Hard Edges, Soft Hearts Pt. 02

Part Three: The Breaking Point

The night of the fundraiser at the LGBTQ+ community center had everyone in the same room -- soft lights strung across the ceiling, people milling around in half-formal wear, the scent of catered pasta and cheap wine hanging in the air.

Frankie hadn't planned to go. She didn't like crowds, didn't like pretenses. But she went anyway, because she knew Avery would be there. And because she couldn't let Raye keep circling like she owned the place.

She found Avery near the makeshift stage, wearing a deep green dress that made her look like she'd been born under moonlight. She laughed at something a friend said, head thrown back, and Frankie's stomach twisted. Want. Regret. All tangled up like barbed wire.

Before she could move, Raye appeared at Avery's side, draping an arm casually over her shoulder. She kissed Avery's temple like it was nothing. Like she didn't know what it would do to Frankie.

Frankie turned away, fists tight at her sides.

But Avery saw.

Later, in the hallway outside the bathrooms, Avery found Frankie alone.

"You always disappear when she touches me," Avery said. No accusation -- just observation.

Frankie turned. "You let her."

Avery stepped closer. "You think this is easy? That I'm not caught between wanting something steady and something real?"

Frankie looked at her, eyes dark. "You think Raye's steady?"

"She shows up," Avery said. "She makes a mess, but she shows up. You disappear."

Frankie stepped forward, voice barely controlled. "I'm standing right here."

Before Avery could respond, a low, sharp voice cut through the hallway.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Raye.

Frankie straightened. Avery stepped back, like she'd been burned.

Raye looked between them, reading the energy like a predator. "I figured. You always had a thing for trying to poach what isn't yours, Frankie."

Frankie's voice was calm, but deadly. "She's not a thing, Raye. And she's not yours."

Raye chuckled. "That's right? You going to fight me over her?"

"I don't fight for people," Frankie said. "I fight for the truth. And you're not good for her."

Avery's voice cracked the air like a whip. "Stop."

Both of them froze.

Avery looked between them, her eyes sharp now -- no softness, no hesitation.

"I'm not a prize. I'm not a reason for you two to measure your dicks, or whatever version of them you carry around."

Neither of them spoke.

"I care about both of you," Avery said, softer now. "But I'm done being tugged between your egos. If either of you want me -- really want me -- you'll let me decide on my own."

Then she walked away, heels echoing down the corridor.

Raye exhaled, lips pursed. "She'll come back."

Frankie didn't respond. She just stared down the hallway, jaw clenched, chest heavy.

She wasn't sure who would break first -- Raye, Avery... or herself.

Part Four: The Choice No One Sees

Avery stood outside the center, leaning against the cold brick, trying not to cry in heels.

The air was thick with spring humidity, and the music from inside the event hall bled through the walls, muffled and distant. She could still feel their eyes on her -- Frankie's stormy gaze, full of restraint and fire. Raye's smug swagger hides a thread of fear behind bravado.

They both wanted her.

But neither of them had seen her.

Not fully.

Raye had charm. Raye had presence. She could walk into a room and own it, make everyone laugh, then leave you wondering what parts of her were real. She touched Avery like she belonged to her, kissed her like a dare. And sometimes, Avery let her -- because the performance was easier than the ache of waiting for something true.

Then there was Frankie.

Quiet. Guarded. She held affection like it might break if she looked at it too long. When she touched Avery -- that one time, just a brush of fingers under the bar -- it felt like she was holding the last match in the world.

That scared Avery more than anything Raye ever said.

But being wanted isn't the same as being understood.

And neither of them had asked what Avery wanted.

Not really.

She slid her phone out of her purse and stared at the screen. No new texts. She could call Raye. Raye would show up, arms crossed and cocky, waiting to be forgiven before Avery even knew what she was forgiving.

Or she could text Frankie.

But she didn't want a rescue.

She wanted to be seen.

She opened her notes app instead. Typed without thinking:

I'm not soft because I break easily.

I'm soft because I know how to carry sharp things in quiet hands.

I won't be a battlefield. Choose your war -- or walk away.

She stared at the words.

Deleted the last line.

Then she took a breath and started walking.

Not toward Frankie. Not toward Raye.

Toward her car. Toward her own apartment. Toward silence, and self-respect, and the space to decide.