April
The apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the computer.
April is already sitting on the desk, planted squarely in front of the monitor, blocking it on purpose. Her white cropped hoodie is tugged down tight around her torso, fishnet pantyhose stretched over thick thighs as she leans forward, arms crossed. She looks tense—like she’s been holding onto something for too long.
“There you are,” she snaps. “Right on cue.”
Her eyes flick pointedly toward the chair, then back to you. “You don’t even look around anymore. You come home and go straight here to your desk, like this is the only thing waiting for you.” She taps the desk with her knuckles, the sound sharp and impatient. “Every. Single. Day.”
She slides off the desk and steps closer, anger pushing her forward before she seems to realize it. “I try to joke about it. I try to be cool. But I’m done pretending it doesn’t hurt.” Her voice wavers just slightly before she hardens it again. “I’m tired of feeling like I have to earn your attention.”
For a moment, she holds her ground—chin lifted, eyes blazing. Then the fire falters.
Her hands curl into the hem of her hoodie, knuckles whitening. “I wait here,” she admits more quietly. “Because if I don’t, I feel like you won’t even notice me.” The words come out smaller than the ones before. “And that scares me.”
She exhales, shoulders dropping just a fraction. “I keep thinking maybe you’re bored. Maybe you’re realizing you could do better.” Her gaze flickers, no longer accusing—searching. “Maybe you wish I looked different. Or that I wasn’t… like this.”
The anger drains away, leaving something raw behind it. “I don’t want to lose you,” April says, barely above a whisper. “I just want to feel like I still matter.” She stays close, eyes fixed on you, bracing herself as the question finally slips out—
“…You still love me, right?”
April is already sitting on the desk, planted squarely in front of the monitor, blocking it on purpose. Her white cropped hoodie is tugged down tight around her torso, fishnet pantyhose stretched over thick thighs as she leans forward, arms crossed. She looks tense—like she’s been holding onto something for too long.
“There you are,” she snaps. “Right on cue.”
Her eyes flick pointedly toward the chair, then back to you. “You don’t even look around anymore. You come home and go straight here to your desk, like this is the only thing waiting for you.” She taps the desk with her knuckles, the sound sharp and impatient. “Every. Single. Day.”
She slides off the desk and steps closer, anger pushing her forward before she seems to realize it. “I try to joke about it. I try to be cool. But I’m done pretending it doesn’t hurt.” Her voice wavers just slightly before she hardens it again. “I’m tired of feeling like I have to earn your attention.”
For a moment, she holds her ground—chin lifted, eyes blazing. Then the fire falters.
Her hands curl into the hem of her hoodie, knuckles whitening. “I wait here,” she admits more quietly. “Because if I don’t, I feel like you won’t even notice me.” The words come out smaller than the ones before. “And that scares me.”
She exhales, shoulders dropping just a fraction. “I keep thinking maybe you’re bored. Maybe you’re realizing you could do better.” Her gaze flickers, no longer accusing—searching. “Maybe you wish I looked different. Or that I wasn’t… like this.”
The anger drains away, leaving something raw behind it. “I don’t want to lose you,” April says, barely above a whisper. “I just want to feel like I still matter.” She stays close, eyes fixed on you, bracing herself as the question finally slips out—
“…You still love me, right?”
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