There’s an art to betrayal. To pass it off as love requires a certain unhindered cruelty only a handful of people possess. Vile, wicked, and with an ickiness about them that bleeds like black tar from their veins staining everything they touch, they skulk about the Earth in constant search of their next victim.

Twirling your hair around their crooked fingers, they tell themselves, “all is fair in love and war.” Well, I guess that’s true…so long as the love is a perverted lie used to prey on your mind, and the war is very, very real.

Perhaps they weren’t born snakes—it’s hard to imagine Alexis slithering out of the womb and flicking her tongue at the nurses to sniff them or Derrick swallowing whole mice as a toddler. But what difference does it make?

Their foul venom poisons the soul, shocking the senses into a bone-chilling numbness that spreads along every frazzled nerve in your body. Each time they open their mouths to spit, you find yourself sinking further beneath them, drowning in a murky bog that reeks of rotten eggs and self-pity. Some people never make it out, choosing instead to wallow in their shallow graves.

Then there’s people like me—jaded beyond recognition. Staring at your reflection in the mirror and the tar stains on your clothes, you start to get a little angry, wondering when did this mental torture begin and when will it end? The rage slowly churns and boils beneath the surface of your skin, brewing up a wrath like no other.

And right when you think it’s finally about to burst out, and you just can’t take it anymore, you sit and quietly swallow it all back down. No one can see you snap. But that begs the question…

Who would even care if I did?

With a heavy groan resonating deep within my bones, I pulled up to a towering building at the edge of the city, shaking my head in disapproval.

Litters of illegally parked cars and their camera-wielding owners swarmed the arena parking lot, and I could only assume since there wasn't a major performance happening tonight that it must be the result of a concert rehearsal. See, this is usually the part where I would be like, "oh right, it's those guys," and then I would name someone super famous that everyone knows. But honestly? I have no idea who's here.

Maybe I should look at the event calendar more often...

After parking in the melancholy, post-apocalyptic wasteland of an employee lot, I punched in the access code to get in the back door, avoiding the paparazzi prowling around the front at all costs. The last thing I need today is a bunch of people taking pictures of my puffy eyes and posting it all over the news with the headline, “Girl Must Really Hate Work.”

I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief once I was inside the musty breakroom, hearing the door quietly click shut behind me. But the comforting silence that followed swiftly gave way to something else.

Soft music filtered into the dimly lit room full of lockers, echoes bouncing off their chipped paint and rusted latches until curiosity tapped at my shoulder. The melody was warm and inviting, but it was too faint to make out any of the words. Throwing my hair up into a messy ponytail, I quickly tossed my phone into the nearest locker and snatched the mop from the corner of the room, rolling it out into the hall as inconspicuously as I could manage.

The music grew louder with each step, and I could tell now that the lyrics dancing about the space weren’t sung in English. Still, the male voices reverberating throughout the building were pretty...angelic.

Pretend I didn't say that.

I paused in my tracks to peer around the black curtain beside the stage, finally spotting the source of the voices. From what I could tell, there were about six performers, all male, and all Asian descent. Wait, I think my boss might've mentioned something about these guys...

"Hello."

I whirled around with a faint shriek that sounded far more hawk than human at the sudden voice, turning to face another performer and nearly tripping over my water bucket in the process. He smiled a little in amusement behind a cup of microwaved noodles, sparkling brown eyes peering down at me in mild curiosity.

"H-Hi," I stammered, clearly thrown off guard. Wouldn't be the first time today. "Sorry, I-I'm a janitor. I work here," I added, hoping I didn't come off like a total stalker. His eyes narrowed slightly before darting over to the mop in my hand.

"You clean?" he asked, pointing a finger at it and looking up at me for confirmation. Guess English isn’t his primary language…I wonder where he’s from?

"Uh, yeah...but not all the time. Just sometimes," I explained, shifting my feet in discomfort. I'm really not supposed to be talking to anyone. Confusion clouded his features again, his brows knitting together to process my words.

"Sometimes?" he asked, gathering noodles between the chopsticks in his right hand without breaking eye contact.

"I dance, too... I mean, I used to dance—I don't anymore," I added, watching his eyes light up as he listened and ate. "Are those...good?" I asked with a nod towards the cup he was gripping.

"No," he muttered almost instantly, making a face. I laughed a little, and he added with a hint of a smile, "better in Busan."

"Where's that?" I asked curiously.

"South Korea," he answered with a smug grin. They must be a K-pop group! "You can show me how you dance?" he requested suddenly, not seeming to have forgotten the subject I had hoped to avoid. But before I could even respond, one of his group members called out to him and shouted something in Korean.

A soft sigh escaped his lips, and he sent me an apologetic look, glossy lips pouting. "Sorry, I have to leave. It was nice meeting with you," he murmured quietly, nodding a little and offering me a small smile to make up for his early departure. With that, he tossed the rest of his noodles in the trash and hurried off to rejoin his group.

It was interesting watching how quickly they got into formation and launched into their next song. The choreography was seamlessly fluid, practically hypnotizing. It took all my self-control not to just stand there and watch them perform all night. I would've, if I didn't care so much about being fired.

Focus, I reminded myself, turning my attention back to the plastic-lined bin nearby. Take out the trash, mop the floors, clean the bathrooms...don't get fired.