The Bitch Is Back.

— ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ —

Josh Kiszka

Long Time Coming ☾ ★

The one in which y/n can’t handle Josh’s eccentric personality. An altercation at the bar leads her to see a side of him that she never saw before. A personal family struggle causes a blowout and leaves her wondering if she had misjudged Josh a bit too much. (Josh x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 8.3K

It’s Never Over ♡ ☾ ★

A year and a half after a devastating breakup, y/n finds herself face to face with the boy she’d spent months trying to fall out of love with. although separated, neither her nor Josh found it within themselves to forget about each other. they’re faced with the choice to let history repeat itself, or walk away for good. (Josh x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 17.7k

Lex Talionis Masterlist | ☾ ★ | ON HOLD

LEX TALIONIS: the law of retaliation, whereby a punishment resembles the offense committed in kind and degree | The one in which a player, who is fantastically gifted in her ability to play, finally gets a taste of her own medicine. SERIES | ON HOLD

Blurbs

Flowers ♡

— ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ —

Jake Kiszka

Complicated ♡ ★

Growing up as Josh’s best friend was fantastic, but his twin brother held a separate, special place in y/n’s heart. A time lapse of an undying, embarrassing high school crush. (Jake x f!reader) ONE SHOT | 14K

Spitfire Masterlist ♡ ☾ ★

An enigmatic girl at a bar catches the attention of a young guitarist, enticing him just by existing. In an attempt to get to know her, she gets away before he even learns her last name. He’s stuck wondering if fate will be on his side, wishing for just one chance to make her his (Jake x f!reader, series, SMUT 18+) FINISHED | 66k

The Green-Eyed Monster ☾ ★

Alcohol and sour moods don’t mix; learning that the hard way, y/n navigates her long time boyfriend’s jealousy for the first time. In attempt to ignore it, she quickly finds herself caught up in a toxic game of who can piss the other off the most. (Jake x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 17k

Gold Dust Woman Masterlist ♡ ☾ ★

Y/n finds herself completely in love with Sam with no hope of ever recovering. After months of waiting, hoping for a bit of reciprocity, she spends a night drinking his memory away. But, as we know, liquor never solves an issue, and always has the potential to create another. One messy hookup leaves leaves her undeniably in lust with the worst possible person: his brother, Jake. (Jake x f!reader, series, Sam x f!reader, love triangle, SMUT 18+) FINISHED | 190k

Guilty Pleasures ♡ ☾ ★

Due to a strong foundation of trust and a willingness to share, a situation which would normally be catastrophic seems to turn out to be quite rewarding. (Danny x f!reader, Jake x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 20.4k

Capital Vices Masterlist | ♡ ☾ ★

Religion never seems important until you’ve engaged in so much sin that salvation is no longer an option. (Jake Kiszka x f!reader, series, SMUT 18+) FINISHED | 120k

Reaching New Heights

Jake walks in on y/n during some particularly interesting alone time, opening them up to a whole new world (Jake Kiszka x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 11k

Lex Talionis Masterlist | ☾ ★ | ON HOLD

LEX TALIONIS: the law of retaliation, whereby a punishment resembles the offense committed in kind and degree | The one in which a player, who is fantastically gifted in her ability to play, finally gets a taste of her own medicine. (Jake Kiszka x f!reader, Josh Kiszka x f!reader, SMUT 18+) SERIES | WIP

Partners In Crime | ♡ ★

The cure for heartbreak is truth, but what do you do when the truth is the source of heartbreak itself? (Jake Kiszka x f!reader) ONE SHOT | 9k

Rotten Apple | ♡ ☾ ★

Karma takes form in the strangest of ways. (Jake Kiszka x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 16k

Heartbreak Hot Seat | ♡ ☾ ★

Jake Kiszka seems to have the perfect remedy for a broken heart. (Jake Kiszka x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 20k

Poolsides & Pizza Boxes | part 2 | some time later | ♡ ☾ ★

Alcohol and secrets make for a deadly combination. (Jake Kiszka x f!reader, SMUT 18+) TWO PART SERIES | 35k

Little Miss Sunshine | ♡ ☾ ★

One little confession leaves you second guessing everything you’ve ever known about Jake Kiszka. (Jake Kiszka x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 26k

Melodic Memories Masterlist | ♡ ☾ ★

In a tattered old box shoved deep down in the corner of an overfilled closet, a lifetimes worth of memories lie dormant at the bottom waiting to be rediscovered. (Jake Kiszka x f!reader, series, SMUT 18+) SERIES | WIP

Veni, Vidi, Vici ♡ ☾ ★ | coming soon 🤍

A collaboration with the lovely @jakeyt

Pandora’s Box ♡ ☾ ★ | coming soon 🤍

A starving artist with too many secrets catches the attention of a bartender who cares a little too much. SERIES | WIP

Blurbs

Doing each others hair ♡

Confessing feelings ♡

Bringing home a stray kitten ♡

Jake loves dogs, but you own a cat ♡

— ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ —

Sam Kiszka

Hate To Love You | part two | part three | ♡ ☾ ★

Sam and y/n spent months hating each other, but a drunk confession and a bathroom hookup leads to more trouble than they bargained for. (Sam x f!reader with a Danny love triangle, series, SMUT 18+) FINISHED | 25k

Picasso | aftermath | ♡ ☾

COLLEGE DORM AU y/n finds herself pining after the boy across the hall, taken by surprise after a series of events reveals that he feels the same way. An unconventional hookup leads to Sam making her first time unforgettable, both hoping for a romance to blossom from it. (Sam x f!reader, AU, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 15.5k

Gold Dust Woman Masterlist ♡ ☾ ★

Y/n finds herself completely in love with Sam with no hope of ever recovering. After months of waiting, hoping for a bit of reciprocity, she spends a night drinking his memory away. But, as we know, liquor never solves an issue, and always has the potential to create another. One messy hookup leaves leaves her undeniably in lust with the worst possible person: his brother, Jake. (Sam x f!reader, series, Jake x f!reader, love triangle, SMUT 18+) FINISHED | 190k

Catch-22 Masterlist ♡ ☾ ★ WIP | ON HOLD

Catch-22: a dilemma or difficult circumstance from which there is no escape because of mutually conflicting or dependent conditions. | Even if you knew every word to exist in every language known to man, you would still be certain that there was no better way to describe your relationship with Sam Kiszka. SERIES | ON HOLD

Blurbs

Early Morning Fluff ♡

Kissing in the rain ♡

Sam giving you his sweater ♡

— ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ —

Daniel Wagner

Bugs, Bears, and a Thunderstorm ♡ ☾

Y/n is not particularly enthusiastic about a camping trip. A set of unfortunate circumstances ensues, turning out to give the best possible conclusion to the situation. She realizes that maybe camping isn’t so bad, after all. (Danny x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 12.5K

Fade Into You ♡ ★

A bad day leaves y/n searching for solace in her boyfriend, Danny. He’s quick to the rescue, showing his unconditional love and willingness to help however he can. (Danny x f!reader) ONE SHOT | 6k

Guilty Pleasures ♡ ☾ ★

Due to a strong foundation of trust and a willingness to share, a situation which would normally be catastrophic seems to turn out to be quite rewarding. (Danny x f!reader, Jake x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 20.4k

Belladonna 1-9 Belladonna 10-? ♡ ☾ ★ | WIP

Too beautiful to resist, and too deadly to survive; the tragic tale of belladonna in all its glory. SERIES | WIP

Sharpshooter ♡ ☾

Be careful what you bet for. ONE SHOT | 20k

Veni, Vidi, Vici ♡ ☾ ★ | coming soon 🤍

A collaboration with the lovely @jakeyt

Blurbs

Doing each others hair ♡

Danny helping when you’re overwhelmed ♡

In the rain ♡

Inside the palace, the corridors were quiet—so still and abandoned that a pin drop could be equated to an explosion. 

The old cement stone was caked with dust, the precious gems and plated gold leaf on the marble panels were eye-catching normally, but haunting in the moment. 

The entire structure seemed to be cracking under the weight of the failure of its leaders. 

The open arches in the entryway were filled only with gusts of wind, the absence of life, eerie and off-putting. . . but the heaviness of the feelings living in the sturdiness of the arches had no impact. Their enormous shadows, flooding the ground, yet finding no life to bestow the implications upon. 

Palatine Hill, home to royalty and riches alike, safeguarding secrets and deception that would only come out if the community fell down. If we kept it appearing safe, the townsfolk would never know they thrived and suffered from our immoral behavior and choices. If they found out, they would surely put an end to us, which meant we had to guard our own vices with our lives. 

To die from or die for, we did not even know. After so many years, the lines began to blur. 

At least, that’s what we always chose to believe. We could always see right from wrong, but we never heeded the warnings of the gods — acting as if we were above everyone when in the end, we all bled the same color. 

Horribly red — crimson. 

The horrors that lived in the building alongside us, the sins and crimes committed by the cold, beating hearts that made home inside, thrummed and pulsed deviously against the walls. 

With every tedious throb, the foundations in which we built our lives upon all threatened to give way, but we were too foolish to believe that we were mortal beings capable of being stripped of our power. Our deception had grown so large it had no choice but to break free. 

I suppose even the slightest bit of authority could make any mortal man believe he had the taste of immortality on his tongue if felt for long enough. 

We weren’t the ones doing the dirty work, our hands clean of the dirt we forced others to dig through. Bloodstains not tainting our skin, but our souls as we ordered our people to fight our battles for us. 

Because the suffrage never reached our front stoop, we turned a blind eye, drinking wine from jewel encrusted chalices with the bodies piling just out of sight. 

I’m sure if we turned our heads, put down the gluttonous acts and selfish desires for a moment, we would have understood the wreckage we were creating — but we never could. 

Palatine Hill was many things — good and bad — but it was home to us. 

Augustus, the very first emperor of Rome and his wife Livia, both had houses on the Palatine. It was a good place to start anew, right in the heart of the city overlooking the Roman Forum, which was everything to us. 

It served three purposes: political, ritual, and civic. 

In short, if not for the Forum, we had nothing. 

Tiberius, who reigned after Augustus, created a new residence—the Domus Tiberiana, where Caluga and Claudius lived also. From the very beginning, Palatine was for the riches. All of the emperors lived here, and their descendants too. 

Deciding it would be best to become one, to up the security and safety for those that dwelled inside, they devised a plan for themselves and all future rulers. 

Not long after, construction began to combine the two palaces, to create one, even mightier solace. For the first few days, progress was plentiful, and the workers were commended for their effort. Then, taking everyone by surprise, a fire broke out in the valley of the Circus Maximus, raging for ten days and amassing the most damage in the center of the city, damage that we had never before known. 

Everything from homes to temples were destroyed, leaving us in devastation and forcing the town to believe that we would never recover, until Nero. 

Nero, the fifth Roman Emperor, organized the relief, provided temporary housing and removed the destroyed structures. He also enacted safety reform and fireproofing laws in an attempt to prevent and limit further tragedies. 

Though he helped and provided immense support and assistance, he did capitalize off of the disaster for his own gain. By the end of his reign, he was notorious for his cruelty and debauchery. 

Buying all of the land and constructing his golden palace, thus came the Domus Aurea. 

The palace and gardens stretched from the Palatine Hill, across the valley, and to the Esquiline Hill. It was a masterpiece, with 300 rooms, gardens, a private bath complex, and an artificial lake. To this day, there is still a 120 foot statue in the entrance. 

The statue is of Nero himself — gilded bronze to showcase the mastermind behind the palace. 

At the end of his reign, Nero decided to commit suicide instead of facing death by the Roman Senate, which in my opinion, though not honourable, was the most humane way to go. That left the Domus Aurea vacant, yet still inhabited by the servants and workers. 

My Father, Aurelius Octavius, a descendant of Augustus himself, was next in line. 

My pregnant Mother in tow, he took the palace like he took the power — with vigor. An unrelenting and stringent attitude left the townspeople believing he was harsh and cruel—in the beginning, the ideas and speculations were a touch out of proportion, but as time went on, he certainly grew into the titles as if they were always meant to be his. 

Hoping for a boy, an heir, he made home in the new and strange place with a sort of naivety that back then, was lethal. With only a few short weeks until Fatherhood, he made quick work of reforming the city state into what he wished it to be. 

Focusing on the military specifically, he assured the people war would not come soon, but we would be prepared if such things were to happen. The servants quickly learned their place in his ranks, and learned that it was lower than ever before. He was a callous man who held little regard for the people around him if their status did not equate to his own. 

And, for the first eighteen years of my life, I shared that belief. Where it led us was worse than what we ever imagined. Though, if deserving was the question, I would have always agreed. We deserved every unrighteous thing that came our way. . . I’d known since I could understand morality that how we behaved as imperials wasn’t right. . . It was just how we’d taught ourselves to be. 

The suffrage we endured was nothing short of our own doing, and though he could never see it that way, I never failed to. And that fact alone served as the reassuring proof that he and I were never as alike as I once naively believed. 

My Mother, from what I was told, was a vibrant young woman who had more kindness than any other empress who reigned. 

Betrothed to my Father at only sixteen, I’d heard many times by the servants around me, amongst themselves discussing her. These servants who raised me. . . They often said that not even my Father’s innate darkness could diminish my Mother’s light. 

Oftentimes, I was told I was the picture of her. 

“A walking embodiment. . .,” I’d hear. “As though she never left. . .’ 

Although, I was never sure if the sentiments were true or not. I liked to believe they were, because a likeness to her meant less of one to him. 

Unfortunately, I’d never know for sure if it was the truth or pure grievance from the maids. . . Wishing her back, somehow. Because, it was not long after they took power, she endured what was believed to be the greatest sacrifice a woman could ever make. 

Surrounded by a team of midwives and assistants, she went through a plethora of religious rituals in hopes of bringing me into the world safely. In a room, sat upon a birthing chair as she was slathered with oils and sponge bathed with warm water, she struggled for three whole days. 

Juno Lucina, the primary deity presiding over childbirth, facilitated labour for her. Postverta and Prosa averted breech birth, and Vagitanus or Vaticanus—both the same, opened my mouth for my very first cry.

Soranus recommended two women stand beside the birthing chair and one in front, holding the pregnant woman in support. For three days, they exhausted themselves, waiting to feel the presence of such deities to take the pressure off of them. 

Though. . . it never came. 

On the second day, they sent other women to retrieve herbs used in healing remedies and amulets to ease the pain of labour and accelerate a safe birth. 

And finally, on the night of the first full moon of the fall, nearest to the equinox, I took my first breath. 

It is without explanation that I don’t remember it. . . but like all newborns, I know, without a single doubt, that it was agony. I cried, screamed, red in the face as I protested the lack of comfort my Mother provided. 

Little did I know, I would never experience it again. 

Her body, too weak to live from the pain and the extreme loss of blood. 

My Mother, Prima Claudia, (or Claudia, daughter of Claudius—a tradition to name daughters after their Fathers on a numeric basis to which she fell victim to), took her very last breath on that birthing chair. Her lungs, unable to withstand the pressure as she succumbed to eternal sleep without ever holding me or calling me by name. 

I think, though I never knew for certain, that a part of me went with her. I never knew her, never knew the difference, but I felt it. Something missing, something that I could never have. 

I wasn’t sure what hurt more, the grief of the loss, or the grief of not knowing. 

I figured it had to be the not knowing, because I did not understand how a person could grieve a loss they never felt in the first place. 

Then again, it was not the loss of the person I did not know, but the loss I felt in every aspect of my life. I felt her absence, almost more than anything else, nearly every day. 

I was put in the care of a servant for my adolescence, a woman by the name of Agnes who would cater to my every need. She fed, clothed and bathed me, taught me right from wrong, how to read and write, held me while I cried and tended to my scraped knees. 

She was, and always has been, my Mother though she did not carry me. 

When she took on the burden of me, she was no older than I am now. Nearing her second decade and still full of life, she gave everything for me with a promise of nothing in return. 

Why she ever did such a thing, I do not know, but what I do know is that for the first eighteen years of my life, she taught me trust. For the first eighteen years of my life, she was the only person I could trust. 

Hand in hand with the former, she was the only friend I had ever known. She was my whole world, and though my world has grown since then, she never strayed too far. 

For those several years, my Father grieved. He pawned me off to another, as he lived under the guise of sorrow. 

Or so he said, anyhow. 

We knew the difference, even if he would never confess to the atrocities he was planning and plotting. 

My Father and I sat together at mealtimes, and occasionally he checked in on me. Very rarely did he hug me, and seldom did he say he loved me. I always knew he was my Father. 

And, even though times were different back then, than now. . . When I viewed him in a more respectable light. . . I still couldn’t shake the feeling of discontent. 

When I thought about having children, I could not picture their Father being so uninterested… uninvolved with their offspring.

I was under the impression that I would love the one I married, that we would build upon that love and create life. 

I suppose we did, but it was never the way I imagined it.

When I was walking and muttering a few foreign words here and there, a new woman moved into the palace. 

My Mother’s place in my Father’s bed, filled by another. I never did speak to her much, mostly because I couldn’t. Just like any fairly young toddler, I knew how to express for necessities, but not much else. 

However, I noticed a few things about this woman. . . Even as young as I was, a few things stuck out that I’ve never forgotten. Sealed in my memory.

From what I could recall, she was pretty – young and glowing in a way I had never seen from another woman before, even if she was a bit downtrodden. 

Though, sad as she was, I remember my Father being more alive than I’d ever witnessed. It was odd to witness, to say the very least. Instead of hiding away in his chambers, the man saw more of the light of day than I’d ever witnessed beforehand.

The most prominent thing that sticks out in my memory of this woman, though, was her belly. It was round. . . not huge, but round. No one seemed to notice it but me, though. The day she walked through the halls for the first time, intermittently, she’d held it protectively. That day, I didn't know what it was. But now, I obviously know she was with child. Although, looking back, I am almost completely certain my Father didn’t know it when he first invited her in. 

He’d loved the reality of a woman accompanying him, warming his bed, and complimenting him. . . And she had simply loved the security.

From her first day in the palace and on, I remember the bump growing. . . . and people noticing it as it grew. A hand underneath it, the robes she wore, taut over the bump below it. 

I found out later on down the line that her husband, the emperor of a nearby city state, had died. I never found out how, but I suppose it wasn’t important. She went in search of sovereignty, not knowing how to function without someone else in control of her. Grief stricken and riddled with fear, she caught wind of the emperor, widowed for two and a half years, who had not yet found a wife. 

She played a nasty game, but my Father had been a fool for her. He fell for it, and he’d been suffering the consequences ever since. She gave birth to a child, a boy — Joshua. 

And, while Joshua was a male, he was not the male heir my Father had always wanted. He couldn’t be, considering Joshua wasn’t his. . . .

