Loser's Lament

The club pulsed with life—strobe lights flickered like artificial lightning, the bass thrummed in my chest, and the air reeked of sweat, perfume, and the unmistakable scent of desperation. And at the center of it all was Bella Andrews, the girl who held my heart and, apparently emptied my wallet.

I sat stiffly at the VIP table, fingers wrapped around a half-empty glass of overpriced club soda. (Alcohol was off the table—especially after splurging on Bella’s premium companionship package.) My gaze was locked onto her, my personal goddess of the dance floor, twirling and swaying in sync with the latest viral trend. The holo-foil fabric of her outfit glimmered under the lights, her every move calibrated for maximum allure. And then—oh, that smile. Brighter than the neon bar signs. Deadlier than my dwindling bank balance.

"Perfection," I murmured, unaware I'd spoken aloud. My voice barely carried over the music, but it didn’t matter. No one was listening.

For the next few hours, she was mine—technically. But even as I watched her, a familiar truth gnawed at the edges of my mind. She was out of my league. Beyond my reach. Yet still, I dreamed. Maybe tonight she would see me as more than just another faceless follower. After all, hadn’t I proven myself? I knew her favorite drink (mango mojito, no lime). I tuned in religiously to her streams, and donated frivolously even when my bank account wailed in agony.

The crowd erupted into cheers as Bella struck the final pose of her dance. She laughed—a sound so divine it made my chest tighten—and then, as if sensing my unwavering devotion, our eyes met.

I forgot how to breathe.

Slowly, she lowered her arms from above her head, trailing her hands down the curve of her body with a tantalizing grace. The music pulsed in time with her subtle sway. And like a goddess descending among mere mortals, she walked toward me.

Every nerve in my body screamed at me to drop to my knees in worship.

She leaned in close, the heat of her body intoxicating. Her perfectly manicured hands settled on my thighs, her sapphire eyes smoldering with an unreadable intensity—equal parts angelic and demonic.

"What are you doing?"

The saccharine edge in her voice was laced with something else—something sharp. I flinched.

"Uh, what?"

She rolled her eyes and gestured toward my lap.

I glanced down. Her diamond-encrusted platinum device vibrated violently in my hand. The screen displayed nothing but a close-up of the pearlescent tile floor. Notifications flooded in, each one more frantic than the last.

"WHERE DID BELLA GO?!"

"$30 FOR THIS?!"

"BRO, WHAT'S HAPPENING?!"

My stomach lurched. Oh no. The stream.

"S-Sorry!" I scrambled to lift the phone, but in my panic, I’d forgotten how close she was, and the screen filled with a high-definition close-up of her ample cleavage. My brain short-circuited in a mix of shock and awe. Then the phone exploded with notifications—

"OH MY GAWD!”

"I'VE DIED AND GONE TO HEAVEN!”

"(.)(.)'S!!"

Bella, ever the professional, didn’t even blink. With the practiced ease of someone who had mastered the art of online engagement, she snatched the phone from my hands. In one fluid motion, she tilted it to the perfect angle, striking a pose as her lips curled into a knowing smirk.

"That one was for free~," she purred, voice dripping with playful seduction.

Then, without missing a beat, she turned her gaze to me, eyes shimmering with an underlying coldness as she cooed, “I’m super hot get me some water.”

Translation: Get lost.

I shot to my feet, nearly knocking over my club soda in my haste. Heart hammering, I turned and dove into the sea of moving bodies, weaving through the crowd toward the bar.

"Water," I blurted out to the bartender my voice barely carrying over the music.

He bartender smirked, unimpressed. "Real specific, VIP."

I clenched my jaw. "Bottled. Cold."

With an exaggerated sigh, he grabbed a sleek, black-labeled bottle from the mini-fridge and slid it across the counter.

"Four dollars."

I nearly choked. "For water?!"

The bartender shrugged. "Gotta pay for the ambiance."

I sucked in a breath. I didn’t have a choice. Bella had asked for water. That meant I had to deliver. I tapped my credit card against the chip reader, wincing as the transaction went through.

"By the way, isn’t that BellaView, the streamer I saw you talking with?"

I felt a grin tug at the corner of my lips. Bella’s presence was like a spotlight, and for the first time, I was standing in its glow. Maybe... just maybe, I’m someone worth noticing after all.

I straightened up, trying to play it cool, forcing my voice drop a few octaves.

"Yeah, she's my date for the evening."

The bartender remained unfazed. "You sure about that, bud?" he drawled cocking his head to one side.

I frowned, snatched the bottle and turned on my heel, ready to rush back to Bella—

—Only to see her draped over someone else.

I froze mid-step, my stomach plummeting.

A man—broad-shouldered, dripping in wealth, the type who didn’t even check his balance before spending—had slid into my spot at the VIP table. His arm was slung lazily over Bella’s shoulders, and she was laughing at something he as he whispered in to her ear, all too comfortable, all too natural.

I stood there, gripping the stupid overpriced water bottle like a lifeline. My vision blurred at the edges, reality distorting around the edges of my delusion.

She hadn’t even noticed I was gone.

Hadn’t even waited.

