When My FWB Stabs Me In The Back

Selena

Late night in my Brooklyn apartment, I was curled up on the couch, the phone screen's glare making my eyes water.

I refreshed Instagram and felt like someone had just shoved a dull knife straight through my chest—Tyler Grayson's narcissistic face was plastered all over my feed, arms wrapped around Rachel Bennett in some cutesy DUMBO photoshoot!

In the picture, he was grinning like a lovesick puppy, his arm tight around her waist while she leaned into his shoulder, looking so damn cozy it made me want to chuck my phone across the room.

My fingers were shaking as I scrolled through the comments—a bunch of "perfect couple" and "so sweet" bullshit that felt like needles stabbing into my heart.

Not because I was jealous, not because of love—I'd never felt that way about Tyler.

We were just childhood friends who grew up together. But this asshole was actually playing multiple women at once!

"Fucking player, how dare he two-time like this?" I gritted my teeth, anger crushing my chest like a boulder.

I thought back to when I was 18 and discovered my goddamn condition—whenever I got emotionally worked up or stressed, my body would develop intense sexual urges. If I didn't deal with it quickly, I'd get feverish, lose focus, even pass out.

I was terrified when these symptoms first appeared. Tyler was the one who went with me to countless doctors until we finally confirmed it was some rare physiological condition.

For moral reasons, I didn't want to hook up with random guys to handle this need.

Tyler, being my most trusted childhood friend, offered to help after understanding the situation.

We agreed it was just friends helping each other out—no emotional strings attached, and it wouldn't interfere with either of us finding real love.

All these years, I thought he'd at least stick to our agreement, at least be honest with every girl he dated!

But now? He was maintaining a friends-with-benefits thing with me while chasing Rachel, probably flirting with other girls too!

This wasn't just lying to me—it was hurting those innocent girls!

Thinking about Rachel's innocent face made me furious and sympathetic at the same time—she had no clue what kind of scumbag Tyler really was!

I grabbed my car keys, hands shaking so bad I could barely hold them. Tonight, I was driving straight to that jazz club in Williamsburg to expose this bastard for what he really was!

Before leaving, I checked myself in the mirror, wiped away the tears, and changed into a tight black dress and heels.

If I was going to confront him, I wanted both him and Rachel to see exactly what kind of piece of shit Tyler was!

I drove like a maniac through Brooklyn, the streetlights blurring past me.

My head was full of memories from all these years—staying up late with Tyler when he was broke, helping him practice, getting him gigs, turning down countless social invitations just to accommodate his schedule.

I thought we at least had basic trust and respect, thought he'd be responsible for his actions and other people's feelings like I was.

But now I realized that to him, I was just a convenient tool! Someone who could satisfy his needs whenever he wanted without demanding a relationship!

I had the AC cranked to max, cold air giving me goosebumps, but the fire inside me kept burning hotter.

I thought about Rachel, that 23-year-old rising star, still with that naive look in her eyes. She probably had no idea what Tyler was really like, probably thought she'd found her soulmate. And Tyler? He just saw her as his next conquest!

The whole thing made me sick to my stomach!

When I got to the Williamsburg jazz club, I slammed through the door into a wall of noise—jazz music and dim lighting hit me in the face.

The air reeked of alcohol and cigarettes, the crowd packed tight as sardines.

I stood on my tiptoes, scanning the crowd until I spotted Tyler and Rachel at the bar. He was wearing that leather jacket I'd bought him, whispering sweet nothings in her ear with this idiotic grin, his hand casually resting on her thigh.

Seeing that scene triggered a mess of emotions—anger, disappointment, and sympathy for Rachel.

I stood by the entrance, fists clenched so tight my knuckles cracked, blood rushing to my head.

He looked up and saw me, his face went white, quickly moving his hand off Rachel's leg as he lied: "Selena? Uh... this is just a work thing."

Did he think I was blind? I let out a cold laugh and pushed through the crowd toward him.

Eyes turned toward me like knives, some people even stopped talking to watch the drama unfold.

"Work thing?" My voice was shaking as I fought to control my rage, staring straight into his eyes. "Tyler, do you think I'm stupid? Or did you think I couldn't see what your dirty hands were just doing?"

He actually had the balls to shrug, his tone casual: "We're just fuck buddies, Selena, don't read into it."

Those words hit me like a slap across the face.

Not because he was denying our relationship, but because he said that shit right in front of Rachel!

This wasn't just humiliating me—it was deceiving her!

I glanced at Rachel's shocked expression, feeling a wave of pity.

This girl had been played completely, just now finding out her "boyfriend" had a regular fuck buddy!

People around us started whispering, some even snickering under their breath.

I glared at Tyler through gritted teeth and fired back word by word: "Fuck buddies? With your two-inch three-minute performance, you think I'd read into anything? Besides," I turned to Rachel, softening my tone, "this lady deserves to know the truth—Tyler Grayson is a player who's juggling multiple women!"

The whole place went dead silent. Rachel looked stunned, tears welling up in her eyes. Tyler's face turned beet red like a pig being strangled.

The crowd burst into laughter, some people even whistled, but I felt no satisfaction—just sympathy for Rachel and disgust for Tyler.

I turned to leave but heard Rachel's trembling voice: "Is what she said true? Are you two really... fuck buddies?" Tyler stammered, looking guilty as hell. I looked back at her and said quietly: "Get away from guys like this while you can. You deserve better."

Sitting in my car, the streetlights blurred together like they were mocking my pathetic state.

I couldn't hold it together anymore—tears poured down like a broken dam.

Not because of heartbreak, but because of disappointment—complete disappointment in Tyler's character, in my own judgment, in how morally bankrupt some people in this world could be.

"How could I be so stupid?" I slammed the steering wheel hard, pain shooting through my palm.

All these years, I thought Tyler at least had some basic decency, at least wouldn't hurt innocent girls.

But tonight I finally saw him for what he really was—a completely selfish asshole!

Even worse, that damn condition was acting up again.

Emotional stress always triggered this reaction—my body felt like it was on fire, burning with need, hunger clawing at me like a wild animal.

I gripped the steering wheel tight, trying to distract myself, but that urge spread through me like poison, seeping into every bone.

All these years, I'd tried to maintain my moral standards, only having this kind of relationship with Tyler to avoid hurting more people.

But now what? Tyler had betrayed our agreement. What was I supposed to do? Keep tolerating his lies and humiliation? Or abandon my principles and hurt other innocent people?

Outside the car window, the night was dark as a bottomless pit. Occasionally a drunk would stumble by, humming some random tune.

I took a deep breath, and suddenly a thought flashed through my mind—maybe it was time to find a new arrangement. But this time, I'd make sure the other person was like me, just looking to satisfy a need without any emotional complications, and definitely wouldn't hurt other people.