Just as I had (inadvertently) known and my Father came to find, she had been pregnant before she ever showed up at his door. The new Empress had tricked him into taking them both in. I can still hear the screams emitted from my Father, and the howling cries that left the woman’s mouth, on the night that I’m assuming she revealed the truth to him. . . . 

I always wondered why my Father allowed it; why did the boy survive and why had she continued to live under our roof?

All I could assume was that it wasn’t ever a pure want of my Father’s for her to stay. 

After my Mother died, he had changed—in everyone’s opinion, for the worst. The older I became, I figured my Father and this woman must have made some kind of a deal, to never let the general public know that the boy wasn’t his. That seemed to be the only thing that made any kind of sense. 

The boy was, in fact, a prince, by blood (his Father) and circumstance (my Father), but not in line for the throne. So, even as my Father raised him, provided for him. . . . . my Father never let him live under the impression he would inherit the riches of Rome. My Father would never allow such nonsense. 

Even if I was not the boy he wanted, I was my Father’s one and only child by blood. So, the riches and the kingdom were mine (or my husband’s, rather, who would be of my Father’s choosing). 

And though the boy always knew that, it did not make much difference in how he behaved like an entitled prince. He was still spoiled, rude and ruthless. And, I believe that my Father always loved him more than he ever loved me. This boy was raised to be a mini version of my Father — cruel and unjust in his golden crown. . . Looking back on it, I can now understand where he learned those heinous qualities. 

The spoiled prince, Joshua, was only three years old, by the time his mother was gone too. A five year old motherless girl, and a three year old motherless boy. . . .

I never knew why she’d died, but I suppose it was just another thing that didn’t matter much in the long run. She’d never carried my Father’s offspring, never truly provided for his future. And I knew that was all he wanted me to know — all I needed to know. 

My Father forbade me from speaking about her, but her dim-witted, self obsessed son stayed. I never cared, really, that I couldn’t speak of the woman. She didn’t mean much to me at all. I was most upset about Joshua staying, even after his Mother left to live in the dirt. I eventually grew accustomed to his presence, but I never became comfortable with it. 

He was a nuisance, truly unbearable to be around and impossible to please. He was always loud, mean and angry. He didn’t have to work for anything, and power turned him rotten from the inside. He knew no empathy for any living being, and he enjoyed watching the suffering he caused. 

Joshua and I were never siblings, per se. I despised ever referring to myself as such. . . But, of course, I had to. . . to keep up the charade that all of Rome believed. Everyone, in like mind, was led to believe that Joshua was the Emperor's blood, just as much as I was.

They tried to raise us as such. And, even though we fought using the title of ‘siblings’ we’d lost, tooth and nail, in the gruesome battle – every time. 

In the very beginning, before he gained his own tortuous traits, we played together, ate together, but we never really liked each other. When we broke double digits, we had to be separated by at least a single guard at all times, because we tried to attack when the other was least expecting it. He was insufferable. And, though my Father agreed to a certain extent, he was much too forgiving of such behavior, since it was so similar to his own. I think he felt obligated to take care of him, which I never understood. 

Even if not a blood heir, in order to keep with the image, Joshua was given his own tasks as an imperial. 

And, one of those — Joshua’s most favorite — was reigning as the imperial in charge of running the whereabouts in the Colosseum. It was Joshua’s very own, humongous sandbox. All of Rome would watch as he’d use his utterly disgusting hands to enact the most deplorable events amongst the gladiators. There were a few times where his inhumane assignments for his ‘performers’ (nay, trained fighters) had sent me running to the nearest area to rid the contents of my stomach. 

Crudelis. Saevus. Atrox. Plain as day, utterly barbarous. 

Yet, the crowds only encouraged it. Truthfully, they were all revolting savages. 

If I had it my way, I would have sent Joshua to the Colosseum where he could test his arrogance and so thought strength, instead of commanding others to fight for his own entertainment. Apparently, wanting such things was cruel and inhumane, according to my Father, because ‘he was family, after all.’ 

Apparently commanding cruelty is only applicable upon common folk, slaves, and criminals. . . the people below us, the only people who were ‘deserving’ of such things, according to my Father and stepbrother. 

The people within the pristine walls of this palace, that quite actually — actively — defiled the lives of the less fortunate. . . .their lives were spared of viciousness. . . as the walls ached in silence, the halls humming with ancient loneliness. 

And, now. . . . on this day, within the castle. . . the structure seems to moan in agony. 

Today, it was so still and barren – fitting for the way my chest and stomach lurched against nothing. Not a breath of life was within the walls, for even the servants had left. 

The boom was outside, coming from the chattering crowd that was half enthusiastic and half raging, furious at such circumstances occurring for one and all to bear witness. . . . 

Save for me. But now that I knew of the things occurring outside the innermost parts of these haunted halls? 

I was not only part of the latter, I was creating a brand new category of my own. . . Wrath; a red hot rush for vengeance and death coursed through my veins. I only wished the worst upon those enacting such crimes outside of my home. 

My feet began to throb, surely blistering as I ran, for all I was worth, down these echoing halls. I kept on, as fast as my legs would allow. My delicate, ropy sandals slammed against the mosaic floors. . . 

My dress kept getting in the way. Though a simple gown, the silk material kept clinging to my body as the wind forced it against me. The swooshing of the fabric, against my furiously warm legs, was slowing me down. 

Not thinking a thing of it, I reached down and ripped at the silk curling around my legs with a strength brought on by pure, unadulterated anger. And in one fell swoop, there was a rip up one leg of the flowing dress, allowing more room for me to rush down the corridor.

I was sure I was the only one left inside, the only one who had not been informed of the events set to unfold in the courtyard. I was running so fast it felt like I was flying, my hair flowing behind me as my weepy eyes struggled to find the right path. The tears, both shed and unshed, blinded me.

Down the entrance corridor, the closer I got to the pooling sunlight, I could begin to hear the crowd more clearly. Their words were a jumbled mess of an emotion I couldn’t quite gauge. 

As I approached the end, the heat sweltering as it began to suffocate me, I ran into a roadblock. The crowd was so thick that I could not see through it. I knew I would have to push my way through it to stop it. 

My heart actually burned, as it beat with a sense of urgency I’d never thought to imagine. The muscle threatened to shatter my ribcage, my panic so large that it had grown bigger than even myself. 

My mouth was dry, my throat scratching as I tried to swallow my own fear. With a newfound strength, I forced my way through the bodies standing shoulder to shoulder, sparing no mercy as I tripped over myself to get through. 

The sun was blinding, so high in the sky it was nearly searing my skin to a crisp. 

Midday. High noon. Right after lunch. 

The time was exact. Without question, anyone would know what was happening on the other side of the crowd… 

But I could not let it—I refused to believe it was too late. 

Halfway through the crowd, I began to notice the discontent of the people around me. Whether it be for the scorching heat of the day, or for the barbaric action that was set to take place, I did not know. 

But, I did not stop long enough to face their misery. 

No. I had to get to him. 

My arms were on fire. The muscles in my biceps felt like hot lead under my sun kissed skin. The insides of my thighs, burning with the nonstop exertion of my speed. . . 

Yet, ironically, the initial burn between them, of his doing. The man held at the front of the crowd, having left a lasting impact from nearly fifty hours’ past. The strength of him against me— inside of me. . . It now made the ache worsen as I clambered over and through people to get. to. him. 

Two nights’ past: an evening I would not soon forget. . . 

That muggy evening, a breeze coming in through the open windows, only often enough to not make me lose all consciousness as he took me; the beating of my heart, matching the passion of his movements within me. I could still feel the cool stone wall pressed against my back. 

In a neglected corridor in the palace, my moans daring to bounce off the walls, if not swallowed by his mouth. Neither of us wanted to wake anyone. . . We’d been insistent on doing our best to keep our relations to ourselves, while submitting to our devastating, carnal desires. 

The only time I could see him were hours such as a couple nights ago—when the moon was at its brightest, the day gone to let the black of night cover every sin that happened under its sky. 

And now, I knew he was hung up to pay for my wrongdoings. He was being made a spectacle, as he suffered for my choices. . . ones that I knew would hurt him far more than they would myself. 

From birth, the throne had taught me selfishness. And as I grew, I could never outrun it. Raised with an understanding that self-servient was the only thing I would ever be. In that corridor, I’d most likely ended life as we knew it. . . but I hadn’t believed it would happen so fast. . . 

At that moment, in the dead of night, he had been my only thought. His name, the only cry on my lips, the motion of my body. . . . 

All of it, everything — him. 

My Jacob.

Whomever had come to find us out, and orchestrated such things occurring in the palace’s entry. . . It was unbeknownst to me. Though, I could certainly guess. . .

As I forced through the crowd, limbs aching and heart pounding as I collided with still bodies amassed like stone, I felt the world crash down around me. All of the riches, the gold and jewels, the fine wine and the power, could not make up for this. None of it was worth this. 

A life on the line, yes. But not just any life. . . Not to me. I would have traded every comfort I had ever known to assure his safety — but I feared I was much too late. 

My white robes, torn by hand and soiled with dirt as I finally pushed my way to the front of the crowd. My dress, reflective of my state of mind. 

Tears welled in my eyes, betraying my brain as I willed myself to stay calm. 

Maybe, it was all blown out of proportion. 

Maybe, Agnes was wrong when she’d slipped and told me of this heinous occurrence upon Jacob’s life. Though, unfortunately, I had never known Agnes to be such a thing as wrong. 

I also knew better than anyone that whispers and rumors flew faster than the wind. . . So, perhaps what Agnes had heard was smaller than it truly was. I was hoping so, but like always, it would surely be crushed before my hope could even make any sort of difference. 

First, I did not see him—Jacob. I couldn’t get a good eye on the man I had sprinted a marathon for—the man for whom I was willing to give up everything I’d ever known. 

Instead, perched on a makeshift throne, staring down at the chaos he caused, was my brother. Joshua. 

When I thought before that I knew the extent of Joshua’s evil. . . I didn’t understand. Not until today. 

Catching sight of his eyes at this moment, as they shone with malice. His expression, conveying not only his enjoyment, but his excitement. I could feel my stomach curdling, I knew in no time, I was going to be sick. His hands, actually stained with blood. And knowing whose blood it was, on his pearly hands. . . 

Though Jacob was not innocent, he wasn’t anywhere near the man Joshua had chosen to view him. He was not guilty of the crimes Joshua chose to believe (or make believe) he committed. . . Jacob was nowhere near a villain.

Joshua was the monster. I could have set him on fire in an instant. My brother, not even the equivalent of a human life to me anymore. He couldn’t be. Joshua did not possess the very things that made one human. . . He was taken by cruelty and in love with violence. 

He could only sleep at night if he knew he’d caused unrest and suffering amongst the less fortunate. And right now? That ‘less fortunate’ was the man I loved.

“Aurelia—.”

That voice.

Daniel. My Daniel. 

His dulcet voice, the velvet smoothness of his tone. Finer and more beautiful than a singular thread in my once-pristine gown. . . 

His voice, one I hadn’t heard in far too long. 

It shook me to my core to hear him again. My knees went weak, my head spinning as my gaze snapped towards the speaker. 

“Do not come any further,” he was speaking loudly — much louder, and with more command than I’d initially registered. . . And he was speaking to me, from beside Joshua. 

He was so near to Joshua. Too near.

My husband, the man whose ring I wore. . . He was, essentially, standing at Joshua’s right hand.

The tears that had steadily welled. . .they finally broke the barrier at the sight, soaking my cheeks as betrayal crossed my features. Out of all the people in the world, I never expected it to be him responsible for this. 

Though, out of all the world, he would have been the most justified if he were the deciding man. 

“Daniel,” I spoke, voice surprisingly cutting above the rest. My voice was weak, though, breaking as I fought the flames lapping at my bones. Never before did I believe mental anguish could kill like a physical wound. 

But at that moment, I felt as though this pain felt more lethal than any physical puncture could feel. 

I longed to find comfort in him at this horrendous moment. 

Mea Columba. My Daniel. 

His long curls were still as dark as his irises, but now bleached from days spent beneath the blazing sun. Those handsome curls, tickling the tops of his strong shoulders. His hair was longer than the last time I had seen him. His skin, weather worn and wounded, sun kissed and somehow still radiant. 

His robes were torn, very similar to my own, yet for a cause much more noble. He fought for our nation—his nation, now, thanks to me. . . All while I fought for my own selfish desires. 

Standing there, his brown eyes were filled with ghosts and horrors he would never let me see. And still, this beautiful man looked at me like I was the very center of the universe—like I was the thing the planets chose to orbit. 

Not in a million lifetimes would I ever deserve the husband who stared at me at this moment—the very man who had given his life, his heart, his soul for me. . . 

Knowing that, I still couldn’t stop myself, the sins I committed, so large and atrocious, that I feared I was the sin. . . But I couldn’t not commit them. Truly, it was out of my power. 

My heart was split evenly down the middle — pulling me towards Daniel, my salvation, and Jacob, my greatest sin. 

“Euge! Filth from the sand returns to sand by day’s end! Strike him again!”

“Bleed him like a pig before his head hits the ground! Haec age!”

Too soon, as I heard the rather cruel words leave the mouths of the townspeople beside me, I came back to the moment. 

My eyes went to Daniel’s fist, where it rested around the hilt of his Spatha. 

I was back to horrifyingly believing that he was the one responsible for such a scene, all of the love in my heart for him—instantly burning straight to hate. 

How could he?

Mea Columba — how could he do this to me? I did not know. Even if I had slaughtered his heart, tearing down everything we’d built. . . This was still something that would shatter me. If Jacob’s breath left his lungs, I’d lose half of me. 

Would my Daniel want that? At this point, maybe he would. . . In order to have all of me to himself again. 

I didn’t know for sure. 

What I did know was that I had to speak to stop this. Not for me, but for Jacob. 

No matter if it would incriminate me, I had to speak up for him. I knew I would live to regret my silence for the rest of my life. 

Finally, my head turned just as the executioner raised his whip above his head and prepared to strike again. 

And finally, I let my eyes find the other piece of my heart. 

Jacob. Luna Mea. . . My Moon.

On the ground, his knees scuffed and dirty against the filthy pedestal he kneeled upon. His hands, bound behind his back. 

My soul, torn in two. 

One half, with a sword in his hand, preparing to end it all; and the other, on his knees, paying for crimes I had committed. 

The twisted trick of fate, mocking me as my tongue tied and words failed me. 

I had to stop it, but how? 

How to stop it when I knew the nature of our relationship, when I knew the consequences before it ever came to fruition? 

How to stop it when the power was never in my hands to begin with? A fool I was to ever believe I could trick the gods and their fates. . .

Then. . .

It was almost like he heard my heart. . . My innermost thoughts. . . Almost like the silent pleas were louder than the shouting of the crowd around us. 

His head, long, wavy, chestnut locks, stuck to the rippling muscle in his bronzed shoulders. He turned around, over his shoulder. His face, twisted with pain and the light no longer shining in his eyes — those irises, like chocolate steeped in gold. 

He was still as beautiful as ever—even with the monstrous blood splatter on his skin. 

The clench of his jaw, the steady set of his eyes on mine. . . Both of these things, a silent reassurance that he would take the punishment again and again if it meant he could have me. The sorrow that was undoubtedly glazing his irises was not for his impending demise. . . 

No, it was because he would not get to spend another night by my side, whispering promises about a life we knew would never be within reach. 

I felt my knees hit the stone walkway beneath me, the pain radiating before I ever registered I was falling. 

My mouth hung agape in horror. I could not even vocalize the feeling ravaging my insides. Crimson blood, springing from my knees’ new scrapes. The sting of the cuts was hardly registered as it stained the silk of my white robes. . .

Yet another sick trick of the world, a display of the consummating Jacob and I had tended to, to fulfill our sinful endeavours. 

As he held my gaze, the air around us hung thick and the crowd disappeared behind us. . . 

I could see his lips move, though no sound came out. I didn’t need the sound, however, as I had no trouble reading those pretty lips. 

His message, meant for just the two of us, and received exactly as intended. 

“It’s okay, my Pulchra Puella. . . Cor Meum.” 

The onslaught of fresh tears was sudden. The tears, molten tracks down my cheeks, staining my skin with the sheer love they displayed for the man on his knees before me. . .

And though not spoken, I could recognize the curve of his lip as he’d mouthed the words. I could hear his voice in my ears, the thick rasp of his tone I’d grown so familiar with, like he was standing right behind me again. . . 

For a moment, I was back in the walls of the palace. Just the two of us. . . My body pressed against the stone wall, surrendering to him. The heat of smooth, firm chest, against my back as my eyes rolled back in bliss. . . 

I could feel the strength of his arms holding me, imprisoning me, sealing the terrible fate we’d been busy creating ourselves. 

In the present, his eyes were still on my own; he did not need to say another word, nor did I. I was confident that we both believed the same: that every single second spent together was worth whatever punishment it brought forth. 

Though, I did not want him to do it all himself.

Another whip raised and slashed his back open, blood splattering everywhere. . . And I knew I had to rise from the ground for him. I had to do what I could. 

Except—he shook his head at my action. His eyes were stern with me as he mouthed more my way.

“Ne auderis,” he cautioned, the heat in his eyes making my heart beat even more erratically. His jaw was set, intent on me understanding what he told me to do was, in fact, the final word. “Protect yourself, Cor Meum.”

I knew he didn’t want me to argue it or detest his instruction. . . But my soul longed to run up to him and throw myself in harm’s way for him. . .

Though, I was well aware that he would never want me to insert myself into a dangerous situation for his safety. Any punishment inflicted on me would cause him more agony than the lashings. . .

That much was as clear as the sky on this day. 

I just needed him to be okay, to see through to the end of this day. . . And all of the days to come. 

Yet, I was terrified that, at this point, it was far too much to ask.

A life, his life being spared. . . That would be the godless act to this crowd around us. . . And to the evil ones inflicting this, that would be the devilish request.

But that wouldn’t stop me. None of it would stop me from finding a solution — and finding one hastily.

For, there was no retribution extreme enough to keep me away from him. 

And though I feared he would not live to speak the same sentiment, I knew deep in my heart that he felt just the same for me. 

For this. 

For us.

And this is just the beginning…

July 25th, 2022 - 8:57 PM

As I laid, staring up at the ceiling above my bed, tears continued to fall from my eyes. I wasn’t sure how long I had been in the position, nor how it was possible that I was still crying, but I laid nonetheless, drowning in my own misery. I thought I heard the door open long before, but I had no energy to check, so I continued to man the post, wondering if the agony would pass me by, or if I would remain stuck in it forever.

