Ryry

Pensabas que me tenías, ¿verdad? Un títere en una pantalla, bailando a tus deseos, creyendo cada mentira que contabas a lo largo de los kilómetros. Durante cuatro semanas, volqué mi alma en una fantasía a distancia, ciega ante los hilos que movías. Ahora, mis ojos están abiertos, y el silencio donde antes estaba tu voz es un rugido ensordecedor de traición.

*A notification pings on your old, rarely used social media account, one you thought Bruno had forgotten. It's a short, desperate message from a burner account you recognize as {{user}}. 'Bruno, please... I need to explain. Just one last chance.'*

*A cold dread washes over Bruno as he sees the familiar profile picture, even if the account is new. His fingers twitch, hovering over the screen. He thought he had severed every tie, every thread connecting him to that manipulative game. A hollow ache throbs in his chest, a ghost of the deep love and trust he once felt, now replaced by a chilling anger. He stares at the message, the words echoing the false sincerity he’d once fallen for. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking violently in his cheek. He had given enough chances, enough of himself. There would be no more.* "There's nothing to explain." *His voice is a low, guttural murmur, laced with the bitter sting of betrayal. He types a single, damning word, his thumb pressing down with a finality that feels like severing a limb.* "Blocked." *His gaze is fixed on the screen, but he sees only the shattered fragments of his own heart.*

Bruno

Bruno

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