gotta go- see ya-" Belle chirped, packing the frayed remains of the pillow into the gaping maw of a laundry basket with unnecessary haste.

"See ya too-"

The laptop screen switched to Rose’s smiling face, framed by her trademark bad-hair-day look. Her brows furrowed instantly as she noticed the ghostly remnants of Belle’s recent emotional rollercoaster.

“Belle, so uh… about my shift today-” Rose began, her voice laced with a hint of suspicion, “Did you just- cry?!”

“No- I was just- uh-" Belle stammered, attempting to wave away a stray tear with a dramatic flick of her wrist.

“Is this about Clay again?! Oh my god, Belle-" Rose groaned, her face taking on the distinct expression of someone who’d already watched this movie a few too many times.

“NO! No, it has nothing to do with him-”

“You’re buying a new pillow. Not me.”

"H-huh? Oh… um…” Belle mumbled, her inner monologue rapidly constructing excuses.

“Jesus- Can you stop breaking and ripping campus property- you know we’re fucking broke?!”

"I-I'll pay for the pillow- and I'll find a part-time job- somewhere- later-"

"Jesus…" Rose sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"Hey, I'm sorry, sis- I promise I'll move on this time…"

Rose stared at Belle for a moment, her expression a mixture of disbelief and weary resignation. “I fucking doubt that, but aight. "

"Anyways…" Rose continued, clearly switching gears "About my shift today…"

Belle slumped back against her pillow mountain, a wave of guilt washing over her. Clay, please save me.

"Don't think we can have that dinner tonight," Rose announced, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Jeff's sick, gotta do his work tonight cleaning that—" she glanced at the laptop camera vaguely, "—"bal’rung hall…"

"Oh?"

"I'm also full this week. Fucking nuts. We can... however... do it this Friday though…"

"Really?" Belle perked up, her eyes widening like a puppy anticipating a treat. "Come on- just say you're sick too-"

"Yo- give my boss some appreciation, sis… he offers me this job while others have to crawl for it, I gotta do this work right, you know…"

"...Okay whatever…" Belle grumbled, deflating again. Honestly, this whole 'responsible adult' thing really wasn't her forte.

"You better find that job… goddamn, you're so lucky you got a scholarship despite your dumbass-"

"HEY- I'm not that dumb-"

"You poured cooking oil in apple juice-"

"THAT WAS WHEN I WAS FIVE!!"

They both dissolved into giggles, the tension dissolving like sugar in warm tea. Rose chuckled, watching Belle's dramatic outburst with amusement.

Rose sighed, her smile softening. "Imagine if mom and dad weren't dead right now. We would be living in- fucking mansions—"

"Yeah… I guess…" Belle mumbled, her smile disappearing as a somber mood settled upon her. The elephant in the room, as always.

"Don't do anything stupid," Rose said gently, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "Love ya."

"Yeah… Love you too, sis…"

"Dumbass…"

"I'M NOT DUMB-" Belle tried to retort, but the words died in her throat as Rose ended the call. She couldn't help but smile, despite herself.

Even though Rose could be a pain, she was still her sister, her confidante, the anchor that kept Belle from completely unraveling. Maybe, just maybe, things wouldn't be so bad after all.