I couldn’t believe I said such hateful and cruel things to Dylan. As soon as I got home, the front door locked behind me, everything came crashing down all at once. The anger faded into a dull ache, my bones heavy as I tried to put one foot in front of the other, but inevitably failed and became friends with the floor. With my back against the wall, the loose gravel from the shoe mat I kept flush against the door trim stuck to my skin, I knew I had fucked up beyond repair. There was nothing I could do, nothing I could say that would make it better, and I certainly could not take it back.

What I said to Dylan haunted me, and the scene replayed in my mind on a loop, ensuring I would suffer the most painful consequences over and over again. The hurt in his eyes, the tears streaming down his face as he tried to remain stoic while I spat the venomous words. I threw the love he gave me straight back in his face, and when it fell to the ground, wounded and near death, I spat on it for good measure. I was a terrible person, and he did not deserve a bit of the horribleness I threw at him. After everything he did for me, I took it all for granted and used it to punish him.

Sitting on that floor, I knew that it wasn’t even my friend at that moment. The whole world was angry with me, but not nearly as angry as I was at myself.

Dragging myself to my feet, sick and weary as I stumbled down the hallway and to my bedroom, flashes of a life I would never again live danced in front of my eyes. Tear-filled conversations on my couch, dancing in the living room, breakfasts, lunches and dinners shared at a table he would never let himself feel welcome at again, I began to mourn something I never fully appreciated. I knew for fact, more than ever before, I did not deserve Dylan. Not then, and not once in the two years I knew him. I became the very person I swore not to be, sober and without any hesitation. I became everything I once chastised Vincent for, bringing me to an even worse realization: I was his Vincent, just like I always feared.

I was just as caustic, callous and cruel. When someone got too close, I not only pushed them away, but ensured they would never want to come back. I burned every bridge and tore down every pillar, digging through the earth to uproot the foundation of such relationships, not just wanting to separate myself, but to remove any trace of the past that remained. I wanted it to be erased entirely, like it never touched me at all, like I never knew the warmth of the doorway or the coziness of what surrounded me. It hurt less when I convinced myself it never happened, and I was so good at lying to myself that I truly could convince myself of such things.

Had I been more self aware, back then I would have been able to see that Vincent and I were not the same, even if we acted similarly at times. What he did, he did only for the sake of himself, wanting to spin a narrative to benefit himself and get him ahead. All of what I did was subconscious and for the exact same reason every time; self destruction, and destruction to the point of totality. I couldn’t let anything good happen, and I wasn’t well enough to believe that someone could love me. I always thought I was protecting myself, but protection and destruction is a blurred line for someone who never truly knew what protection was.

When I crawled into bed, I was out of my mind, near insanity with all of the pain filling me completely. As the comforter scratched against my legs, heavy and thick with the summer heat seeping into the threads, I laid myself to rest underneath it, wondering if I would ever stand up again or if I would die under the weight of the sorrow.

Romantic or not, I knew I could not live without Dylan, and I survived because of his protection and his dedication to loving me. He was my best friend, the only person in the world who understood me completely and never once asked me to change. Knowing that he would never feel comfortable openly expressing such things ever again, I stared up at the ceiling and wondered why I always felt the need to destroy. My entire life, I wanted to build, to create a life so different from the one that was destined for me, to create a community I never got to be a part of. Instead, when I had the opportunity to do so, I got too scared to see it through, the idea of having people so close shaking the already rocky terrain I stood upon.

I loved so violently and desperately but could not comprehend someone doing it back, and because I expected the worst from everyone, it caused me to be reactive and on edge the minute my feelings were hurt. I was obsessive—when I loved someone I wanted them around all of the time, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being without them, and it pushed me to extremes a normal woman would not go to in order to keep them in my life. I was aggressive, harsh and quick to snap, letting loose the years of pent up anger and pain the minute someone hurt my feelings, even if they did not deserve it, and even if it was me who misread the situation. I was paranoid, dissociative, and I never knew if I was living in reality or a dream state, and so out of control all of the time that it wore me down to the bone and left me with nothing. My emotions were never stationary, my highs euphoric and my lows detrimental not just to me, but everyone around me.

I lived on an oscillating scale of idolizing and then devaluing those I loved, with no warning when the switch came and no buffer period for me to stop it. I was impulsive, engaging in self harming behaviors without even realizing it in hopes of filling a never ending and always expanding void in my chest. I was always afraid of people leaving, abandoning me and never looking back, but I was the first to push them out the door when the opportunity came, knowing it was easier for me to cut it off before they had the chance to hurt me.

I was a mess, so unwell and I knew that those around me suffered just from knowing me. The longer I thought of it, the more Sam talked to me about it, I understood it was not just quirks or personality traits. I was sick, an amalgamation of my parents worst traits and failures and I was finally cracking under the weight of it. My personality was not my own, but rather a defence mechanism I had formed to protect myself from the world around me. The me I knew wasn't really me, but I didn’t know how to stop it. I didn’t know how to stop hurting myself or others, and I didn’t think any amount of therapy would ever solve it. Perhaps the worst part of it all was having to choke down the fact I would likely live the rest of my life that way, and I couldn’t do anything to prevent it.

I wanted to sink into the mattress and become one with it, to calcify in the sheets to never be heard from again. I believed the whole world was better off without me, which brought me to my next topic of dwelling; when things got hard, I always wanted the easy way out. I thought if I died, it would fix everything. For a long time, I walked a thin line of survival and succumbing, knowing it would not take much to tip me to the opposite side.

Then, laying in bed and miserable, I was angry that it was no longer an option. I knew, without a doubt, that even if I acted in such ways, my death would hurt those around me, and more than I even understood. I knew people loved me, even if I didn’t know why, and I resented them for caring. I hated that they could not let me go, because I truly believed death was the only reprieve from the suffering I endured. Knowing that I could not have it made me desperate, the weight of all of my worries sinking in and laying heavy atop of me, leaving me craving relief in the only other way I knew how.

The closure of The Fox was the final straw, the last stab in an already deadly wound, knowing that the paycheck was the only thing that stood between me and Utah. Facing possible unemployment if I could not find anything else, I didn’t have to worry about Danny and Sam leaving, because I wouldn’t be in New York long enough to feel their absence. Thinking of that on top of Vincent’s journey into parenthood, my heart gave an unwanted twist, sickened at the idea of him bringing a child into the world, and even more sickened at the idea that it could have been me that was caught up in it with him.

Vincent would always be the man I feared he was, and he was about to bestow a world of hurt upon an innocent baby who had no other choice. Part of me wished it was with me instead, because even if I would have suffered, I could have served as a shield to protect the baby from all he would do. Lillian, who was really just Vincent in a woman’s body, would seal fate and ensure the things I worried so much about. Also, though maybe a bit misplaced, I felt a burgeoning bitterness towards the two, hateful that they would build a life together and I would have to watch from the sidelines. Despite the fact it would be horrible, miserable for them, I couldn’t stop my heart from breaking.

To see another woman be with a man I tried so hard for, to be with a man I once envisioned a future with, even if he was not the man I thought he was, hurt, and it hurt achingly bad. Putting romance to the side, knowing that Vincent and I would never be together and being okay with that, as his friend it still hurt knowing I would not be involved in that process at all. I would not know his children, when I once believed I would mother them. As an aunt, as a friend, or even as a passerby, I would not know anything about his life, or if he would ever get better, and I would not be a part of it, and that sucked.

Knowing Dylan was mourning the same things, kicking Vincent to the curb on behalf of me and missing out on all the things he once thought he would be a part of, I did not comfort him. Instead, I added more to his growing pile of hurt, and I left him behind to die. Dylan and I could not mourn together, because I would not let him. Because I was suffering, I forced him to do so as well, and said horrible things to him that I never would have thought to speak if I had been in my right mind. Though there was some truth behind the things I said, they came out way harsher than they needed to, and I severed the mending ties between us yet again.

All of the safety and security I had tried to protect in the last few weeks crumbled to the ground, leaving me bare and exposed once again, and I was the only one to blame.

Sitting with all of the new and horrible things, knowing death wasn’t an option, my mind crawled back to the only other solace I had ever known, and a solace that taunted me every waking minute of every single day. The weight of an Oxycontin in my hand, so vivid and when I closed my eyes, so real, despite it not truly existing at all. But, I wasn’t picky, and in that moment with the entire world spinning out of control, I would have taken anything so long as it meant I wouldn’t feel. My mind travelled to places I hadn’t explored in a long time, the chalkiness of a Percocet against the tender flesh of my throat, the numbness of a small dose of Valium, or the sensation of being on top of the world with a single line of cocaine.

As I laid on my worn and torn mattress, I was consumed entirely by the desire to be free, and the only freedom I had ever truly known was the kind a high could give me. My fingers trembled as I crossed my hands over my stomach, my breathing shallow as my brain tunnelled, only able to focus on one thing. A twenty sitting in my wallet, able to give me relief for a single day, just to manage the storm of emotion ravaging me, was more tempting than anything I had ever felt in my life.

I laid, so still and silent with tears streaming down my face, knowing I was facing another fading road that would leave me at yet another dead end. With a single phone call, I knew I could have everything and nothing all at once. It was an impossible choice, choosing between existing or truly living, and with how badly I was hurting, I had myself convinced that the only way I could truly live was if I swallowed down a tiny white pill. I knew addiction always got the best of me, but in that moment, its claws were dug deeper than ever before, and if I did not break free from the suffering soon, it would finally win.

Six days, six weeks, six months—it did not matter. Sobriety was my enemy, and it had been from the very moment I decided to stop using. As I laid, understanding that I would perpetuate a cycle my entire life because I never had enough strength to change it, I began to bargain with the idea of one more. After so long, I had myself tricked that I was in control, that if I used once, I would be able to stop with no consequences.

The funniest part of getting sober is the fact that no matter how long you’ve been clean, the only way you can ensure you abstain is to understand you’re never truly in control. No matter how much the NA counselors try to convince you that you are, and all of the times you believed you were, it’s just the substance playing tricks on you.

As I laid in bed, choking on my own sadness, for the first time in six months, I was naive enough to forget all I had learned. Trusting my own judgement had always been my biggest downfall, especially when it came to my addiction, and I couldn’t see it then, but believing I had more power of the drugs themselves put one of my feet in a well dug grave, ensuring that when my other foot joined, I would never be seen or heard from again.

July 26th, 2022 - 9:31 AM

Dragging my feet through the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, I left most of my sorrow in my bedroom when I awoke earlier that morning. Though it hurt less, I was not better, because the emptiness had taken its place. I had rebuilt from nothing so many times that the thought of kissing rock bottom no longer scared me, no longer moved me. Instead of wallowing over what I had lost, I dragged myself to the kitchen, choked down a piece of burnt toast, and brought my laptop out to continue writing. It took nearly an hour to start, the old piece of junk fighting me at every turn, but when the word document opened up and brought me to the novel I’d been tirelessly working on for years, I was able to channel some of that emptiness into progress.

No matter what I was going through, no matter how much I was hurting or how horrible the world was, I knew writing was my biggest solace, unlike the night before when I almost fell into the trap of drug abuse once again. As I typed away, understanding I was closer to finishing my passion project than I ever imagined I could be, the urge to use slowly filtered out into the morning air. At five, the raccoons in the alleyway went into hiding and the sun began to peek into the horizon. The crows cawed intermittently, picking at garbage and chasing the rats in the street, and I wrote until time faded away into nothing.

Before I knew it, it was nine, and the only reason I stopped was because I heard a knock on my front door. Not necessarily in the mood for company, but knowing that I would only cause trouble if I ignored it, I stood to my feet, sipping away at my coffee and forcing a smile to convince whoever was on the other side that I was alright. Unlatching my new deadbolt, finding the lack of struggle surprising, my heart sank as I thought of the boy who replaced it, remembering all of the hateful things I had told him and reopening the wounds I glued shut the night prior. Knowing I had no time to worry about, I swung the door open and came face to face with Sam and Daniel, which came as no surprise.

“Morning!” Sam greeted, a Tupperware container in his hand as he pushed his way past me, walking inside without an invitation. My brows furrowed, my head following him as he immediately walked towards my kitchen table, Rose in tow as he took a seat. Turning my head back to Daniel with a raised brow, he shrugged in response.

“He was eager to see you.” Danny explained, waiting for me to step out of the way before he came inside, always a bit more socially aware than Sam was.

Then again, I think Sam was the most aware—he knew he would have been waiting for an invitation that would never come. I think, the entire time he knew me, he always knew me best. It was like he was in tune with my emotions, and he could predict my response without me having to say a word. If not for his forced entry, I would have came up with an exuberant excuse to send them on their way, and that was something he wasn’t willing to chance.

“I can see that.” I chuckled, allowing Danny inside and closing the door behind him. Not bothering to lock it again, I led the way back to the table, taking a seat in front of my laptop as Daniel made himself comfortable in the seat to my right. “What are you guys up to so early in the morning?”

“Well, considering you ditched us last night, I figured we should check in.” Sam explained, placing the Tupperware in front of me with a sly little smile, letting me know he wasn’t really that upset at all. “Breakfast, because I figured you’d need it.”

“Yeah, I tried to call a couple times… not really sure what was going on, so we figured we’d wait it out… when you didn’t text, I wanted to make sure you were alright.” Danny explained further, relaxing back in the chair, like my absence and lack of explanation didn’t bother him at all.

I felt guilty, knowing that the two worried about me far more than they should have. After everything that happened with Vincent, they were on high alert, on edge always and never willing to leave me on my own for too long. Understanding they probably thought I was dead, I felt even worse for leaving them hanging, and too remorseful to confess that I forgot all about them.

“Thought that maybe we’d be interrupting… you know… if you had other company.” Danny smiled, tapping his fingers against the tabletop as he gauged my expression, trying to remain impartial to the growing closeness between Dylan and I.

It wasn’t fair, doing what I was doing to them, and even I knew that in my desolate and miserable state. I should have cut ties with everyone, started over and avoided any more hurt, but I had always been far too selfish to do the right thing. After everything Daniel had been through on my behalf, he deserved more, and I knew I couldn’t be the person to give it to him.

“Yeah, like who?” I rolled my eyes, standing to grab two coffee mugs from my cupboard, unwilling to admit that despite my sorrows, it was nice to have people around.

“Who do you think?” He shot back, his eyes following me as I hit the side of the coffee machine, trying to bring it to life as the light around the power button continued to flicker and fade.

“Rest assured, Michigan—I was the only one here last night.” I almost laughed at the ludicrous idea, knowing that after our fight, I would be lucky if Dylan ever stepped foot in my apartment again. I also wanted to ease his mind, knowing he was asking not just on behalf of me, but his own heart. I wished I was a better person. I wished I could say that it was all innocent. I wished I could be the person Daniel deserved.

Picking up on my tone, he decided to lay it to rest for a moment, distracted as I slammed my fist on the top of the machine. The plastic popped ever so slightly, but the previously flickering light remained solid, a blue ring around the brew button letting me know it was ready for action. I placed a mug underneath it, popping off the lid of my instant coffee container and spooning some inside. As I clicked the button to start the process, Danny spoke again.

“You know, repeat violence against defenceless objects is a punishable offence.” He joked, watching as I turned to face him.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll get lucky and break it for good next time. It’ll finally give me an excuse to throw it out the window.” I played into it, only half serious as I listened to the spurts of water shooting too powerfully and erratically into the porcelain cup.

“Whatcha workin’ on?” Sam asked, changing the subject as his eyes landed on my laptop. The fan was working overtime to cool it down, almost loud enough to drown out the irate inner workings of the coffee machine. Then again, I would never be that lucky.

I wondered if they noticed the things I did, if they cared about the things I worried myself sick over. Nearly everything in my apartment was falling apart or damaged in some way, and all of the things that worked at their place were barely functioning in mine. I don’t think, and after months of friendship I would have known, that they ever cared. If anything, I don’t even think they paid any mind to it to begin with.

“Same old.” I replied, placing the black coffee in front of Sam, knowing yet not understanding how he liked it that way. Starting the second cup, I pulled the bag of sugar out of the cupboard and the cream from the fridge. “You know, I actually might finish it soon. Didn’t realize how close I was to the end… ‘til it was in my face.” I chuckled, leaning against the counter as I thought about it.

What once seemed so unattainable was right in front of me, within reach so long as I kept pushing. I used to dream of being where I was then, but never once believed I could achieve it. A lot of it had to do with the addiction, how I could never stay focused when so devoted to something so evil. Then, I blamed it on writer's block and a lack of inspiration. My whole life, I had created excuses that limited me from accomplishing the things I so badly wanted to do. For once, as I stood, even after the whirlwind of shit the world had thrown at me, all I wanted to do was keep writing. I thought, if I could finish my book, my life would finally have amounted to something. Even if I never published it, or if I never sold a single copy, I still did it. All I ever wanted was a purpose, and I felt like if I kept going at the same pace, I would finally find it.

“I better get the first copy.” Danny said, smiling at me as I handed him his coffee. Taking a small sip, he hummed in appreciation, letting me know it was just right.

“You know it, honey.” I gave a sad little smile as I sat back down, swallowing down a mouthful of my cold coffee, envious as I watched swirls of steam pour out of theirs.

“What was that meeting about yesterday?” Sam asked, never able to stay on a single topic for too long. It was one of his quirks I’d grown used to, and one I was beginning to cherish as life continued to grow harder. I wondered if it was truly him, or a quirk that resulted from his own mental struggles he felt comfortable enough to share with me.

For some reason, knowing that Sam struggled with his mental health made me feel less alienated. Knowing his quirks could be tied to his struggles made me feel less alone.

As appreciative as I was that he opened himself up to me, I couldn’t help but sour at the mention of the meeting at The Foxhole. Still bargaining with my own uneasiness and fears of the future, I wasn’t necessarily sure if I was ready to say it aloud yet. At the same time, I knew that the safest place for my fears had always been with the two boys. They had proven time and time again that they would never use them for bad, and after the terrible day I had, I wanted to lean into that comfort a bit further, soaking it up while I still could. I knew the expiration date of our friendship was nearing, and soon enough, I wouldn’t have the luxury of trusting them with anything.

“Uh, nothing good.” I forced another smile, pale as I recalled the announcements John made. “They’re closing us down for good.” I choked out, my mouth dry as I made myself to say it aloud, my entire body rejecting the sound and trying to lock it back up for safe keeping.

“What?” Danny and Sam spoke in unison, drawing my eyes to both of them, back and forth, with no way to soothe either of them or myself.

“Yeah.” I nodded, looking back towards the table so I would not have to see the worried look in their eyes. “At the end of the year… so it looks like I have to get my shit together.”

“You and Dylan.” Danny sympathized, saddened at the thought of both of us losing our jobs, but the stab in my heart as he spoke his name distracted me from the topic at hand entirely. “Do you guys know what you’re going to do?”

