The rain had stopped.
Of course it had.
Elle stood on the sidewalk, soaked to the bone, mascara streaked like war paint, heart pounding in silence. The city buzzed around her—cars honking, strangers rushing past with umbrellas and better mornings. But she heard none of it. Felt none of it.
There was only the soft slap of her flat slippers on wet concrete as she wandered aimlessly, a pink towel draped over her like a forgotten superhero's cape.
Somewhere down the block, she passed a shop window.
She paused.
Who… who was that?
The woman in the glass looked like a soggy witch from a canceled Broadway show. Smudged mascara. Puffy eyes. A hot-pink bag hanging off one shoulder like a stubborn regret. She looked tragic. She looked ridiculous. She looked like the kind of woman who cried during car commercials and forgave people who didn't deserve to be forgiven.
Elle stared.
Then whispered, "You're an idiot."
The reflection nodded back with perfect agreement.
And then—
A laugh exploded from her chest. Loud. Raw. Unpretty. It bounced off the buildings and startled a couple of pigeons into flight.
People turned. One man swerved to avoid her entirely.
She laughed until it hurt. Until her ribs ached and her throat burned. Until the last tear dried on her cheek like a scar.
Then she wiped her face with the back of her hand.
"I proposed to a man who was cheating on me," she muttered to the street. "And he said I reminded him of his aunt."
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Luna:"You alive or in jail? Need bail money or cake?"
Elle smiled. For the first time all day, it didn't crack her soul.
She typed back:
"Both."
And kept walking.
At the Condo
Luna was perched cross-legged on the couch, laptop open, headphones on, lazily sucking a cherry lollipop while flipping through spreadsheets she barely understood. Her work-from-home look was peak chaos: oversized hoodie, glitter socks, one bun up and one bun down.
She was halfway through a Zoom call when she heard the familiar beep of the front door keypad.
Beeep.Click.Creak.
Luna turned her head casually—then froze.
The lollipop slipped right out of her mouth and hit the floor with a soft, sticky thunk.
"OH MY FREAKING—WHAT THE HELL—"
Elle stepped in like a ghost from a damp horror film. Hair dripping. Face blank. That stupid towel still clinging to her shoulders like a tragic cape. Her aura? Pure gloom. The kind that said don't ask, don't hug, and definitely don't offer tea unless it's spiked.
Luna's jaw hung open.
"You— You look like you crawled out of a haunted well. WHAT THE ACTUAL SHIT HAPPENED TO YOU? WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE A WALKING, TALKING, HEARTBROKEN GHOST?!"
Elle blinked, too tired to flinch.
"I broke up with Calen."
Luna stared.
Silence.
Then—
"YOU WHAT?" Luna shrieked, eyes bulging.
Elle just stood there, still dripping rainwater, her glasses fogged up like a sad science experiment.
"I was about to propose," she said flatly. "With fairy lights. And a speech. And a playlist called 'Forever, Probably.'"
Luna blinked. "Wait....you really made a playlist?"
Elle nodded solemnly. "But..."
Her voice caught.
"...I saw him. Tongue-deep in some girl's throat like a damn lizard. Then he looked me straight in the eye and said, I reminded him of his aunt."
Luna let out the most dramatic gasp known to mankind. Her arms flailed. She grabbed the nearest throw pillow and hurled it across the room like it had personally offended her.
"HE—WHAT?! AUNT?! IS HE OUT OF HIS EVER-LOVING MIND?! THAT LYING, CHEATING, DISPOSABLE HUMAN COCKROACH— I SWEAR TO GOD, ELLE— I WILL KILL HIM. I WILL FIND HIM, PLUCK OUT HIS BALLS, STUFF THEM INTO HIS MOUTH, AND MAKE HIM CHOKE ON HIS OWN REGRET."
Elle just stood there. A drowned goddess of heartbreak. Damp, exhausted, mascara still clinging to her lashes like war paint.
"I already did that," she said quietly.
Luna froze.
"You... did?"
Elle gave a slow, deadpan nod. "I hit him there. Clean shot. He squealed like a soprano. Then I ran."
A long pause.
Then Luna screamed, "YES, QUEEN! THAT'S MY GIRL! BUT HONESTLY—YOU SHOULD'VE KICKED HIM TWICE. MAKE SURE HE NEVER REPRODUCES THAT SLEAZY, BRAINLESS EXCUSE FOR A MAN."
Elle cracked a tired smile.
"Too bad I was wearing flats."
Luna marched over and threw her arms around her. "Next time you wear steel-toed boots, got it? We're turning this heartbreak into a full-blown villain origin story. You're not just gonna survive this—you're gonna flourish."
Elle gave a weak smile. "I... I just need some time alone."
Luna didn't argue. She searched her face, nodded slowly, and said softly, "Okay. I'm here. You take all the time you need."
Elle nodded once.
Then she turned around and SLAMMED her bedroom door behind her.
Inside, she moved like a ghost—wet socks squelching against the floor, clothes clinging to her like a second skin. She entered the bathroom, flicked on the harsh overhead light, and stared at herself in the mirror.