I took a step forward, my heart hammering in my chest, some desperate part of me still clinging to the possibility that this was nothing, that she was just keeping up appearances for the stream—

Bella angled her face toward her new companion, lips still curled in that signature, teasing smirk. The stranger pulled her close, his lips brushing her ear as he murmured something she responded gesturing to her watch. My heart dropped, and just like that, the illusion shattered. She was counting down the minutes till she was free of me.

The overpriced bottle of water nearly slipped from my fingers as reality came crashing down in cold, brutal clarity.

I was never a contender.

Just a customer.

Bella wasn’t mine. Never had been.

My stomach twisted, nausea clawing at my throat. The heat, the music, the overwhelming stench of perfume and sweat—it was suffocating.

I needed to get out.

Now.

"Excuse me."

A slight figure clad in a black hooded sleeveless jumpsuit pushed past me, making a beeline toward Bella. In their wake hung a chilling air of menace and ill-intent.

"Oh, no."

Whomever this was meant trouble and trouble for Bella meant trouble for me. I quick-stepped to the figure and instinctively reached out.

"Hey, wait a min-"

The words stuck in my throat as I found myself suddenly facing the direction which I came, my arm twisted behind me like a suspect in one of those police shows.

I felt coarse cloth press up against the side of my face from which emanated a soft but firm voice.

"Don't touch me."

I gulped, "Look I don't want any trouble, it's just that..."

"I don't care."

The pressure lessened and I managed to break their grip, stumbling awkwardly in the process.

Geez they're strong.

The figure cut through the crowd as if they owned the place, revelers parting before them like the Red Sea. I rubbed my aching wrist and trailed in their wake, palpable dread growing with every step.

Bella’s gaze shifted from her newfound flame to the stranger, her eyes glinting with sudden interest. A slow smirk curled her lips— more gold for the camera. She sat back, voice dripping with playful intrigue as she purred,

"Well, hello there."

The guy followed her gaze, then stiffened. The stranger didn’t even glance at him. Just stared at Bella with the kind of intensity that made my skin prickle. Her admirer opened his mouth—then thought better of it. He stood, adjusted his suit, and vanished into the crowd without another word.

Bella’s eyes glittered. "Rude."

"You love it.” The stranger said gesturing towards her phone propped up discreetly against an empty glass.

Bella giggled. "Oh? Someone’s being bold tonight." She leaned in, her voice dripping with playful challenge. "Well, you gonna just stare or give me some content?"

The stranger shrugged, "Depends. You gonna stream me, or am I just set dressing?"

She tossed her hair, and laughed. Scooping up the phone and without so much as a glance of acknowledgement she held it in my general direction.

I plucked it tentively from her hand, attempting to frame the scene through trembling nerves. The chat was going wild—

”WHO'S THIS SIGMA!"

“BRO IS AURA FARMING TO THE MAX“!"

“STEP ON HIM QUEEN!”—

I barely noticed, something was very wrong.

The stranger leaned in conspiratorially with Bella mirroring the action, eyes blazing with the potential even the chat remained silent in anticipation.

Then in a voice barely above that of the thumping bass the stranger made a noise that may have been in another language reminiscent of a mix of clicks and hissing.

Bella froze, her expression a mix of surprise, horror and what could have been...recognition.

Before she could pull back the strangers hand shot forward grabbing the spaghetti strap of her top.

A brief “Wha—” escaped her lips as, in one swift motion, she was yanked from her seat and hurled into the table which exploded into hundreds of marble fragments.

Someone screamed (I think it was me) and a few of the nearby revelers paused, casting over inquisitive glances, but most remained oblivious—the deafening music, flashing lights and strong liquor deadening all sensations.

In a flash of reflected crimson light, I see the glint of metal as the stranger’s hand slid toward their waistband, drawing out something long and slender. A blade?

My body moved before my brain could catch up. "Get away from her!" I shouted, charging forward like some kind of doomed anime protagonist. I swung wildly, missed entirely, and tripped over my own feet, crashing unceremoniously into the booth .

The attacker hesitated—probably out of secondhand embarrassment—then is thrown backward as a blast of bright blue flame hits them squarely in the chest.

My head instinctively snaps to the direction of the flame’s possible origin and see Bella.

For a second, the strobe light catches her in full illumination—

—and her features shift.

Her jaw elongates, just a fraction. Teeth glint too sharp, too many. Shadows pool in the hollows of her cheeks, her eyes reflecting the light like an animal’s. Then darkness swallows her again.

A trick of the light?

The strobe flashes once more—

—and she’s normal. Beautiful. And seething.

The ceiling sprinklers burst to life, drenching everything in icy water. The DJ’s music cut off with a screech of feedback and the crowd screamed as the downpour soaked through clothes and hair,

A cursory glance revealed no trace of Bella’s assailant and whatever flames lingered from the freak flame hissed and dissipated.

Breathing hard, I pushed myself up, my face burning from a mix of heat and embarrassment. Bella stared into the crowd, her expression unreadable.

"Are… are you okay?" I asked.

She adjusted her bag, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Yeah. Thanks."

No warmth. No gratitude. Just… nothing.

As she stood and turned away, I wanted to say something—anything—to make this night mean something. But the words died in my throat.

The girl I loved wasn’t real. And the hero I’d dreamed of being?

Just a fool on the floor.