“Uh, no.” I shook my head, licking my chapped lips as I tried to formulate a proper response. “I have no idea, and I’m really worried I’ll end up back in Utah.” I confessed. “I don’t have anything but a high school diploma, and not really many skills either. I mean, the pay at The Fox isn’t spectacular, but I know it pays my bills, and I’m always guaranteed my 48 hours… plus tips. Most waitressing gigs are part time, so that’s kind of out of the question.”

“Holy shit, Utah.” Danny grimaced, knowing how devastating the news was for me. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I assured him, forcing a smile despite my teary eyes. “I’ll be okay. Always am, right?”

“You’ll figure it out, Bella.” Sam spoke, wordlessly begging me to look his way so I could see how genuine he was. Eventually, my eyes landed on him, and I was astounded by the sincerity held in his expression. “You’re smart, and you’ve got lots of skills. This isn’t it for you.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I let out a long breath, steadying my shaking hands as I clasped them together under the table, hoping not to show them how worked up I was over it.

“What about Dylan? Does he know?” I cursed the fact that they were friends with him now, nervous that they were concerned about a man I had just destroyed. I knew if I told them what happened the day prior, it may change their outlook on me entirely.

“Uh, not sure.” I rasped, tracing my stick and poke. “He could probably see if he could get on the payroll at The Pony… basically lives there anyway. Or he could work with Doug full time… the mechanic that lives beside him. He’s got a couple possibilities.”

“But you talked to him about it, right Utah?” Danny asked, knowing me well enough to worry that I had closed myself off completely.

“Yeah, of course.” I squeaked, growing more sick with each second that passed. The fleeting serenity I had found that morning was long gone.

“Utah.” He warned, his tone of voice irking me as I sat under his heavy stare.

“Yeah, I did talk to him, but I wasn’t really worried about future plans.” I cracked, knowing it was easier to confess sooner rather than later, especially when it came to the two of them. They had a way of getting the truth from me no matter what, and I knew better than to try and hide behind my facade when with them. “Turns out Vincent’s going to be a dad.”

“What?” Another booming echo from the two shook me to the core, forcing me to shrink back in my chair, terrified to continue the conversation in fear I would react to them the same way I reacted to Dylan. It was a horrible thing to be so afraid of your own psyche, to never be in control and never know when you were going to snap.

“Not you… right?” Sam asked, a bit less informed on the history of Vincent and I. Instead of the invasive question bothering me, I actually let out a laugh, finding it funny he would think so and happy to answer it.

“No.” I chuckled, shaking my head. “Uh, with some girl named Lillian… yeah.” I concluded, the bitter taste on my tongue returning as soon as I spoke her name.

“Did Dylan tell you?” Danny asked, trying to shift the conversation in a better direction, knowing how I felt about Lillian from the many conversations we had prior to that one.

“Not really, no.” I shook my head, swiping my sweaty palms across my bare legs, unnerved by the topic and regretting bringing it up. “Vincent tried to talk to me yesterday, and he kinda pissed Dylan off. Dylan let it slip, and I just so happened to overhear.” I explained, a frown decorating my lips. “So, me being me, I confronted him about it… he knew the whole time. Like, the day after everything happened, and he never said a word.”

“Okay.” Danny said, treading carefully, likely able to see it from both sides. “And how did that go?”

“About as good as you’d expect.” I replied, knowing that I barely even scratched the surface. “I was overwhelmed, still thinking about everything we talked about at therapy, and then I was thrown into that meeting. It seemed like everything was falling apart all at once—the diner closing, Vincent getting her pregnant… Vincent talking to me. I was really hurt that he hid it from me, and I… exploded.” I explained. “Well, I tried to leave and he wouldn’t let me, and then I exploded.”

“Exploded… how?” Sam asked, still sipping away at his bitter black coffee as he absorbed all of the newfound information.

“Uh, I was really mean. I felt like, in the moment anyway, that he was trying to make decisions for me, and like he thought I was fragile, and the more he tried to explain it, the more upset I got.” I said, trying to put everything in perspective for them. “So when he followed me outside, I told him to stop getting involved… that I didn’t ask him to, and I sorta called him a coward.”

“Yeah, okay. Maybe a little harsh, but I can see where you’re coming from.” Sam nodded, making me feel even worse. They weren’t there, they didn’t see the intensity nor did they hear the tone in which I said it in. I was sugarcoating, making myself look better, and I felt terrible for it.

“Um, yeah, maybe.” I squeaked, the skin atop my stick and poke nearly rubbed clean off. “And then, I kind told him that he should have let me die?” I phrased it as a question, the words feeling so different rolling off my tongue than it did when I first said it. “I know that’s horrible… I was upset, and it’s no justification… I just… yeah.”

I looked up, seeing both of their eyes wide and unblinking, no words able to lessen the harshness of mine. I gave a tight lipped smile, knowing how horrible it was and not needing them to confirm it. I wanted to crawl back into bed, under the covers and hide from the world. I didn’t deserve the people around me, and I didn’t deserve to be comforted for such evil acts.

Then, Danny’s fingers began to drum against the table again, a sure sign of his anxious thoughts as he prepared to speak again.

“Utah, you don’t… you don’t really mean that, do you?” He asked, so sheepish and quiet. I wondered why that’s what he was curious about, why my hatefulness towards Dylan was overshadowed with his concern for me.

I was fine, just like always.

“I mean… no, not really. I guess sometimes I think that if it did happen, it would have been easier… I wouldn’t have to feel this way anymore, but everyone feels that way, right? That’s like, a normal emotion when things get bad?”

Their silence answered my questions without doubt, and I swallowed thickly, understanding that not even my most constant state aside from emptiness was normal. I began to worry that nothing I had ever felt or experienced was normal. Suddenly feeling panicked, my throat closed off and my skin began to crawl. I shifted in my seat, unable to wheeze in a breath, unable to handle the heaviness of their eyes on me. Raising a hand to my chest, my nails scratched over my skin, trying so desperately to bring myself back to earth but failing miserably.

“Hey.” Sam said, reaching forward and placing a tentative hand atop of my own, slowing the motion of my fingers and drawing my attention towards him. “It’s okay.” He whispered, giving me a soft smile. “You remember what I told you? We don’t have to understand it to listen. Just because we don’t feel that way doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.”

God, what I ever did to deserve them, I did not know. It overwhelmed me most days, and I constantly wondered if I would ever be able to give back anything they gave to me.

“Utah, I hope you know that wouldn’t make anything better.” Daniel added, leaning forward and into the conversation. “It may feel that way, and you may be mad at us for taking that… choice… away from you, and you’re allowed to be, but it wouldn’t fix anything.”

“You know, sometimes…” I paused, a laugh stuck in my throat as tears stung my eyes. “I really do feel that way… and I have for so long. I’d never do anything, but I mean, look at my habits. I think, inadvertently, I’ve been trying to do it this whole time.” I felt a weight lift off my shoulders as I said it aloud for the first time, the confession grim but real. “I feel terrible for throwing it in his face like that, but I guess when I said it, I really meant it.”

“Maybe that’s something you should talk about with your therapist.” Sam offered. “I think that’s definitely something you shouldn’t have to live with every day, Utah. You shouldn’t have to feel guilty or upset for being alive.”

“Yeah, baby, you really should.” Danny encouraged. “You know you can always talk to us, but you don’t always like to believe us.” At that, all of us shared a small laugh, the truth behind it staggering. “You don’t have to tell us anything else about yesterday if you don’t want to.”

“I guess there isn’t much else to tell… I asked him why he waited so long to tell me how he felt about Vincent, and why if he cared so much, he never said anything to Vincent… I also may have told him to leave me alone and stop pretending to care… which was a bad call, I’ll admit.” I whispered, more ashamed with every minute that went by. “I was so upset, and I wasn’t even really mad at him. I was just mad, and when he wouldn’t let me leave… I just exploded. I wish I could take it all back, and I feel so bad about everything, and I’m scared he’ll never talk to me again… even if he does, I know I don’t deserve it.” I put my head in my hands, unable to face them any longer. I wanted to rediscover the grave I had dug for myself, to burrow and hide, even if I knew it would only make things worse.

“Come on, Bella… he knows you didn’t mean it, and he will talk to you again. Just give it some time, tell him that you’re sorry, and you guys can work on it.” Danny reassured me, reaching over and landing a soft touch on my arm. The contact made my stomach churn, half with love and half with repulsion for myself. I didn’t know what the hell to do anymore.

“I just… he stopped talking to Vincent because of me, and now I go and do this, and what does Dylan have? Who does Dylan have? I’m so worried about him, even if it’s me that caused the fucking problem, and I can’t check on him because I know he doesn’t want to see me.”

“No,” Sam laughed, shaking his head “he stopped talking to Vincent because Vincent is a ‘piece’a shit’.” He air quoted the words, but neither Daniel or I paid much attention to it. We both paused, figuring Dylan must have told him as much, considering the very poor imitation Sam tried to make of his accent. Forgetting my misery for a moment, I choked back a laugh, not wanting him to think I was laughing at him. “What? He told me so himself.”

“Yeah, no, I figured as much.” I smiled, nodding along with him.

“Anyway,” Sam realized what Daniel and I were giggling about, swinging back to the main topic “you didn’t make him do anything. That was his choice, so don’t blame yourself.”

“Okay.” I nodded, still smiling at the memory of Sam with a Bronx accent.

“And, Daniel and I will check in on him, because he’s our friend too. Don’t get me wrong, we’re not playing middleman, ‘cause we both suck at it, but we’ll make sure he’s alright.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Danny agreed, nodding along and shooting me one of his breathtaking smiles. “You just worry about you, Utah. Go to your next appointment, get some of that stuff out, and start to feel better. Then we can worry about the rest.”

“Okay.” I nodded again, feeling a bit better knowing that there was someone in the world who also cared enough to look after Dylan, even if he didn’t want them to. “Thank you.”

“No need for that, Utah.” Danny said, draining the last of his coffee from his mug and standing to place it by the sink. “Now, get out of your pajamas and let’s do something to get your mind off things.”

“We don’t have to—“

“Trust me, Utah, he wants to.” Sam cut me off, sending me a wink. “He hasn’t shut up all day, and I can’t handle him by myself for very long.” Meeting his words with a rude hand gesture, Danny pushed his chair back in and waved his arm towards the door, choosing to respond silently.

“Alright.” I nodded, smiling again as I stood too, wondering how it was possible for the two of them to clear all grey skies and dry up all of the rain. Without them around, I wasn’t sure what I would do, and unfortunately for me, I was incredibly close to finding out. In the meantime, I was committed to cherishing every last minute, starting then as I raced down the hallway to change into something better.

July 29th, 2022 - 12:26 AM

The diner was quiet, foot traffic near zero and vehicle traffic on the highway unusually slow. Dylan was in the kitchen, doing his very best to avoid me, and Vincent had been in and out all night, taking off down the road likely to dote on Lillian. Though, I couldn’t imagine Vincent doing much doting, unless the news of parenthood really had changed him. That chance was slim to none, and it was more reasonable to assume he was just using it as an excuse to leave. He was outside, talking to someone on the phone, returning back long enough to smoke a cigarette and throw his apron back on before stepping outside again. The dim light of his screen illuminated his rosy cheeks, and I wasn’t sure if the redness was from the heat or his active high.

It did not take long after Vincent and I fought for him to return to his old habits, and that time, I really didn’t take the burden upon my shoulders. His choices were nobody’s responsibility, and I could not take the burden of his shitty decisions any longer. Though, it did still sting, knowing the minute he was without supervision he was back on the drugs like he’d never gotten sober at all, like my attempts at saving his life meant nothing.

I was furious with Vincent, finding myself sick every time I looked his way, knowing he let me waste my time and efforts to keep him alive when he never had any intent to get better. Also, knowing he let me dote on him while he knew someone else was pregnant with his child, and he didn’t say a word. Instead, I had to find out from Dylan, and not even directly—the only reason I knew at all was because he let it slip out in anger. It felt like an injustice, and one larger than many of the other ones he so often committed against me. Betrayal in a new way, and not only to me. Even if I did not like Lillian, I understood that Vincent was the very thing that pitted us against each other, just the same as Steph and I. At the end of the line, it always came right back to him.

As he hung up the call and glanced at me through the window, I shrunk back in my seat, figuring he knew for sure I was watching and would take it as an invitation. He stood outside for a moment, rubbing his face in his palm before stuffed his phone back in his pocket. As he came inside, I followed him with my gaze, picking up on every mannerism and tick as he made his way to the bathrooms. It was obvious, his erratic behaviour, his rushed speech and his blown pupils all pointing to the same thing. As he disappeared behind the bathroom door, I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, knowing exactly what was going on behind the closed door.

Instead of being upset at Vincent for using, I found myself on a new, old train of thought, one I hadn’t found myself in since I first moved to New York: what was he using?

Was he finding solace in a crushed up pill, chalky and well worth the effort? Was it already powder, heroin or cocaine for easy access and instant gratification? Uppers or downers, or maybe a little bit of both? Was he swallowing a pill or sticking a needle?

Why did I care?

After six months of strict sobriety, and nearly two years of rocky sobriety, why did it pique my interest? I didn’t want to join him, so why did I care?

I decided that it did not matter why, and that I was simply a person who wanted to know everything, all of the time. Since finding myself without distraction, missing constant company, after being without Dylan and keeping my distance from Sam and Danny, I was much more interested in the world around me. I had time to ponder, time to wonder, even about things I had no business wondering about. When alone, I thought of everything and anything, an endless stream of curiosities that could not be satiated, and my wondering about his drug of choice had little to do with my desire to use, and more to do with my desire to know. I needed something to fill the void, and knowledge was the only free alternative to love.

Sometimes, both turn out to be just as dangerous.

When Vincent emerged from the bathroom, much more relaxed than he was upon entering, my curiosity got the best of me. Waiting until he stalked to the kitchen to busy himself with a useless task, I glanced to the order window, noticing both boys were nowhere to be found. Swallowing thickly, I placed a marker in my book and stood, quietly progressing towards the only bathroom in the place. Twisting the knob, I pushed the door open and glanced inside, immediately noticing the fluorescent light pool into the dining room. Knowing exactly what I was doing to myself, I still couldn’t seem to stop, not understanding why I needed to know so badly.

The heavy door sealed my grave as it fell shut behind me, leaving me alone with the grimey tiles and chipping paint on the wall. The bathroom was relatively clean though seriously outdated, but the laminate countertop was in much better shape than the rest of it because John had replaced it only a year prior. Approaching said counter, my legs felt heavy, made of concrete as I tried to advance. It felt like my body was telling me to run, battling my brain which for once, did not care about the outcome.

Staring down at the surface, I did not immediately notice anything out of place. Inspecting further, I noticed that beside a pooling puddle of sink water, there seemed to be a faint residue of something littering the countertop. Feeling my heart still in my chest, I was immediately thrown into a suffocating pit of feeling, not good nor bad, but undeniably strong. My skin was tingling, abuzz with something unfamiliar as I reached forward with a shaking hand, my index finger outstretched as I placed it to the counter. In a slow motion, I dragged it across the glossy finish, feeling a powdery substance coat my skin, immediately sending a shiver down my spine.

When I pulled my hand away, bringing it to eye level so I could inspect the substance, my stomach was sick, twisted with misplaced desire as my entire nervous system ignited with need. Unable to refute my desire for the relief, I nearly cracked under the weight of my own addictions, my knees giving way as I reached toward and clamped onto the counter for support. I knew it was stupid, searching for answers I had no business knowing, no real need to have. I walked myself straight into disaster, and sitting in that tiny little prison, the residue of some substance I knew that no matter the effect, would solve all of my problems in an instant. I entered that bathroom knowing the outcome, yet somehow convinced myself that it was for some other reason aside from my innate desire to get high.

My blue eyes fixated on the exact thing I had been running from, and I had to face the hard truth that no matter how hard I tried to regain control, I would always lose when it came to drugs. I would never heal, would never move on, and I would always rationalize my own stupidity and find myself in the exact same situation every time. I didn’t care what Vincent was using, and my sudden curiosity had nothing to do with my want to fill a void with knowledge, but rather to fill a void with a high.

Since Vincent overdosed, since holding that bag of OxyContin in my hand, I had been a ticking time bomb. All of my thoughts pertained to the same thing, and every ounce of hurt I felt all led me back to it. I knew, without a doubt, that I could solve everything if I just gave in, but I wouldn’t let myself because there were people that loved me, people who depended on me. After everything that happened since, nearly losing my life to Vincent, pushing Danny and Sam away, finding out about the baby and severing the ties between Dylan and I, I no longer felt that way. I didn’t believe that enough people needed me, that anyone loved me enough to care. I had always been so fearful of disappointing people, but as I sat in that bathroom, I truly believed I had no one left to disappoint.

Daniel and Sam loved me, but I had been more of a burden to them than I ever was anything good. I couldn’t truly believe that they would care, and I could not believe they would continue to love me after they left for Nashville. If I hurt them, if I gave in, it would spare me another month of loving them despite knowing they were leaving. Dylan, though he probably did still care, would no longer feel that way once the storm passed and he healed from all of the horrible things I said to him. I lost him for good, and I was slowly coming to terms with that with each day that passed. Vincent, who never loved me to begin with, was starting a family and leaving me behind. Not even a man who I begged to leave me alone was around to care, and I hated to admit that a small part of me wanted him to come back, just so I wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.

I was so desolate and desperate that I craved his violent love. I was more afraid of being alone than I was of his unforgiving hand, and that itself scared the shit out of me. After everything those I loved did to help me get better, to keep me on the right path, I pushed them away and landed myself right back on it. I was worthless, ungrateful and despicable. I didn’t deserve any of them, nothing that they ever gave me, and I hated myself for not being able to become a better person for them.

Staring down at the tip of my finger, covered with the answer and the end all at once, I felt tears fill my eyes, wondering why I always had to force myself back to the start, to regress into bad habits the minute things got hard. Knowing that it wouldn’t even do anything for me, I still struggled to turn the tap off and rinse my finger clean. It wasn’t the answer, but by god I wanted it to be—until that summer, it was the only answer I had ever known, even if it wasn’t right.

Letting out a shaky breath, I tilted my head towards the ceiling, feeling tears tattoo mascara to my cheeks as I prayed to an entity I wasn’t even sure existed. I didn’t want to be that person anymore, did not want to give in to such things, but the more the misery dragged on, the less fight I had. Sometimes it felt like misery was the only thing I would ever have, inviting it in even when things were good because I did not know how to let myself be happy or move on. I wanted to blame Vincent, to be angry with him for fuelling such bad habits in a public space and not cleaning up after himself, angry that he chose to engage in such reckless behavior when he knew I was trying so hard not to, but I couldn’t be.