Mascara streaks. Red, puffy eyes. Hair like a crow's nest after a hurricane.
She leaned in closer.
"Do I really look that ugly?" she whispered, as if the mirror would answer.
It didn't. It just stared back. Brutal. Honest. Cruel.
She sniffled, reached for her phone with trembling fingers, and opened her playlist titled "Crying in Cinematic Sadness." She hit play.
A heart-shattering ballad poured from the speakers, violins, and heartbreak in full swing.
Still staring at her reflection, Elle slowly stepped into the shower.
Turned the knob.
Cold water burst out, shocking her skin, but she didn't flinch.
She stood there—drenched for the second time today—this time on her own terms.
And then she cried.
Silent at first. Then shaking. Then sobbing so hard her knees buckled. The music swelled in the background like a funeral for her dreams.
Her shoulders heaved. Her chest ached. She let it all out.
Until—
The water stopped.
Just like that. No warning. Just one last pitiful drip from the faucet.
Elle blinked.
She turned the knob back and forth. Nothing.
Just the sad song still playing like a cruel joke.
She stood there, soaked and miserable, shampoo still in her hair.
Then—she screamed.
"AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! EVEN THE UNIVERSE WON'T LET ME CRY PROPERLY?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"
She stared at the ceiling, waterless, mascara reactivated by her tears, and yelled,
"JUST STRIKE ME WITH LIGHTNING WHILE YOU'RE AT IT! GO AHEAD, FINISH THE JOB!"
From the living room, Luna's voice floated in calmly:"Do you want me to call the water company or just start a GoFundMe for your emotional breakdown?"
This was rock bottom.
But at least the soundtrack was good.
***
[LATER....]
After what felt like an eternity—complete with three breakdowns, one existential crisis, and a very emotional search for conditioner—Elle finally emerged from her bedroom.
Her hair was a little dry now. Her eyes are slightly less swollen. Her expression? That of someone who had just barely survived the apocalypse... with wet socks.
She walked into the living room.
And was immediately greeted by—
"YOU FUCKING BASTARD! YOU ROTTEN SOUL! I HOPE YOU CAN'T EVEN POOP IN HELL! I HOPE YOU GET CONSTIPATION IN HELL! YOU ROTTEN FUCKING—"
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Luna stared at her phone screen, stunned. "...He cut me off."
She redialed.
A robotic voice echoed cheerfully, "The number you're dialing is currently un—"
"HE BLOCKED ME!!!" Luna screamed, flinging the phone like it personally betrayed her.
Elle blinked, frozen mid-step, jaw hanging like a broken elevator door. "Who... were you cursing like that?"
Luna spun around so fast her messy bun defied gravity.
She dashed toward Elle like a possessed nurse from a dramatic soap opera, grabbed her wrist, checked her pulse, leaned in close to her face, poked her cheek once, and muttered,
"Yeah... you're still alive."
Then she sniffed. "You smell like sorrow and expired shampoo, but alive."
Elle narrowed her eyes. "You called Calen, didn't you?"
Luna's expression turned dark. "No. I didn't call Calen. I called the demon who slithered out of a sewer, cheated on my best friend, and had the audacity—the gall—to say she reminded him of his AUNT. His. Aunt, Elle!"
Elle exhaled and sank into the couch like a deflated balloon. "I'm good now. I'll recover soon."
Thud.Luna stormed into the kitchen. Muffled banging and aggressive drawer-slamming followed.
Seconds later, she returned—arms full of vengeance and ice-cold calories. She dropped an entire tub of cookie dough on the coffee table, wielding two spoons like weapons.
"For every bite," she declared, jabbing one spoon into Elle's hand, "we imagine Calen's toilet flooding during a date. With him barefoot. And no plunger in sight."
Elle gave a small laugh and took the spoon. "I'm telling you, I'm good. But… thanks."
Luna flopped beside her like a dramatic Victorian widow. "You think you're good. But babe—no. You need to recover. Heal. Rise. And most importantly—" she paused for dramatic effect, "—get your revenge."
Elle blinked. "Revenge?"
Luna nodded like a war general. "Yes. We're talking high heels, red lips, dramatic entrances. A total transformation. Let's turn you into a fucking goddess."
Elle stared at her, spoon halfway to her mouth. "…I don't know, Luna. I don't need—"
Swoosh.
Luna snatched the spoon mid-air.
"Babe." Luna leaned in like a mafia boss about to order a hit. "He called you Aunt. A.U.N.T. That's a felony in five emotional states."
"I know how to spell, Luna."
"Then spell this: G-O-D-D-E-S-S. That's what you're gonna be."
Elle sighed and looked down at the cookie dough. "Can't I just cry and watch sad movies for the next decade?"
"No!" Luna clapped her hands like a witch casting a spell. "We're starting your glow-up. No sad movies, unless we're crying in couture."
"…Fine," Elle muttered. "But absolutely no glitter."
Luna grinned like she just won a custody battle. "We'll see about that."
And with that, Operation: Post-Calen World Domination had begun.