A Love That Never Was

The air in the apartment was thick with the stifling weight of unspoken words, the kind that clung to the walls like damp rot. Matty sat on the couch, fingers drumming against his knee, eyes fixed on the flickering screen of his phone. He had read the text a dozen times already, each repetition fueling the storm in his chest.

We need to talk. Can we meet?

It wasn’t the words that set him off — it was who they were from. Brian.

Matty's jaw clenched so tightly it ached. Brian — the name alone was like acid in his throat. His best friend, his closest friend, the one who had always been there. Until he wasn’t. Until he betrayed him.

He squeezed his phone, wishing he could crush it, wishing it was Brian's throat beneath his fingers instead of cold metal and glass. The audacity. After everything? After stealing the one thing that mattered most?

Matty shot up from the couch, pacing. His breath was shallow, his skin hot. The apartment felt too small, like the walls were closing in on him. He could still hear her voice in his head, the way she had whispered his name, the way she had chosen Brian instead of him.

His fists curled. Don’t think about it.

But it was impossible not to. It played in his mind like a skipping record — the moment he saw them, the way she looked at Brian with his look, the one that should have belonged to him.

Matty had known Niki since college. Five years of waiting, hoping, loving her in silence. Five years of being the best friend, the shoulder to cry on, the one who always picked up the pieces when other guys hurt her. And when Brian came along Matty thought nothing of it. He introduced them. He let them laugh together, let them spend time together. He never once thought — never once imagined — that Brian would take her from him.

But Brian did.

Matty stopped pacing, his fingers twitching.

The text message still glowed on the screen. Meet? He wanted to ignore it. He wanted to throw his phone into the wall.

But he couldn’t.

The anger needed an outlet, and Brian was offering himself up like a lamb to the slaughter.

The bar was dimly lit, the kind of place they used to go after long nights of studying, back when their friendship was still real, before the betrayal. Matty spotted Brian immediately, sitting in a booth at the back, his face half-hidden in the amber glow of a beer bottle.

Matty approached slowly, forcing himself to keep his hands steady. His body thrummed with rage, but he wouldn’t give Brian the satisfaction of seeing it.

Brian looked up as he slid into the booth. His expression was careful, guarded.

“Hey,” Brian said.

Matty didn’t respond. He simply leaned back, arms crossed, waiting.

Brian sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I know you’re pissed.”

Matty let out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, do you?”

Brian exhaled. “Look, man, I didn’t plan for this to happen.”

Matty's fingers dug into the leather seat. “You didn’t plan? You didn’t plan?” His voice was razor-sharp, slicing through the space between them. “So what, you just tripped and fell into her bed?”

Brian flinched. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then how was it?”

“She came to me.”

Matty went still. His blood turned molten. Niki came to him?

Brian hesitated, then pressed on. “She was struggling, and I was there. She needed someone.”

“I was there.” Matty's voice was low, lethal. “I was always there.”

“I know,” Brian said softly. “And maybe that’s why she didn’t choose you.”

The words were like a slap to the face.

Matty's hands clenched into fists. “What the hell does that mean?”

Brian met his gaze, steady. “It means you’ve been orbiting her for years, waiting for something she was never going to give you. You think being there all the time earns you a reward? That she owes you love just because you waited?”

Matty's vision blurred. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into something dark and endless.

“You don’t get to tell me what I feel,” he snarled.

“I’m not.” Brian's voice was quiet, almost sad. “I’m telling you what you refuse to see.”

Matty's rage surged. His body acted before his mind could stop it. He shot forward, grabbing Brian by the collar and slamming him against the back of the booth.

The bar fell silent.

Brian didn’t fight back. He just stared at him, calm.

“Hit me,” Brian said.

Matty's knuckles hovered inches from his jaw. His whole body shook with the force of holding himself back. He wanted to. God, he wanted to.

But something about the way Brian looked at him — not with fear, but with understanding — made his anger falter.

Slowly, he released his grip. His arms fell to his sides, suddenly heavy.

Brian straightened his shirt. “You’re mad at the wrong person.”

Matty didn’t answer.

Brian stood, tossing some bills onto the table. “I’m sorry,” he said. And then he walked out.

Matty sat in the booth long after Brian was gone, staring at the untouched beer in front of him.

The rage still simmered, but beneath it, something else lurked.

Something he didn’t want to name.

Because if Brian was right, if Niki had never wanted him the way he wanted her — then what had he been fighting for?

And more terrifyingly, what was left of him without it?