It wasn’t Vincent’s fault, even if I wished it was. The blame was my own, and walking into that bathroom was my decision. I knew what I would find, and I was too stupid to recognize the tricks of my addicted subconscious. I was an idiot, and I was my own worst enemy. Looking back down at the residue left behind, I knew Vincent was right after all. I would always be a junkie, and I would get nowhere blaming my mistakes on those around me.

Finding a single second of clarity, I flicked the tap on and forced my hand underneath the pathetic stream of water, my whole body ablaze with fire as I watched the powder disappear. Knowing it was the right thing to do, I wondered why it hurt so bad. As it seemed, what I thought was right always hurt me the most. I think that’s why it had always been so hard to keep myself on the straight and narrow, why it was always impossible to refute my own miserable desires.

Sniffling back another wave of tears, I ripped a piece of paper towel from the roll and stuck it under the tap, ringing it out and wiping the counter with it, taking care of the last bit of poison left behind by a man who would never care about anyone other than himself. Cleaning up after him had become my specialty, but even that skill was waning, leaving me vulnerable to the consequences of his mess, which always seemed to win sooner or later.

Taking a long look in the mirror, I couldn’t recognize the woman staring back at me—the one who continued to hurt those she loved, the one who traded everything for nothing, the one who no longer wanted to get better. I thought I left her behind a long time ago, abandoning her in search of more and having little remorse walking away. I understood, standing there with a phantom burn in my sinuses and a hole in my heart, that I had never left her behind. I only tricked myself into believing such nonsense, putting on a mask as I tried to convince myself I didn’t know her.

There always comes a time, no matter how tired your legs are from running, you always hit a dead end. Miles away from where you started, looking around only to find you never really left at all. You found a different shithole with the same problems, and you finally understand it’s never your environment that sets you back—it’s you.

Wiping mascara from my foundation caked cheeks, I understood I had always been the problem. Trying to blend everything back together, mending the mask I used to cover myself, I was tired of trying so hard only to end up in the same spot every time. I knew I should have walked myself straight out of that bathroom to a phone call with my sponsor, just to keep me stable until I could catch the next morning's meeting. Instead, I put on a brave face, not wanting to let either of the boys in on how I was truly feeling, and I decided that I could deal with it myself. After two years, I had to be able to do it on my own. I couldn’t rely on people for the rest of my life, or I would never get better.

Taking a step back into the dining room, I felt better, further away from the pain. I wondered, was distance really the key factor, or was I just too good at compartmentalization? As soon as I was away from the problem, it seemed to disappear, almost like it never happened at all. Though, even I had to admit, the urge to use was stronger than ever, grating on every nerve and sitting heavy on my shoulders as I prepared to return to the booth so I could keep reading.

Only, when I rounded the corner of the small hallway, I nearly ran into a body, catching myself just in time to stop the collision. Before I looked up, I could feel who it was, sensing it without ever needing to see his face. The sweet smell of cologne, cardamom, coriander, amber and tobacco. Cigarette smoke and a faint smell of weed. The warmth radiating from him, washing over me like the summer sun, and he did not need to touch me at all. Glancing upwards, I caught the familiar sight of icy blue irises, shining with some kind of emotion I did not have the energy to decipher. I knew it could not be love, not after what I said to him, and I was growing to accept the fact.

His face was stony, his expression void of any kind of emotion, and though the coldness cut like a knife, I could not blame him. The warmth I felt in his company was not because he wanted to console or soothe me, but because I could not let go of the love I had for him.

“Sorry, Dyl.” I muttered, trying to shrink in size as I tried to walk around him, knowing I could not force him into a conversation he did not want to have.

I was sorry for a million things, and I hoped he knew that.

Before I could make it past him, he reached out with one large, tattooed hand and caught me by the arm. The touch was gentle, soft, nothing like the way he was looking at me. I glanced down, wondering why after everything, him touching me was the only thing that felt right. I was still mad, angry that he hid such a huge thing from me, angry that he was making executive decisions based on what he thought was best for me. I was angry over all the things I threw at him like weapons, including him neglecting to tell me of his feelings and letting me fall further in love with Vincent. I thought, had he said something sooner, the two of us would not be face to face as our hearts housed nothing but hurt. I believed we may have been happy, even if it was only in a way the two of us knew how.

At the same time, I was so guilty, hating myself more than I could ever be angry with him. I wished I could have been mature, more of an adult, and talked to him about the things that hurt me instead of fighting. All of what I said I wished to take back and rephrase, even if I knew it was impossible, leaving me with the horrific truth that fighting was all I had ever known. I did not know how to approach things gently, nor did I know how to hold my hurt with grace. I felt, though maybe it was not fully true, that I had learned a bit more about it, and at that point in time, I had chosen to react with such cruelty.

He didn’t say anything, but his hand remained on my arm, the searing heat of his skin cutting into me. It was agony, but it was addictive, and I was a fool to think of asking for more. I had always been a slave to my twisted desires, a selfish being who always wanted more, and he was no exception. Though I wanted him to be, I would always be me. That in itself was a curse destined to ruin anything that came close.

It was sick and twisted, how I never once thought of Dylan as a romantic possibility until the world blew up in my face and I was tied up in someone else—someone good, who loved me and truly cared for me. I didn’t know what to do, and I was so angry with him for not acting sooner, before it all turned into a mess. If he had have said something two years ago, I believed life would have gone very differently. Not perfectly, but I believed it still would have been happy.

God, I did not have the luxury to think that. I was so fucked up it wasn’t even funny, and I was going to hurt everyone I cared about at the rate I was going. I didn’t know how to stop.

His eyes were dissecting me, stripping me down to bare bones and wisps of soul so he could get the entire story, knowing I would never let the truth roll off my tongue even if he asked. He knew me, and so well that it nearly made me sick. It was obvious he knew how our fight haunted me, but neither of us had the strength to address it. I couldn’t apologize, and he couldn’t explain himself. Instead of trying to figure it out, we both hoped that with time, it would disappear. Though, I was certain that would not happen, and the longer we avoided it, the worse it felt.

I studied him too, even if I should have walked away. There was something compelling about him, locking me in place and refusing to let me leave. He looked tired, the bags under his eyes more prominent than usual. He was pale, like he’d been hiding away instead of sitting under the sun, neglecting to eat or take care of himself. His stubble was grown in, making his face appear darker. It also made him look older, like centuries had passed since the last time we had been so close. I knew him, but I didn’t. It hurt.

“What’s up?” I asked, prompting him to speak so I could gauge the tone of the impending conversation.

“Nothin’.” He muttered, shaking his head but still neglecting to drop his hold. “I jus’… yeah, whatever.” He rolled his eyes, giving his head another shake as he finally let go.

The separation was debilitating, much more agonizing than washing the powder from my hands without a taste, and I began to understand that Dylan Barrett would forever be the most lethal addiction I had ever known. I didn’t have the space for another addiction, not when I knew it would cost me Daniel.

“Well, what? It’s not whatever—obviously it’s something.” I argued, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to preserve the warmth that fled when he did. His lips formed a straight line, like he was trying to lock up every word that begged to be spoken. I couldn’t help but fixate on them, the plush pink skin that always invited me in. “You can tell me.”

“Was nervous.” He snapped, his eyebrows furrowed as he responded with a tone I had never quite heard from him before. It caused my stomach to sink, my eyes to shine with unwanted tears, and my legs to force me away from him. I shied away, taking a step back as I swallowed my sadness. I wondered if he felt the same way just days prior when I spoke to him the same way. “Saw you goin’ in the bathroom after ‘em. Was hopin’ you weren’t that fuckin’ dumb.”

It was evident I had forever altered the ways in which we spoke to each other. Though his curt tone and sharp words hurt, I could not blame him. If anything, I was happy to hear them, because it meant he really did care, even if I tried to force him to stop. Still, vulnerability was so difficult for me, and in the moment it was impossible for me not to respond the same way, even if it was only making things worse.

“Oh, okay.” I scowled, wondering if he was always worried about me like I used to worry about Vincent. I wondered how much stress I put him under, forcing him to clean up after me while chastising Vincent for making me do the same. “Did you get your fucking answer?”

“Yeah, sure did.” He chuckled, nodding his head with a note of finality. “Guess it ain’t snowin’ in the bathroom after all—for you, anyway.” As he spoke, he was still watching my eyes, his stare so intent. He was making sure, checking my pupils and watching them react to the light. Every now and again, his eyes would flicker to my nose, making sure it was free of powder and not stained with any blood.

He was angry, spiteful, but by god did he love me. Even after everything, he could not force himself to stop, even if it was better for him. It was a comfort knowing that I wasn’t the only one struggling with it.

“Yeah, guess not.” I muttered, losing my intensity the more I understood his harshness came from a place of love rather than hate. He was no different than me, a hurt kid in an adult body, not knowing how to process the emotion and too afraid to let his guard down.

“Don't get it twisted, angel. Didn’t wanna be the only one missin’ out on the fun. Wouldn’t want ya to think I fuckin’ cared or nothin’.” He spat the word like it was poison on his tongue. I could see how deeply it hurt him to act like he didn’t care—almost as badly as it hurt for me to think that he really didn’t.

He didn’t give me enough time to formulate a response, already turning to walk back to the kitchen, leaving me behind to sit with the weight of his words. Sick to my stomach for a whole new reason, understanding he was trying to force himself out of lust and some kind of twisted love, just as desperately as I was. For some reason, it hurt so much more thinking of it the other way around, knowing how badly he was suffering as he tried to do so. Swallowing back my sorrow once again, I began to regret my decisions in the bathroom, and not for the reasons I should have.

Had I faced that conversation high, it wouldn’t have stung half as bad. In truth, it wouldn’t have hurt at all. Though sobriety was the goal, I could not refute how beautiful it was to just be numb.

August 1st, 2022 - 10:39 PM

“Okay, everyone!” Sam shouted, making his way into the living room carrying something large and rectangular under his arm. “Drunkards and assholes alike, I’d appreciate your attention for a moment.” He said, scuffling his way to the couch. He grabbed the item under his arm and plopped down, situating himself before speaking again.

“I suppose you’re the drunkard and I’m the asshole?” Danny asked, casting a sideways glance in my direction. I gave a shrug, sipping on a bottle of Modelo I found in their fridge.

“Guess we’ll never know.” I joked, sending him a wink.

I was laying flat on the couch opposite from Sam, my legs resting on Daniel’s lap as music played softly in the background. It was nice, a good distraction from the pain of everyday life. I think the two understood I did not want to talk about anything serious, and every time they tried, I dodged it with expert precision. Knowing they couldn’t force me, we decided on a night of drinking to brighten my spirits. At first I was weary, nervous that it would only make me more upset, but the more I sipped on my drink, the better I felt. It was pretty difficult to be anything but happy in Danny and Sam’s company.

“Where the fuck did you get a whiteboard, Sam?” I asked, my head turned to look at him. With pink cheeks and crinkled eyes, he grinned, happy I asked.

“Amazon, princess. Twenty bucks. What a deal.” He explained.

“Maybe a better question is why do you have a whiteboard?” Danny chimed in, his brows furrowed as he rested his palm on my thigh, the touch soothing and familiar. I wondered how long I would get to experience it for—if when he left for Nashville, he would forget me all together.

“Boy, am I glad you asked.” Sam continued, his eyes glazed with drunken joy as he prepared to announce his evening plans. Alcohol always turned Sam into a fool, and I loved him even more for the fact. He was funny when he was sober, and hilarious under the influence. “Since you’ve gone and fucked everything up, I’ve decided that we need a plan.”

“A plan for what?” Isaac asked, a lot more sober than Sam and I. “And fucked what up?”

“Oh, Daniel.” Sam let out a disapproving ‘tsk’, glancing in my direction to see if I was on the same page. Thankfully, despite being inebriated, Sam and I were always on the same page, whether it was good or a bad thing. “New York was about finding ourselves… and you did find yourself… in someone else.”

“Oh, okay.” Daniel rolled his eyes, tossing an empty can in his direction. “Enough.”

Biting down on my bottom lip, I stifled a laugh, watching as Daniel’s head fell back on his shoulders—a clear sign of defeat if I’d ever seen one. My stomach churned with unease though the reaction was humorous, wondering if Sam truly did think I fucked things up.

“Sam, you are insufferable sometimes.” He muttered, draining back the last of his beer. I assumed it was because he needed the extra strength to get through the night.

“Okay, well, you’re not in love because I’m insufferable.” He redirected the conversation, popping the cap off of his black dry-erase marker. “Come on, now. We had a list.”

“Fuck you,.” Clearly, Isaac wanted to talk about this topic as badly as I wanted to discuss any matter in my life, which was almost comedic.

Just as I opened my mouth to speak, I heard the door behind us open, sending me straight into fight or flight. I think Danny could feel me tense underneath his hand, and he gave my leg a small squeeze of reassurance in response. I sent him a smile, my heart swelling with affection only until my eyes landed on Dylan, who was walking through the door. Sinking lower into the couch, I wanted it to swallow me whole, my stomach twisting with sickness. Knowing that there was no other possibility, I finally noticed Danny and Sam lacking any surprise, meaning they had invited him. Not understanding what they had done, they made the whole situation that much worse.

“What’s goin’ on then?” Dylan asked, turning back to face the three of us. His eyes landed on me, like his purpose was to seek me out in a crowd, but he did not look pleased to see me. Not like I expected him to be, but it still hurt.

“I need your help.” Sam said, waving him over. Dylan looked at him, then back at me, seemingly frozen in place as he digested the situation at hand.

“You said ‘crisis’.” Dylan stated, looking back at Sam. “This don’t look like no crisis.”

“Come in, sit down—I’ll fill you in.”

For a moment, I thought Dylan would disregard Sam’s invitation completely, that he would turn and leave us all behind in hopes of getting as far away from me as possible. I wouldn’t have blamed him, and in fact, I was waiting for it. Then, slowly, he slipped off his shoes and advanced towards us, his eyes avoiding me entirely as he walked past the couch Danny and I sat on and took his place next to Sam.

I watched him, drinking in his appearance like a woman dying of thirst. He was in sweatpants, worn, grey and low on his hips. He had on an oversized, off-white shirt, one side tucked into the elastic waistband of his pants. The sleeves cut off near his elbows, concealing the most intimate tattoos between the two of us. I wondered if he was hiding them on purpose, or if it was a mindless decision to wear a shirt that covered my name. Considering the way he was looking at me, indifference shining in his eyes as he caught my own, a slight scowl decorating his lips as he glanced down at Issac’s hand on my leg, I figured it was with intent.

He looked better than he did at the diner a few days prior, the stubble shaved clean and his eyes much less tired. He was stoned, without doubt, the whites of his eyes red and glossy. He was tapping his fingers against his leg, fidgeting as he sat, staring. On his way past, he avoided me like the plague, but now that I was in front of him, he could seem to look away. I shouldn’t have wanted him to, but I did. Since the thought surfaced, the long forgotten memories of what we could have been so long ago, I was drowning in it. With Daniel’s hand on my leg, I felt evil, vile for even letting the thought cross my mind.

I had to talk to him, even if I didn’t want to. He didn’t deserve to be left in the dark. He deserved more, even if it was not me.

“We came to New York to find ourselves—to relax a bit before we made the move to Nashville.” Sam explained, returning to the earlier topic and including Dylan.

“Oh, yes—Nashville.” I gave a dreamy sigh, brushing off my sadness and hurt over my current situation with Dylan in order to keep the tension as minimal as possible. “The dream. The wonderland. Where everything good will grace your lives.” I grinned, trying my best to swallow the pain that stemmed from the thought of them leaving. I knew it was coming, even if I refused to face it, and it was coming much sooner than I cared to admit.

“Exactly, Utah.” Sam played into my bit, flipping the whiteboard around to showcase those same words scrawled across the top of it.

“Our bucket list?” I laughed, my eyebrows furrowing as I tried to understand what he was getting at.

“I’ve gathered you all here tonight to devise a plan.” Sam explained, sitting on the very edge of the couch. “Danny and I had our own list, until a certain someone came along. Now, since we’re all lifelong friends, I figured it would be pertinent to remake that list so it would include all of us.” At that, we all shared a laugh. I leaned over closer to Danny, nudging him with my elbow to catch his attention. His cheeks were crimson, clearly embarrassed by the conversation and not nearly as invested as Sam and I were. Still, I gave him a sideways smile, happy to know that no matter how it ended, they truly wanted me in their lives.

“Let’s hear it, Michigan.” I whispered, leaning into his side instinctively. I wanted to hear all of the details, every single item on his bucket list and then some. I wanted to be there for it all, by his side and experiencing it with him. For a long time, dreams seemed like just that—fabricated ideas that would never come to fruition. With them by my side, I finally felt they could come true, and even if not magically, that we could work hard enough to get there.

“Careful what you wish for.” Daniel shot back, reaching up and pinching my cheek gently. Paired with a wink, I decided it was best to bite my tongue, even if it was tempting to say something smart in return.

“So this really ain’t no crisis?” Dylan asked, interjecting himself into the conversation, though he was not looking at Sam. Instead, his gaze was fixated on Danny and I. “You’s was jus’ bein’ dramatic?”

“Sam? Dramatic? Please.” Danny laughed, amused at Dylan’s surprise. “No crisis, Dyl. He’s just an idiot. If you have somewhere else to be, you don’t have to hang around.”

“No, I ain’t got nothin’ better to do.” He chuckled, visibly more relaxed knowing that nothing was wrong. “I should kill ya, you know.” He continued, looking at Sam as he spoke. “I was doin’ 80 miles gettin’ here. Cops woulda had my ass if I got caught.”

“Okay, well it is a crisis to me.” Sam concluded, huffing out a breath and clearly displeased with our response.

“Their definition of a crisis is a bit different than ours, Dyl.” I smiled, offering the kindness in hopes he would give a little back. He caught my eye, surprised that I addressed him at all, but eventually gave a slow nod.

“Yeah, can see that.” He smiled, soft and small, but it was something. It made me feel a bit better. “Maybe it ain’t such a bad thing.”

“No, I don’t think it is.” I agreed, happy for the conversation even if it was minimal. “You want a beer?” I asked, flashing him the bottle in my hand so he could see what I was offering.

“Yeah, why not?” He replied, softer and more gentle than the last few times we had spoken. I hated recognizing the racing of my heart and the twisting of my stomach, but the bodily response was impossible to ignore.

I stood, draining the last of the alcohol from my own bottle before walking to the kitchen. As I opened the refrigerator door, I heard Sam begin to speak again. Barely paying attention to his needless rambling, I grabbed two glass bottles and placed them on the counter. Grabbing my keys from my purse, I pried the caps loose and tossed them in the trash. Carrying them back to the living room, I noticed a change in the atmosphere, and most specifically, how Sam had switched couches to sit beside Danny.

