Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 5

Inside, the place was soaked in color and smoke, blue haze curling through amber lights, laughter that didn’t sound happy, just loud. There was a film over everything, like the place had absorbed years of sweat, regret, cheap cologne, and spilled dreams, and wore them like a badge.

The music throbbed low, heavy bass pulsing through the walls like a second heartbeat. The smell of beer clung to the air, mixing with fried food and the sharp tang of something burnt. A girl with smudged eyeliner leaned too far over the counter, ordering shots she probably couldn’t afford. Two guys in the corner booth argued in slurred voices about who hurt who more.

And still, it felt… right.

Not in the way that something good feels right. But in that weird, crooked way that broken things fit together. These were people who didn’t come to dance or flirt or pose for stories. These were people who came to forget. Like me.

I spotted Tim waving me over, a half-empty pitcher in front of him and Drake already mid-laugh beside him. I slid into the booth, offering a nod instead of a smile.

“You look like shit,” Drake said, grinning.

“Thanks,” I muttered. “That’s exactly the look I was going for.”

Tim poured me a glass, the foam fizzing over the rim. I took it without a word and drank like it owed me something.

For a while, we just sat there, jokes flying between them, the kind of rowdy comfort that didn’t need explanations. It helped. Sort of. The buzz was slow, warm. It numbed the edge, but not the weight. Never the weight.

Then, like an idiot, I opened Instagram.

I don’t even know why I did it. Maybe out of habit. Maybe I was looking for something, some validation, some distraction.

And there it was.

A post from school.
Matt.

Smiling like he always does, clean, unbothered, perfect, holding up a gold trophy in one hand with the other around some teacher’s shoulder. A fucking math quiz bee. First place. Of course.

The caption read:
“Congratulations to Matthew for winning first place at this year’s Academic Challenge! #PrideOfStMartin #BrainsOverBrawn”

I stared at the screen, my jaw tightening. My stomach twisted when I saw the list of people who liked the post.
Betty.
And then...my dad.

He doesn’t even use social media. But somehow he liked it.

And like a car wreck I couldn’t look away from, I scrolled down to the comments.

> “Matt’s the definition of excellence.”
“Captain of the brain team! Way better than some pretty-boy basketball benchwarmer.”
“Brains > biceps any day.”
“Can we replace the basketball star with someone who can count past ten?”
“Matt’s the real MVP. James Gray is just... eye candy.”
“Matt doesn’t need to sweat to prove he’s worth something.”

There it was again. That pressure behind my eyes. That weird ache that starts in your chest and crawls up your throat like it wants to choke you from the inside out.

I clenched my phone in my hand so tight my knuckles turned white.

“There he goes. The perfect guy,” I muttered under my breath, half to myself, half to the universe.
“They’re praising Matt again. I wish I had his life.”

Drake leaned over, eyebrows pulling together as he tried to read the screen. Then he snorted and shoved my shoulder lightly.

“Man, don’t even trip. Matt’s boring as hell. He’s the guy teachers love and no one actually wants to hang out with.”