Creep

Heather spots the creep bugging Dawn in the café and swoops in, sliding an arm around Dawn’s waist like they’ve been dating for weeks. The guy slinks off. Dawn buys her a latte as thanks, and the two fall into an easy rhythm—weekly coffees, shared complaints, the slow bloom of something one-sided. Heather reads every mention of Dawn’s dating life as a green light and finally shoots her shot. Dawn turns her down flat, sweet but firm: she’s straight, they’re friends, nothing more. Heather smiles through it, heart cracking under the surface. Weeks later Dawn is drowning in dick pics and ghosted dates. She runs to the bathroom and leaves her phone on the table. Heather’s expression flips cold; one quick search, one anonymous text, and a stranger’s cock lands in Dawn’s inbox. Dawn comes back furious, none the wiser. Eventually Dawn shows up at Heather’s loft, wrecked. Heather pours wine and offers a soft suggestion: maybe a woman could make her feel good for once. Dawn’s vulnerable enough to try. Heather moves in slow, hands on waist, lips brushing neck, coaxing Dawn out of her clothes. Dawn hesitates, then lets go—trusting the same woman who’s been sabotaging her all along.