Standing between everyone, I longingly gazed at my previous seat, knowing deep in my heart the switch was intentional, meant to mend the fence between Dylan and I. The suspicion was only confirmed as Sam refused to look my way, pretending to be too immersed in the conversation to even acknowledge my return. Danny shot me a smile, likely thinking that a little friendly conversation would go a long way, but he had no idea what Sam was encouraging I was volatile, dangerous, and too unstable to be put next to Dylan when I was having such horrible thoughts about him—especially with Daniel overlooking the scene.

Huffing out a breath of anger, I mouthed a silent ‘fuck you’ to him before turning my head towards Dylan, who was also on the same page as the rest of us. I stood, unsure whether I should approach or not, knowing that I was the last person he wanted to sit next to.

Finally, swallowing back my fear, I took a step towards him, extending my arm and offering him the beer in my hand. With a half-smile, he sat up, accepting it without words. Shifting on my feet, I placed my own on the coffee table, still awkwardly standing with no signs of moving. Dylan, watching my every move, was clearly less interested in the conversation happening across the room and much more focused on my strangeness.

“Christ, Bells—you can sit. I ain’t gonna bite.” He scolded. I jumped in surprise, turning back to look at him to gauge if he was serious. When my eyes locked with his, I felt guilty for being so weird, quickly rushing to take my new place beside him. “Well, unless you’re askin’ me to.” The second part was muttered much quieter, just between us as I situated myself on the cushions. It took me by surprise, my eyes wide as I stared up at his face, noticing a sly smirk on his lips. Typically, Dylan’s flirting never bothered me. After the last few days, it felt different.

I couldn’t respond, my stomach in knots and my palms clammy as I digested his forward approach. After days of not speaking, days of avoiding and days of hurting, I wasn’t expecting such a statement to fall from his lips, and for him to be bold enough to say it in front of the man he begged me to be with. I looked across the room, wondering if he only said it to make things seem normal between us. Then again, they didn’t even hear him, which made that rationalization futile. What game was he playing?

“What, angel?” He asked, noticing my shock. “I don’t gotta care to fuck you… you should know all about that.” He snipped, catching me off guard again, but that time the effect was lethal. The snide tone was expected, but the punch in the gut was not. Making it about Vincent was the last thing I wanted to do, but he was hurting and he didn’t know how else to communicate.

I sucked in a sharp breath, understanding he wasn’t flirting at all. Instead, he was being petty, trying to get under my skin for all of the horrible things I said to him that we both knew I did not mean. Swallowing hard, I felt tears glaze my eyes as I gave a curt nod, knowing it was best to hold back the emotion and feel it later, when I was alone. I had given too much to the people around me, too much emotion and too much vulnerability, and it was time to reel it back in and take care of it the way I always had. I needed to rely on myself again, because I was too good at fucking everything up to ever put my trust in another’s hands. Without them, I didn’t know what to do, and that was the problem. I needed to be okay on my own, and by continuing to share my sadness with them, wearing my hurt like a badge of honor, I was ensuring my own downfall.

“Yeah, guess so.” I nodded, agreeing with the sentiment as I sunk back into my seat and accepted the new normal between us. He was hurt, and that was evident, but fighting wasn’t what I wanted to do. Instead, I wanted to end it. If we weren’t going to move forward, if we were going to stay stuck in the cycle of hurt and suffering, I would not be the only one taking the blame. “Bet you know a whole lot about liars, too.”

“Oh, yeah. How could I fuckin’ forget.” He muttered, taking a long sip from his beer.

I couldn’t help but watch, noting the way his Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed down the golden liquid. As he pulled the spout away from his lips, the shine of liquid over the plush skin sent my whole body tingling. I hated how attracted to him I was even when I was mad, how I couldn’t force myself to quiet that stupid and reckless train of thought. I wanted to hate him, to forget all about the strange things I felt and the ways we were fighting. Though, I didn’t really want to hate him—I just thought it would be easier for me to digest everything that happened if I did.

“I didn’t lie to ya, Bells. Get your fuckin’ head straight.”

“You chose not to tell me the truth.” I shot back, realizing quickly that we could not fight about it there, not in front of everyone, and not at all. I didn’t want to invite us into another heartbreak, and I wasn’t ready to talk about what happened. If I had it my way, I would have ignored it until we all forgot about it. “That’s not why we’re here tonight, so let’s just drop it.”

“You do this every fuckin’ time.” He huffed, his voice still quiet as we kept our conversation to ourselves. “God fuckin’ forbid we fix anythin’.”

“Yeah, god forbid.” I snapped, giving him a snide look as I swallowed back the lump stuck in my throat.

I think he could see it, the shine of tears over my defeated eyes, the slight tremble of my bottom lip as I faced every injustice I ever committed against him. For a split second, his face softened, something that should have been a relief only making it hurt worse. I didn’t want him to have a soft spot for me. I didn’t want him to care, not for any of the reasons I spewed out in anger, but because I did not want to hurt him any longer. Cutting the tender moment short, I turned my head back to Sam and Danny, who at first glance seemed to be stuck in argumentative conversation with each other. I knew them well enough to tell they were eavesdropping on my conversation, just making themselves look busy so we did not catch on.

“Bucket list!” I announced, pushing a smile on my face as I took a long drink from my own beverage. “What do we got on the chopping block?” Changing the direction entirely, I refused to give in to Dylan’s arguing and opted to enjoy the night instead.

“Sam thinks we should go sky diving. What do you think about that?” With wide eyes, my gaze flickered to Sam, who had an expectant smile on his lips, like he thought I would agree.

“Okayyy.” I gulped, giving my head a slight shake. “Maybe start a little smaller? We’re looking to have fun—not kill ourselves.”

“Are you kidding? We’d have so much fun. They teach you how to do it all before you go.” Sam argued. “And if you haven’t noticed, we go big—for everything. Do you not remember when he was courting you? Love notes, hefty tips, hotel rooms and all that? And he was just looking to score—“ an elbow straight to his stomach cut that train of thought off, but the impact of his words already settled deep in my bones.

Was that really all he wanted in the beginning?

No, I couldn’t let myself think that. Not after everything.

Shaking the thought away, I swallowed back my anxiety. Looking to Dylan, I saw a scowl on his lips, a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue as he continued to reel over our less than friendly conversation . Deciding to ignore it, knowing he had no right to be upset when he refused to speak his feelings aloud, I continued to consider the truth behind Sam’s words. For once, it felt like I was actually leaning towards his ludicrous ideas.

Then, I snapped out of the trance, giving my head a shake and realizing how utterly ridiculous it was.

“No sky diving.” I concluded. “I think that might be a bit much.”

“Thank you.” Danny relaxed in his seat, his eyes following me as I grabbed a marker from the table and stood, closing the distance between us as I crossed the idea off the list. Clearly, he was on the same page.

“Who asked you, anyway?” Sam uttered his snarky remark as he snatched the marker from my hand. “Your idea of a good time is a six pack and a quickie in the backseat—“ I cut him off by raising a hand to his face, covering his mouth with my palm so he could not let any more rude comments slip.

As if it triggered something in him, he tossed the whiteboard from his lap, which Danny caught with ease. His hands then shot to my arm, wrestling my hand away with no real strength behind his actions. I took it upon myself to clamp my hand further over his mouth, laughing as the playful entanglement ensued. Soon enough, realizing I wasn’t backing down, I felt his face move under my hand, and seconds after, his teeth clamp around the edge of my palm. Letting out a shrill shriek, I retracted my hand and bargained with his stellar play.

“He fucking bit me!” I announced, unsure why I felt the need to let everyone know, like I was a kid tattling to my parents.

Then, feeling a surge of energy fill my chest, I remembered what it was like to be ten and at a disadvantage over my brothers, always having to fight to get my way. For a brief moment in time, I was a little kid, laughing away the afternoons at our grandparents house as we fought each other for the television remote. Sam, though much different than Patrick and Hunter, was my brother. Fourteen years later, I felt lucky to have found someone with the same playful attitude, thankful to have found someone who I loved enough to be childish with.

Growing up, I felt like an adult in a child’s body. As soon as I turned eighteen, I was a hurt kid in an adult body. I never got the proper experiences, the kind of fun in a childhood where you often wish to go back and relive. Being reminded of such things, not having to let that go and submit to adulthood's torturous demands all of the time, was beautiful, and it healed parts of me I thought would always be damaged goods. As I lunged forward and began to wrestle with a boy who reminded me too much of my brothers, I felt I wasn’t grateful enough for the opportunities he always gave to me.

Having the upper hand for once, it was easy to overpower Sam when he was beneath me on the couch, pinning his arms above his head with a triumphant smile on my face. At least, it was until he kicked his leg up and gave himself some momentum, swiveling his torso and knocking me off balance. Long forgetting that feeling of victory, I grabbed at his shoulders to keep myself steady, feeling myself fall off-kilter and towards the floor. Holding on to him did not keep my balance, but it did bring him with me when I fell to the ground, landing on the hardwood with a dramatic thud. Soon after, Sam and all of his body weight landed on top of me, causing me to groan in agony, trying to laugh through the pain.

“Can we not just go on a cruise, or something normal!” I yelled, my words warbled from the weight of Sam laying atop of me. Taking his shot at revenge, he covered my mouth with his hand, silencing me from speaking any further.

“Yeah, if you want to be fucking boring!” He argued. “Besides, sky diving is on everybody’s bucket—“ he couldn’t finish his thought, because my elbow connected with his stomach, knocking the air straight from his lungs. It gave me the chance to breathe, as he removed his hand from my face to grab at the spot I had just hit.

“We dont have to risk our lives. Safety is boring, that’s I’m okay with that!” I countered, breathless from the struggle. “Are you telling me you want to go sky diving just to fit in? Are you insane?”

Feeling Sam begin to regain his footing, I knew I was seconds out from being silenced yet again. Taking the initiative, I wiggled myself to a bit more freedom, just enough to be able to sit up and flip him off of me. He was still holding on to me, causing me to move with him, half on top of him and half on the floor. Before I could pin him again, he turned towards me and grabbed my arms, trying to return to our earlier position.

“Don’t listen to her, guys!” Sam announced, refusing to give in. “I’m your best friend—I would never let you down!”

“God, you’re so fucking—“ I cut myself off, unable to finish my insult as I struggled to overpower him. “Fuck you!” I shouted, a grin eating my face as he locked me in place. Using the leverage of my body again, I wiggled my way out of his grasp, but faltered and began to fall back to the ground. At the same time, Sam shifted underneath me, sending us both off course and crashing into the coffee table beside us.

Both of us froze, stopping in our tracks as we heard my (thankfully empty) beer bottle tumble to the ground. Looking back at each other, much like two kids who broke a window playing ball inside the house, we stifled a giggle at the thought of our own behavior.

“Look what you fucking did!” I exploded, a laugh stuck between my teeth as I chastised him for the same crimes I had committed.

“Me?” He asked, appalled that I would pin it on him. “Me?!” He exploded, a laugh also decorating his dark features.

“Yes, you!” I argued. “Boys, don’t take advice from this guy. He’s a fucking lunatic.” I concluded, trying my best to get on my feet. As I sat up, I thought I was in the clear, until I felt Sam’s hands on my shoulders, pulling me back to the ground as he refused to give up.

Deciding it best to abandon the conversation entirely and aim to finish what we started, I continued to fight his hold, only growing frustrated when he countered my moves. As I struggled to keep him on the ground, my attention was caught by a new voice, one who had yet to join the main topic of the night.

“They, uh, they always like this?” Dylan asked Danny, amused by the free entertainment.

“Yes.” He concluded, giving the simple answer. “And she’ll always win.”

“Sure will.” Dylan chuckled. “I always got my money on her. Ain’t nothin’ she can’t do.”

Though I didn’t give up on the fight, I felt a fire flicker and fade in my chest, overwhelmed with love for both boys despite my current predicament. Knowing that after everything, no matter how upset they were or how much we fought, they still believed in me—even for something so stupid. Time and time again, they made it a point to prove that they would always my biggest fans. I wasn’t sure if it was blind faith or love making them stupid, but knowing that Dylan especially—a gambling man—was willing to bet on me made me want to fight against all odds and make sure I came out on top.

August 2nd, 2022 - 3:02 AM

The night dwindled into morning, and though the rambunctious energy died down, the laughter did not. The more the drinks came, the sillier we all became, until eventually it left Danny stumbling back to his bedroom and Sam asleep on the floor (only after he kindly offered Dylan his bed for the night). Once the two fell asleep, it put Dylan and I in an awkward position, neither of us wanting to speak, and even if we did, neither of us knew what to say. Not long after Sam’s soft snores filled the room, I decided to break the silence by standing. Wordlessly, I made my way to the kitchen, slow rolling because of the intoxication messing with my head. I grabbed my pack of cigarettes off the counter, then slipped my shoes on and walked outside, closing the door gently behind me.

The cool night air was sobering, and the wisps of wind on my burning cheeks allowed for me to see clearly for a moment. The land outside of the boys Airbnb was always so peaceful, the quiet buzzing of cicadas and chirps of grasshoppers lessened my nervous energy, allowing me to relax for a moment as I leaned against the wooden railing on the porch. Lighting the end of my cigarette, I took a long inhale, feeling my lungs fill with smoke and the last bit of tension melting from my shoulders. Rubbing my face in my palms, I wondered how the hell everything got so messed up so fast.

Dylan and I were strangers, so well versed in each other's soul but so far away we could barely see each other past the haze of sadness in the air. It killed me, knowing that a man who knew me better than anyone barely knew me at all. I wanted him to understand why it hurt me so bad, why his choices affected me so drastically even when he thought he was doing what was best for me. I wanted him to know that him deciding what was best for me without actually asking did more harm than it did good. I knew Dylan had good intentions, and he would always do his best to protect me, but sometimes he went about it in the wrong way. He loved me, but I wanted him to talk to me.

I was also still reeling, so horribly upset that he waited so long. At first, the surplus of emotion about my realizations around me made me forget about the past—trauma brought up the idea of a life I could have lived if I made different choices, but once the dust had time to settle I really started to wonder about the nature of our relationship. I had no idea why he took such a passive role in the situation, why he let me fall so deeply in love with Vincent and sat on the sidelines if he felt the same way about me. If he felt, from that very first day just the same as I did, the kind of care I felt for him, why did he wait so long? And why the hell did he try so hard to get me to go to Nashville with Danny?

I waited, and I felt terrible about it. Maybe he was afraid of all the same things, rocking a barely afloat boat and hurting his best friend, but that didn’t feel right. If Vincent was a factor, why did he care so little about him once everything came out?

I was confused, hurt, and lost. Never in the whole time Dylan and I knew each other had we been on such bad terms. It made me regret considering the possibility at all. I regretted changing everything. I regretted ruining it, and I believed I only did so because I subconsciously wanted it. I was terrified of how real things were between Daniel and I, and I couldn’t choke down that truth. I wanted to stir the pot, to shake the foundation and hopefully strike it down before it could hurt me. I knew that once my heart was involved, it always came crashing down. I could not live comfortably, and I could not let people in without hurting them. I should have spared us all from the fallout and bit my tongue. I wasn’t in my right mind, and I knew it. All I did was destroy one of the few beautiful things I had left.

When I heard the front door creak open, my stomach sank, my eyes raising to meet the blue ones I’d been trying to avoid all night. Just the sight of him alone nearly brought me to tears, and even if I wanted to blame it on the alcohol, I knew it was much more than that. I felt that way since the fight, but I was better at choking it down when I was sober. He seemed to be staring at me the same way, longing and angry that we let ourselves end up in such a mess.

He didn’t say a word as he closed the door behind him, lingering there as if he was scared to come closer. It hurt me to think he did not feel like he could approach me, and it hurt even more to know it was my own fault. It was hard, being in pain yet knowing that I was guilty at the same time. Both feelings seemed to invalidate the other at the worst possible times, and I never knew which one would come out on top.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” I asked, whispering so quietly I barely heard myself. Temporarily forgetting the cigarette between my fingers, he was the only thing that existed.

“Makin’ it sound like you want me to stay.” He replied, still lingering by the door, still staring. “Didn’t waste no time comin’ out here to get away from me.”

“I wasn’t trying to—“ I cut myself off, knowing I was coming on far too strong for a gentle conversation. He approached me with softness, and he deserved a response of the same likeness. “I didn’t come out here to get away from you. You’ve been drinking… don’t want you to drink and drive.”

“Ah.” He chuckled to himself, giving a slow nod. “So that’s all, is it?” He knew there was more, that there were a million things I refused to say, and he would always be the person to call me out for it.

“Why’d you stay?” I asked, suddenly curious and unable to bite my tongue. “Earlier, when you found out everyone was okay. You decided to stay anyway.”

“We’ll, they’re my friends too, ain’t they? You been pretty busy tryin’ to make it happen.” He gave a half-assed answer, also avoiding the truth like the plague.

It was our biggest downfall, our inability to express ourselves properly. I wanted to blame it on our childhoods, how we never learned better and were never taught how to communicate effectively, or how it was never safe to be fully transparent, but it wasn’t true. It was our fault, and our responsibility as two grown adults who loved each other to learn how to be better, to do better by each other, and we couldn’t find the strength.

“Yeah, guess so.” I nodded, looking to the ground as I suddenly remembered my cigarette. Taking a haul to stave off the awkwardness, I exhaled slowly, the grey cloud billowing around my head as I prepared to speak again. “Just figured you wouldn’t want to be around me.”

At that, he let out another dry chuckle, shaking his head at my obstinacy. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he grabbed his own pack of cigarettes before he responded, figuring he would need it for the conversation we were having. I watched as he placed an orange filter between his lips with his large hand, his dark tattoos clear to me even under the dim porch light. The red glow of the cherry distracted me from the movements of his fingers, bringing me back to reality and unfortunately, to the conversation with just enough time to fully digest his words.

“Ain’t that what you wanted, doll?” He asked, his throat tight as he exhaled the smoke through his nose. “Tellin’ me to leave ya alone and to stop carin’, but you don’t want me to leave? No wonder I can’t do nothin’ right—you can’t even make up your damn mind.”

“Yeah, okay.” I squeaked out, nodding along with his words. I deserved his cold, cut and dry response. I deserved the criticism, and the anger, but I didn’t want him to hate me. I was selfish still, unable to deal with the consequences of my own actions and wishing for things I did not have the right to wish for. “Do what you want, Dyl. Whatever you think is best.” I concluded, tossing my cigarette in the butt can by my feet and preparing to end the conversation.