Matty sat there, unmoving, as the bar’s low hum of conversation and clinking glasses slowly resumed around him. The anger that had been thrashing inside him like a wounded animal had settled, but it wasn’t gone. It had simply coiled itself into something heavier, something that sat in his stomach like a stone.

You’re mad at the wrong person.

The words echoed in his head, unwanted but persistent. He wanted to dismiss them. Wanted to say Brian was just trying to justify what he did, to make himself feel better about stealing the one person Matty had ever really wanted.

But there was something about the way Brian had said it — calm, certain — that wouldn’t let him push it away.

Matty exhaled sharply and grabbed his beer, downing half of it in one long gulp. It was warm now, stale and bitter, but he barely tasted it. His fingers tightened around the glass as he stared at the table, lost in thought.

How long had he been chasing Niki? Five years? Six? He had been there for her through everything — every bad relationship, every heartbreak, every drunken night where she sobbed into his shoulder. And all that time, he had believed, deep down, that one day she would see it.

See him.

But she never did.

Not the way he wanted.

Matty's stomach churned. His hands felt clammy. He suddenly needed air.

He stood abruptly, throwing a few crumpled bills onto the table before pushing his way out of the bar. The cool night air hit him like a slap, but it did little to clear the suffocating haze in his mind. He walked without thinking, feet hitting the pavement in a steady, almost frantic rhythm.

By the time he stopped, he was standing in front of Niki's apartment.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

What am I doing?

But he already knew. He had been coming here for years — always to check on her, always to be the one she could rely on.

Always waiting.

He clenched his fists, staring up at the dimly lit window. For a moment, he considered turning around. Going home. Letting it go.

Then he saw movement behind the curtains. A shadow passing.

And then another.

His jaw tightened. She’s not alone.

A deep, suffocating wave of something ugly rose inside him. He knew who was in there with her. Brian.

The betrayal was sharp, slicing through him like a serrated knife. He had barely cooled down from their conversation, and now this? After everything, they couldn’t even have the decency to wait?

Matty's breath came fast, uneven. His hands trembled. He needed to do something.

He needed to make her see.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he walked up to the door and knocked — hard.

A few seconds passed. Then footsteps. The door cracked open just enough for Niki's face to appear, her eyes widening in surprise.

“Matty?”

His name sounded different coming from her now — cautious, uncertain. Not the warm, familiar way she used to say it.

His throat was dry, but he forced himself to speak. “Can we talk?”

Niki hesitated.

Then she stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

Matty noted that. She didn’t let me in.

“What’s going on?” she asked, arms crossed over her chest. She looked tired. Defensive.

He studied her, trying to find some trace of the Niki he knew. The Niki who used to cling to him when things got hard. The Niki who used to call him in the middle of the night, crying about some other guy who didn’t deserve her.

The Niki who needed him.

But she wasn’t looking at him like she needed him. Not anymore.

His stomach twisted. “Why didn’t you tell me?

Niki sighed, rubbing her temples. “Matt—”

“Don’t do that,” he snapped. “Don’t act like this is normal. Like this is fine.”

Her expression hardened. “I didn’t owe you an explanation.”

Matty flinched, the words hitting like a slap. “After everything?”

“Yes.” She folded her arms tighter. “After everything.”

The night felt colder now.

Matty swallowed hard. “I was always there for you,” he said quietly.

Niki's eyes softened, just a little. “I know.”

“Then why him?”

She sighed again, shaking her head. “Because… I wanted him.”

Matty's breath caught.

She didn’t say it cruelly. Didn’t say it to hurt him. But it did. More than he ever thought possible.

Niki looked at him then — really looked at him. And something in her gaze shifted.

“Matt …” Her voice was softer now, almost regretful. “I think you’ve been holding onto something that was never real.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “That’s not true.”

She tilted her head slightly, sad but firm. “Isn’t it?”

Something inside him cracked.

Niki sighed, glancing toward the door. “I should go.”

Matty knew this was it. The moment where he could walk away and pretend this conversation never happened.

But he couldn’t.

“Do you love him?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Niki hesitated. But only for a moment.

Then she nodded.

Matty felt his stomach drop, like the floor had been ripped out from under him.

It was over.

It had never even begun.

Niki reached out, just for a second, as if she wanted to touch his arm, to soften the blow. But she didn’t.

Instead, she gave him one last look — gentle, but resolute. Then she turned and slipped back inside, closing the door softly behind her.

Matty stood there, staring at the wood grain, at the space where she had just been.

For years, he had built his life around waiting for a moment that was never coming.

Now, there was nothing left to wait for.

The anger was still there, but it no longer burned. It only ached.

And for the first time, he didn’t know what to do with it.