As I stepped towards him, I figured he would move out of the way to let me inside. Instead, he stood stoic, refusing to move and refusing to let me leave. That time, I didn’t feel trapped. Instead, I was happy he wanted me to stay—happy he wanted to talk. I had always been a walking contradiction to myself, and not even I knew what I wanted most of the time. Say one thing and mean another, snapping at him for something that I actually wanted him to tell me. I was a mess, and I wished so badly that I could change, but I worried I would live the rest of my life the exact same way.

“Point is, Bells, I don’t know what to do.” He whispered, soft and gentle now that I was close by. He didn’t want to scare or startle me, and I hated that his cautiousness only made me think of the possibility even further.

“I don’t either.” I confessed, tears filling my waterline. It sucked that the only time we were able to communicate effectively was when we were under the influence, and it scared the shit out of me, making me feel like my parents even more with each passing day.

“I want to tell ya that I don’t think ya meant none’a that stuff, ‘cause I know ya didn’t, but you told me to stop carin’, like it’s as easy as that, an’ you might get the wrong idea. I’m tryin’, Bells, but you’re givin’ me those sad eyes, askin’ me if I’m leavin’ and hopin’ that I’ll stay. Angel, I don’t know what ya want, but as soon as ya say the word, I’ll do it.” He said, seemingly fighting every urge in his body to reach out and touch me. I knew that only because I was doing the same thing.

“I don’t know, Dylan.” I admitted the fact like it was choking me, the words coming out harsh and painful. “Why the fuck would you lie? Why the fuck would you keep that from me? I want to ask you all of this stuff, but I’m always so scared I’m not going to like the answer, so I just don’t.”

“I didn’t lie.” He said, strong and firm as he begged me to listen. “Lyin’ ain’t my thing, baby, an’ you know that. I didn’t wanna hurt you no more, an’ I knew that’s all it would do.”

“It hurt me more that you kept it from me—that you knew for weeks and didn’t tell me.” I said, tears spilling onto my cheeks with little warning.

“Yeah, don’t I know it.” He muttered, rubbing his face in his palm, likely trying to find a way to keep his hands busy. “You fuckin’ ran, Bella. You left, after sayin’ all that horrible shit, you didn’t apologize or nothin’. Would it’ve even mattered? If I told you all’at shit, about how I felt—would it have mattered?”

“I don’t know.” I rushed out, speaking before I truly registered the question. I looked up with wide eyes, met with an expression I had never seen on Dylan’s face.

I had destroyed him.

With three little words, I changed everything again, and not the way I had wanted to.

In a moment of high emotion, fuelled by irrationality, I spoke without thinking yet again, only severing the ties between us even further. I wasn’t sure why I always had to fuck things up, that every time I opened my mouth, things I did not want to say surfaced, making a situation a million times worse. I couldn’t express myself, nor could I communicate, and I had no idea how to put my hurt to the side to formulate a proper response. I should have apologized, recognized how badly I hurt him despite the fact he did the same to me, but I couldn’t. Just like always, my scars stung, reminding me of every horrible thing I had lived through, forcing me to stay defensive and push him away.

Without a word, without anything, he walked straight past me, down the front steps and towards his car parked behind Danny’s in the driveway. With fear filling me, I turned on my heel, knowing I had to apologize before he left or he would never speak to me again. With tears flooding my face, I raced down the stairs, following him so closely that I could almost touch him.

“Dylan, please.” I begged, hoping he would know that wasn’t my intention. “Dylan!” I shouted, my voice grating and warbled as he reached for the handle on the drivers door.

“What?” He snapped, finally turning to look at me. There was a fire in his eyes I had never seen, but even as it burned I knew it was different from Vincent’s. I wasn’t afraid, and I had never been. Even as we drowned in the sorrow filling our lungs, I knew he was the safest place I had ever known—the best friend I had ever had.

“Please don’t leave.” I whispered, breathless at the thought of him driving away.

“The fuck you want me around for, Arabella? So I can sit an’ watch you with them, lovin’ them like you used to do with me? You want me to sit an’ wait for you to talk to me, jus’ so you can lie to me?” He exploded, all of his hurt finally forcing its way to the surface as he stared at me with tear soaked lashes. I could tell he was trying to hard to hold it back, that he hated how vulnerable he was being, but I wished he could see that I was just as bare and exposed. “Screamin’ at me ‘cause I didn’t say nothin’ sooner, then tellin’ me it wouldn’t make a fuckin’ difference—it doesn’t matter, Bells. He was the person you was supposed to end up with, so don’t go breakin’ our hearts for no reason.”

“For fucks sake, Dylan, it does matter!” I yelled, my throat raw as I pleaded with him to see the truth. I felt like too much and not enough all at the same time, the two different feelings pushing and pulling until I had no leg to stand on. “It matters, and I need to know, because I can’t run away to Nashville if there’s a life here left for me to live!”

“Then make up your fuckin’ mind!” He shot back, just as passionate. “How long are we gonna do this? Goin’ back an’ forth, one day you want him an’ then suddenly you want me? You didn’t say nothin’ either, Bells—don’t put this one on me.”

“Dylan, please—“ I couldn’t handle it, the thought of him hating me for my indecision, for my past scars made me sick. I didn’t want to be that person. I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t want to hurt anyone.

“Christ, Bella, You know I wasn’t doin’ that shit to fuckin’ hurt you. You don’t think all’at hurts me? Not jus’ us, but him too?” He asked, pointing at the Airbnb. I felt a stab straight through my heart. “I ain’t fuckin’ perfect, an’ I fuck up sometimes, but I’m tryin’ to fix this—whatever the fuck it is. I wanna help you. I need you to try too, ‘cause I’m startin’ to feel like a fuckin’ idiot.”

I was frozen, the words stuck in my throat as I tried to bargain with how badly I fucked up again. Every time I tried to make it better, I only made it worse. He did nothing but care and cater to me, and I was slowly destroying him. Bit by bit, I tore him apart, leaving him nothing but a shell of a man. It was what I did best, hurting the ones I loved beyond repair, and I knew as long as I kept him in my life, the worse it would get.

I didn’t want to, but for him I had to.

I had to walk away, not because I didn’t love him, but because I loved him too much. Everything I loved ended up broken, rusted until it turned to dust and decay. I was vile, putrid, and all I knew was ruin. The closer I got, the worse it hurt. All I ever wanted was to be loved, but I wouldn’t let myself be loved because I couldn’t be loved. It was dangerous, volatile and I would not allow him to meet the fate of so many others. If I let myself continue being that selfish person, holding on with claws so deep, I would kill him. When it came to Dylan, selfish was the last thing I wanted to be, so for him I had to walk away.

“I love you, Dyl.” I choked out, sparing one glance over my shoulder to the Airbnb, the living room still filled with warm yellow light. I thought of the love, the laughter left behind from that night, yet I felt none of the peace that it should have given me.

Instead, I began to grieve. Grieving a period of time I so badly wished to last forever, knowing it was all falling apart. I could not stop it.

Grieving love I never truly got to experience, feeling it slip between the cracks of my fingers as my hands balled into fists, trying so desperately to hold on to something that was never meant to be mine. I did not deserve it.

As my fingernails began to perforate the already tough and abused skin, I grieved the person that I thought I was, one who I once believed was able to heal and move forward, knowing that too was a fallacy I had created to try and make the world seem better than it truly was. I did not even want it.

It was easier to remain the same and submit to the old routine. By walking away, I was doing the very thing I always had, refusing to acknowledge the fact as I excused and justified my behaviour with feeble lies. I was not protecting him from anything. I was running, so terrified of changing that I convinced myself that it was the change. My feet hadn’t stopped since I stepped on that bus, moving with intent even when I lived in Utah, because I could not imagine staying stagnant and letting anyone know me. I was transient, always moving yet never changing, a washed up woman in a new city, pretending to be something I was not, and sooner or later it was bound to catch up with me.

Unfortunately, that night was not my reckoning.

My feet began to move, walking without understanding, without any destination in mind. Home was a far away feeling, never familiar and so unknown to me I knew better than to search for it. The closest thing to that type of safety, to that kind of comfort, was standing still in the driveway as I breezed past him, and asleep in the airbnb I would never let myself step foot in again. I did not even acknowledge Dylan as I walked by, knowing that my silence was killing him but unable to force any more words out. The knife cut deeper and deeper the further I went, but I did not slow to stop the bleeding. I wasn’t sure who I was killing faster, him or myself, but it didn’t matter to me anymore. Staying or leaving would end the same way, and I believed if I left then, it would give him the best chance of survival.

“Arabella, don’t you fuckin’ do this to me.” Dylan called after me, but I could hear him breaking as he did so.

Piece by piece, drop by drop, the longer I stayed, the less of him remained. I wasn’t what he wanted, not what he needed, and he would see that once I was out of sight. I was a mastermind, filled with dark energy and wicked skill, convincing those around me I was worth their while. There came a point where they all reached the same conclusion, and I could not stick around and wait for it.

As I rounded the corner and made my way onto the main road, I had no idea where I was headed, no idea where I wanted to go. Hearing him call my name was no solace, not enough to convince me to turn around but just enough to be some kind of evocative ode to the woman I so badly wanted to be. I was leaving her behind too, abandoning her in search for someone else, someone I did not even know.

Faster, faster, lungs burning and throat aching, I finally found myself free of the burden of being me when I stumbled across the stop sign just before the highway. Taking a second to rest, I couldn’t even enjoy it, finding the only thought in my head a memory of the white powder coating the tip of my index finger. Not the friends I abandoned, not the man I left behind, but drugs, just like always.

No matter how far I ran, it would always come back to the same thing.

“You’re sure you don’t want to tap out?” The voice over your shoulder barely phased you, your eyes focused on the pool cue so delicately aimed at a solid ball and never wavering as your opponent made their shot.

“Tap out?” You laughed, the sound a bit more condescending than you intended. “Baby, I’m just getting started.” You felt a smirk tug at the corner of your lips as the green ball rolled so closely to the corner pocket, but ultimately tapped against the side and fell off course.

“This is a lot of money on the line… like a lot.” Your friend warned, sounding nervous as she gazed over your shoulder at the table. You were in the lead, only two striped balls left before the 8-ball, but the man you were up against wasn’t far behind. If he’d knocked the green ball in, you would be neck and neck. “If you back out now, you can both walk away with the same amount.”

“Maybe the same amount of money, but definitely not the same amount of pride.” You explained, taking a slow step towards the table, lining yourself up with the cue ball. “Besides, this is the longest streak yet, and I’m not about to give it up because I’m scared.” You continued, leaning down just enough to line your cue up with the blue striped ball.

Your eyes flickered across the green, your head cocked to the side ever so slightly as you tried your best to picture the shot in your mind. If you hit it at just the right angle, you could knock it into the striped burgundy ball and get them both in corner pockets. It was risky, but with such a tight race, risk was your only option. You lowered your top half down a little further, your stomach grazing the wooden trim on the table. The cool surface sent a shock to your skin even through the thin material of your dress, but you did not let it deter you.

You swallowed hard, keeping your hands steady and your goal at the front of your mind. You let out a long breath, the warm air rushing past the gloss shining your lips and calming your nerves. You’d done this before, and you could do it again. You continued to repeat that in your head as you scanned over the table one last time, making sure nothing was out of place. When you were confident you were in the right position, your gaze flickered to meet the eyes of your opponent. His blazing blue stare was meant to intimidate you, but it only seemed to motivate you further.

“15 in left corner pocket.” You called your shot, holding his eyes as you let him digest the words. “14 in right corner pocket.”

Quickly looking back down at the cue ball, you drew your arm back halfway, then lurched it forward with a fair amount of force. It rolled forward, striking the striped green ball and causing it to barrel ahead and slam into the striped burgundy ball. The speed that transferred to the third ball caused it to sink straight into the left pocket with no resistance. Feeling a slight pressure in your chest, you focused on the green ball, still rolling but much slower. You held your breath, afraid you misjudged your ability for a fleeting moment in time. It was rolling so slowly you began to lose all hope of it making it to the target.

The growing crowd around you seemed to be on the edge of their seats, watching intently and not daring to move or speak a word. Your stomach twisted and turned, your palms clammy as the green ball slowed even further, just inches away from the pocket you so desperately needed it to reach.

“Come on.” You whispered, your jaw hard set as you stared it down. You didn’t move, still in the position you held when you made the shot. The wooden cue was resting on the table and your hands were clamped tightly around it, your grip nearly strong enough to break it.

Then, a round of gasps sounded from the crowd, followed by a clinking noise of two balls hitting together inside of the pocket. The green striped ball disappeared completely, and the cocky smile returned to your lips. Raising an eyebrow, you looked to your best friend, tapping her heeled foot against the floor in anticipation. She shook her head, a ghost of a laugh on her lips as she bowed her head to you. Both of you knew there was no need to doubt your ability, but her anxiety seemed to get the best of her.

You straightened up, tapping the handle of your cue against the floor as you stepped back from the table. You lined up your next shot, but decided to take the piss out of him before you won. You aimed for the eight ball, knocking it very carefully in front of his purple ball and making it near impossible for him to sink that one without hitting the eight ball to a better position. If you were going to win, you wanted him to guide you to it, just to teach him a lesson about being so foolish with his money. The smile on your face was infuriating to the man across the table, and his doubt of his own talent was clear in his expression. Even if you all knew he would lose, you had to admire his dedication.

“Good shot.” Your best friend gave your arm a squeeze as you walked within reach, a soft smile on her face as her hopefulness was restored.

“Aren’t I always?” You grinned, trying your best not to let anyone see that you had even a sliver of doubt about yourself.

“You’re too cocky for your own good.” She whispered, leaning back against the pool table behind her as she watched your opponent slowly aim his next shot.

“Just cocky enough, Iz.” You corrected, taking the same lax position as your counterpart. “Look where it got us.”

You motioned one hand around the room, your eyes drifting over the amassed patrons of the bar, all gathered round just to watch you win yet another game. Many men had their hands resting on their wallets in their pockets, wondering if they should take their own chances on a game with you or save the trouble. You knew that the longer your opponent put up a fight, the more likely people would be to challenge you, making them think they had a chance to beat you. It was all part of the strategy, letting people get ahead to make others think they had a chance, until you got down to the very last balls and the heat was turned up.

This was a regular Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and sometimes even Sunday night routine for you. Dressed to the nines, you and your best friend would walk to your favorite bar where you would take post at the same pool table and await a new challenge. A long time ago, when you first started this specific routine, it was only ever for fun. Never once did you expect it to snowball into what it was now, but as the months dragged on and turned into years, you realized just how much money you could make off the poor insecure men who frequented the establishment.

You had a talent, and they had a superiority complex, unable to believe that a young woman could beat them at a game they had been playing since they turned eighteen. It wasn’t your fault that you could capitalize off their stupidity, nor would someone else in your shoes turn down the offer. If they were willing to throw away hundreds of dollars for a chance at bragging rights, you would take the opportunity every single time.

“Besides, it’s their fault for being so cocky when they shouldn’t be. Nothing wrong with being proud of your own talent.”

“S’pose you’re right.” She let out a breathy chuckle, still not fully reassured but unwilling to argue with you. Most of your success was accredited to her lack of fight, hesitant about your crazy ideas but fully supportive of the person she loved most.

Izzy, your best friend in the entire world, also served as your biggest supporter. From the very beginning, even when money wasn’t a factor, she sat on a stool and watched you play all night just to pass the time, never interested in picking up a cue and content to keep you company. When there was nothing in life to be excited about, the two of you worked hard for a long time to find something to look forward to, and it just so happened to be in a little dive bar just off of Main Street. More specifically, at a pool table in the very back corner of the building, which seemed to offer the two of you far more opportunities than just something to be excited about thus far, and especially right now.

You watched the man lean down close to the table, really taking in the sight of him as he tried his best to catch up to you. His hair was turning gray at the roots and his eyes looked tired, but determined. He was tall, drinking top shelf liquor, and clad in expensive looking clothes, which only made you feel better about your anticipated victory. He could afford the loss, or he wouldn’t have offered such a large sum of money in the first place. You weren’t foolish for taking him up on it, and you were certain anyone would have done the same if they were as confident in their abilities as you were.

He drew his arm back and took his shot, causing the crowd to let out a collective groan when the cue ball knocked his purple ball into the eight ball by mistake.

A fatal mistake.

If he had half a brain, he would have shot for the green ball. Luckily for you, he wanted to show off similarly to how you did, and because of that, he did exactly as you hoped.

With a little pep in your step, you lazily aimed for the cue ball, barely looking upwards at the man when you spoke aloud. “Eight ball, corner pocket.” You announced, swinging your cue forward and knocking it straight into the solid white ball. It barrelled down the table hitting the black one and transferring the energy with ease. With nothing standing in its way, it plopped straight in the pocket you aimed for and won you the game.

A booming chorus of cheers sounded around the room, the entire group crowded around the table unable to believe you’d snagged yet another victory that night. Your head dropped downwards towards the table, the smile on your face blinding as you digested the rush of emotion that filled you. Any win was worth celebrating, but this one was huge. It far exceeded anything you had ever done, and it was beyond anything you ever thought you would do. You squeezed your eyes shut, holding back a few threatening tears as you laughed quietly to yourself.

Eventually, you straightened up, all of your teeth showing as an ever-growing grin ate away at your cheeks. The cheers were warbled, the buzz of excitement barely heard over your racing thoughts and pounding heart. You felt Izzy’s hands on your shoulders, her excitement bleeding from her as she shook you gently, literally jumping for joy as your opponent pulled out his wallet. If you were less stunned, you likely would have joined her, but in the moment your excitement was so large it was making your head spin and your vision blur.

You only came to when the man stepped in your direction, offering his hand to shake to commend you for your talent. You accepted, flashing him a thankful expression for giving you the opportunity in the first place.

“Great game, darlin’. Guess I got what was comin’ to me.” You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, all of your previous competitiveness fleeing you entirely. Instead of a rival, you stood before your hero (albeit, a very stupid one). The man shaking your hand had just single-handedly paid over three months of your regular rent, easily reminding you exactly why you started playing for money in the first place.

“You put up a good fight. Don’t sell yourself short.” You replied, watching as he lowered his hand from yours and extended his opposite one. Clutched between his fingers was your rightful winnings—fifty crisp, beautiful hundred dollar bills.

When you reached to grab them, you felt a firm piece of cardstock underneath them, catching your attention much more than the huge sum of money in your hand. You flipped the thick stack over, noticing what looked to be a business card underneath the bills and furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. You held it with your free hand, reading the name and number on the other side, embossed with a company logo you had never seen before.

“If you ever want to go further than betting in bars, you have my number.” He said quietly, sending you a subtle wink. Your heart skipped a beat, making your mind flood with questions and concerns about his ambiguous offers.

“As in?” You pressed further, looking up to meet his eyes.

“As in, playing games with much bigger stakes than this.” He smiled, reaching up and giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “If you want to know more, you can always give me a call. Nothing has to be official unless you want it to be.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you more confused than ever before, with questions you weren’t even sure he had answers to. You turned to Izzy, shocked and surprised as you processed the interaction that just unfolded. You swallowed hard, giving her the money to put in your wallet, then gave your head a good shake to bring yourself back to reality.

“What was that about?” She asked, doing exactly what you needed without any verbal instruction. She clasped your wallet shut and buried it at the very bottom of her bag before looking back up at you.

“Think I just got invited to an underground gambling club.” You chuckled, a bit wooed at the thought. You ran your hand through your hair, pushing it back from your face as Izzy snatched the card from your hand to see for herself.

“That’s crazy, right? You’re not going to call him, are you?” She asked, her gaze flickering between you and the card. When her questions went unanswered, her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in shock. “You’re not actually going to call him, right?” She asked again, this time expecting a verbal answer from you.

Your head turned to the table, noticing that most of the crowd filtered away by now. The night was drawing to a close, last call about an hour out and most of the patrons were ready to retire after spending too much money and having nothing to show for it. There were a few people lingering by the bar, willing to indulge in a few more drinks before heading home, but the pool tables were near deserted aside from you and a few stragglers finishing games on the other side of the room.

“No,” you scoffed a small laugh, a far-away look in your eyes as you forced a smile on your lips. “F’course not. That’s crazy, right?”

“Right…” she nodded, wanting to be the voice of reason but stuck thinking about how good it felt to hold that much cash in her hand. “Would you be winning that every time?”

“Ah,” you chuckled, tapping your manicured nails on the wood grain framing the pool table. Your tried-and-true, the very reason behind your success and the only reason you even stood there with that much money in your pockets. When the room went quiet and all you could hear was your own breathing and heartbeat, it felt like she was whispering to you, imploring you to consider the benefits of his offer, imploring you to trust in her. “Think the winnings are a lot better than the one we’re leaving with tonight.” You cleared your throat, kicking your high heel against the floor to rid yourself of some of the anxiety plaguing you.

“Holy shit, Y/N.” She whispered, almost unable to believe you were telling her the truth.

“Yeah.” You replied, closing your eyes for a moment to bargain with the thought. “You know how much that could help us?”

“Is it worth it, though? It could hurt us, too. Maybe even a lot more than it could help.” She seemed hesitant, but you could see the green flashing before her eyes, motivating her to keep considering the possibility. Money was a wicked motivator, and the two of you had been chasing it your entire lives. Now, faced with the opportunity to never have to worry again, you couldn’t help but consider it.

“When has she ever let me down before?” You gave a ghost of a smirk, the feeling of the pool cue in your hand sending your ego through the roof. “I mean look at what she did for us tonight. All weekend.” Your tongue traced the inside of your bottom lip, the simple thought of thousands making your mouth water and that hunger grow even worse. “Haven’t been on a win streak this long in ages.”

“I know, babe.” She huffed, giving a single nod of agreement. “You know I’ll support you no matter what, but don’t jump right in. At least talk to him first, find out what you’re really signing up for, okay?”

“Always.” You caught her eye, the warmth in her stare reminding you of everything you already had and telling you that everything would be okay no matter what you chose.

Did money matter when you had love like that? Kinship like that?

Izzy was everything; your only constant, and the most comfortable part of your life. From the very beginning, tripping over your own feet in pre-k and learning how to spell your own name, she was right there beside you. No matter if it was falling with you or helping you up, she would do it in a heartbeat, even if it were no gain to her. She stuck by your side for every crazy decision and reckless act, and never once held it over your head or punished you for your stupidity. You would never make a thoughtless choice that would affect her directly, and you would never punish her with ignorance or incompetence. The whole reason you were offered the gig tonight stemmed from your desire to do better for her, to take away the struggle and ease the weight upon her shoulders. If not for her, you would still be wandering aimlessly and struggling often.

Money meant little when you realized you held more of the world in your hands than most people ever got to touch. Suffering and struggle was bearable with her always bearing half the burden, and a friend like her gave you hope that you could face any pain and make it out unscathed.

“I’ll think about it, Iz. I’ll make sure it’s worth it, first.”

“That’s all I want.” She confirmed her stance, knowing that turning down that kind of money was crazier than never chasing it at all. “Do you want to head home? Can talk about it in the morning—I’m fuckin’ wiped.”

“You go get some sleep. Call a cab and get home safe. Think’m gonna stay here and clear my head.” You explained, reaching in the pockets of the pool table and beginning to re-rack the balls.

Not that you didn’t want to hear her voice of reason, but because you needed some time to come to terms with it yourself. You’d learned that although it was your biggest money maker, the pool table in the very back corner was also your biggest confidant and your favorite escape. A quick solo game would make you feel better, and hopefully make your choice a hell of a lot easier.

“You sure? I don’t mind stayin’ with ya.” She gave you a cheeky smile, nudging you with her elbow. You chuckled at her unwillingness to leave you on your lonesome, always wanting to keep you safe even if there was no need for it.

“I’m sure. Go get some sleep, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“If you insist.” She sang, knocking back the last of her drink and lingering for a moment, wanting to see if you would change your mind. When you blew her a kiss as you rounded the corner of the table, she took that as a gesture of finality. She gave you a wave, silent and slow as she stepped backwards, keeping her eyes on you as well as she could until she was completely out of sight.

When you were alone, you finally felt the full force of the night’s whirlwind of events. You grabbed the small cube of blue chalk sitting on the edge of the table, inspecting it carefully as you raised it to the tip of your cue. Closing your eyes as you circled it round the wooden stick, you let out a long breath. Your shoulders slumped slightly, the stress and adrenaline from your last game fleeing you alongside the anxiety you carried to the bar with you that night. The chatter had died down, the lull of rock sounding over the crackling speakers filling your ears and soothing the swarm of incessant thoughts in your brain.

All those years ago, did you ever imagine you would be put in such a position?

What would she think, the freshly eighteen year old who stepped out into the world alone for the first time, wondering how the hell she would make it?

What would your dad think? The man who put the cue in your hand back home, laughing as he snapped a picture of the little girl who was half its size? Would he be proud, remembering where you started, shooting at balls and never truly understanding what the game meant or how you were supposed to play? Or would he be disappointed, saddened to see you struggle so bad you had to bet your way to paying the bills?

Ah, what did it matter?

Tough decisions and trusting the universe had not led you astray yet, and even if it wasn’t the most honest way to earn a living, it sure did what you intended it to do.

“Hey Chuck,” you called from the table, catching the attention of the bartender wiping counters. His eyes cut to you, a glimmer of light in his eye that only ever shined when you were the subject of his attention. “Can I get another bottle?” You asked, tapping your empty beer against your cue as you gave him a smile.

“One or two?” He asked, half-twisting towards the cooler to retrieve your drink.

“Two should do the trick.” You chuckled, barely embarrassed that he knew you so well. He grabbed the necks of two brown bottles in one hand, setting them on the ledge of the half wall separating the drinking area from the game room. You removed the black triangle from the racked balls, lining the cue ball at an angle and taking the shot to break it. As the balls spun out of control, twisting and turning, knocking into each other with ringing clacks, you stepped towards the bar. He used his bottle opener to free the caps, tossing them in the trash can by his feet as you picked up the first drink.

“You played well tonight.” He noted, slinging an old towel over his shoulder. “Busiest I’ve seen here all month.”

“Yeah, probably why I did so well.” You laughed, your eyes studying his face. His ginger hair curled at the ends, laying over the nape of his neck. His fair skin was slightly blushed and heavily freckled, and he was still as full of life as he was when the doors opened that night. “Had lots of time to practice over the last few weeks.”

“Paid off, it seems.” He commended you, giving you a verbal pat on the back for all he witnessed.

Chuck wasn’t much older than you were, and over your many years of frequenting the bar, you had gotten to know him fairly well. Starting in the military at eighteen, he decided school wasn’t for him and he should put his strength still remaining from high school football to some good use. For a long time, he worked high end security gigs between deployments, which kept him busy in the meantime and still gave him some sort of purpose when he couldn’t do the job he originally signed up for. At twenty four, he got a pretty nasty injury that left him with a medical discharge and a lot more mental turmoil than physical.

After a year of recovery, his slow start back into the regular world landed him as a bouncer at the very bar you were in now, and then eventually a bartender when needed. Despite all the shit life threw at him, he was still the most friendly man you’d ever met, and he was just happy to be wherever he went. After so many nights of getting to know each other, you considered him a friend, and a good one at that. To Izzy, sometimes he seemed to be a little bit more than her favorite bartender. You didn’t ask, and she never told, but the nights she didn’t come home, you could only assume that she found company in the redhead who often made her singles into doubles without any charge.

“If you’re still here when I lock up, I want my turn.” He grinned, both of you knowing that was your price for staying past last call.

“You know where I’ll be.” You grinned, tapping your bottle against the ledge before taking a swig. With that, he returned to cleaning the counters and you walked back to your game. “Why don’t you play some good music while you’re at it?” You teased, shooting the quip over your shoulder that you knew he would agree with. Without any hesitation, he queued up a different playlist and turned it up.

Setting both drinks on a nearby table, you didn’t waste much time lining up your first shot. When you watched the striped balls scatter across the green top, all of your troubles ceased to exist. Hearing the resin balls knock against the pockets and roll inside was the greatest sound in the world. When you played, everything else seemed to disappear, leaving you alone with only one goal in mind.

Well, most of the time, at least.

Other times, you could still feel your father leaning over your shoulder, whispering bits of advice you would hold close to your heart for the rest of your life. You could feel the weight of his presence, the energy of his applause when you made a perfect play, and the joy of being with him all wrapped into one.

It was haunting just the same as it was comforting.

“Excuse me,” a gentle voice sounded from behind you, catching your attention just before you leaned down to take another shot. You would have been startled if not for the sweetness behind the words. You turned, still stuck in thought about the man who taught you everything you knew, wondering who would be approaching you so late in the night.

When you were turned completely, you thought the man standing before you was some twisted trick from the universe, baiting you with perfection to lure you to danger. His long curls dusted his shoulders, complimented by a patterned bandana folded neatly and settled atop his head. A short sleeved, ribbed knit shirt that hugged his torso like it was made just for him, tucked into jeans that hugged his legs. Gold chains paired perfectly with a pendant necklace hung around his neck, glimmering under the minimal light. You didn’t recognize the symbol on the chain, but you felt compelled to ask, to know before you lost your chance. His skin tanned, his brown eyes warm, and his smile soft and sweet. He held a pool cue in his large hand, and his expression was curious.

You hated to admit that he had you completely flustered by simply existing.

“Hey,” you eventually breathed out, the bridge of your nose burning as the skin turned red with a blush. You wondered if he noticed under the low light, or if he even cared. Looking like he did, you were certain you weren’t the only person who had a hard time finding words when speaking to him. “What’s up?”

“Sorry if this is weird, or whatever…” he raised a hand to the back of his neck, sheepish as his eyes raked over you with the same intensity you held in your own. “I was watching you play earlier. Would have introduced myself sooner, but you seemed a bit busy.”

“S’all good. Not weird at all.” You smiled, almost flattered by the fact that he seemed nervous to talk to you.

“You play a mean game. I’m Danny.” He seemed to shake off his nerves at your reassurance, his eyes flickering to the balls scattered on the tabletop to break the burning stare shared between you.

“Y/N.” You replied, extending your hand to shake. He responded enthusiastically, the warmth of his skin sending shivers down your spine and goosebumps raising across your arms.

‘Damn, Y/N. Get it together.’ You thought to yourself, but still found your chest tight and your mouth dry from the sheer beauty of the man standing before you. Did he want to play, or did he want to talk to you? You were too afraid to ask, but whatever it was, you knew you would be compliant with it. If it meant getting an extra moment to admire him, you would be more than happy to do so.

“You play a lot?” He asked, his attention back on your face as he asked.

“Think that’s putting it lightly.” You grinned, knowing that his assumption barely even scratched the surface. “I guess it’s my thing, as some would say.” You quoted the word with one hand, your eyes glazing over with pride at the fact.

“There’s worse things to have.” He joked back, easing up as he understood you weren’t as intimidating as he thought moments before.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Daniel?” At the sound of his name on your lips, his breath caught in his chest and his words in his throat. “Come on, now. Don’t be shy.” You pried a little further, noticing the red dusting his cheeks, too.

“You caught my eye, that's all.” He conceded, shifting his weight onto his heels as a gentle grin decorated his lips. “Curious about the pretty girl who was wiping the floor with every pool player in here. Wanted to talk to you before someone else stepped in and ruined my chances.” At that, you couldn’t help but laugh, honored that your talent struck him so well, and even more curious about him.

“So is this about me being good at pool, or you thinking I’m pretty?” You found yourself going along with the bit, entertaining whatever he was thinking and enjoying making him sweat. Normally, you didn’t entertain wandering eyes and flirtation, but from him, it felt different. It felt like something you wanted to get used to, and you barely knew a thing about him.

“Can’t it be both?” He raised an eyebrow, realizing that he wasn’t coming off too strong for you.

“S’pose it can, yeah.” You nodded, a cheeky grin on your lips.

“Have time to entertain a poor guy like me, or are you too busy training for the championship?”

“I think I could fit you in,” you smiled, nodding your head. “Might be nice to have some company, anyway, s’long as you don’t get in the way of the championship.” You pointed your index finger, a faux warning with playfulness in your eyes.

“You only play for money, or is fun allowed too?” He stepped towards the table, watching as you shot the white ball at a group of striped ones.

“Mostly for money, but I know how to have fun.” You explained, straightening up as you scanned for the next best move. “Usually just with friends, though. Can I consider you my friend, Daniel?” Your eyes cut to his face, your head cocking to the side ever so slightly.

“That’s up to you, Y/N.” He said your name with the same kind of conviction in his tone, like the simple idea of speaking your name would send him to his knees. You had no idea how you failed to notice him sooner, how he flew right under the radar and managed to stay there until he wanted to be seen. A small part of you was grateful for the fact, because had your eyes landed on him while you were playing, he would have thrown off your entire game. You didn’t like distractions, and from all you had seen so far, that appeared to be exactly what he was, even if he was a good one.

“All or nothing, or is there something else on the table you’re too afraid to say out loud?” You smirked, leaning down and shooting at another striped ball. It landed in the corner pocket, even when your eyes were barely focused on the table. Your forwardness seemed to take him by surprise, but it did not deter him.

“Like what, sharpshooter?” The nickname piqued your interest, causing another blush to appear on your cheeks.

“I don’t know, Daniel. That’s why I asked you.” At that, it was his turn to laugh, a beautiful and breathtaking laugh that nearly sent you straight to the grave.

You met plenty of men at bars, some just as beautiful and many more who took their chances with you, but none of them had any effect on you, and if they did, it was never like this. You had no idea what spell he casted on you, but it was more powerful than any force you had ever encountered before. The small game of cat and mouse had already begun, but you were both chasing each other equally as much. It was fun, lighthearted, and you believed that if you were to back out, he would leave it at that. His beauty matched his charm, and he was as sweet as he was hot. If more than friends was on the table, you certainly would not be opposed to the idea.

Even so, you would not be the first to say it.

No matter how attractive he was, you would cling to the last sliver of pride you could.

“Where are you from, honey?” He asked, switching the topic with ease and getting himself out of the spotlight.

“Ohio.” You responded, deciding not to pay any mind to his sudden shift in direction. “You?”

“Michigan.” He replied, his eyes following your game, only glancing at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

“Ah,” You chuckled, a twinkle in your eye at the thought. “Natural enemies. Should we even try to be friends, darlin’?”

“Maybe a little competition will do us some good.” He theorized, still holding his pool cue tightly. “Seems like you’re a fan of it, anyway.” A sneaking glance your way left you to believe his intent was much stronger than friendly, and you couldn’t ignore the twisting of your stomach at the thought. “What are you doing so far from home?” He posed another question, not letting you focus on his previous comments for too long.

“I’m a firm believer that home is the people, not the place.” You finished off the striped balls, taking a long sip of beer before moving on to the solids. “The only person I had left wanted to leave, and I sure as hell wasn’t letting her leave me behind.” You didn’t know why you wanted to answer him with so much honesty. You could have sugar coated it, or come up with a simple lie to evade the question, but you didn’t want to. For some strange reason, you felt a type of solace in Daniel’s company you had never found in another, and him knowing you certainly wasn’t the worst thing in the world. “What about you?”

“I’m a musician.” Although his response was short, it was not dry. He seemed to be vying for a reaction before he delved too deep.

“A musician in Nashville… never heard of that one before.” You grinned, already getting down to the last few balls on the table. “Any good?”

“I mean, we’re alright.” He shrugged, chuckling quietly.

“I’ll have to take your word for it. Your very convincing word.” You found another laugh stuck in your teeth, wondering how it was so easy for him to cause them. “Just you?”

“Nah, me and my best friends. More like brothers, really.” He said, one hand stuffed in his pocket as he watched you take another shot.

“That’s cool.” You conceded, sending him a smile as you straightened back up.

“So, how did you get this gig?” He asked, more apt to get to know you than anything else.

“Wouldn’t really say it’s a gig.” You chalked the end of your cue again, thinking back to the very beginning. “When I first moved here, life was… not what we thought it would be. My best friend enrolled in university, and I looked into a few classes for community college, but never ended up pursuing it. I couldn’t take a full time program and work to support the both of us, and since she moved here for school and I tagged along, I prioritized money.”

“A valiant woman… I can appreciate that.”

“Well it was that, or drown. Someone had to pay the bills, and I couldn’t force her to do both. She’ll take care of me when the time comes. Just the way we work.” You didn’t expect him to understand, but you wanted him to, even if you did not know why.

Until that moment, you were fine having Izzy as your person, the only one who would ever truly get you, and you never needed more. Until he showed up, you were happy with it, but he carried some external energy that drew you to him, making you hang off every word and hope he would be willing to give more. You wanted to talk to him, to tell him the things you most often kept quiet about. He was interested, radiated kindness and exuded a type of peace you hadn’t felt in a really long time. Being in his company was refreshing, something very different than what you had grown used to since moving to Nashville, and he barely even had to try. You didn’t want him to leave, and you never wanted him to stop talking. Men never interested you much unless you could get a couple dollars off a game, but he didn’t seem like any regular guy.

“It’s nice having someone that you can lean on no matter what.” He explained, a twinkle in his soft brown eyes caught your attention almost instantly. “No matter how far away from home, you always get to bring a piece with you. Even if you’re lost, you always know you’ll find your way with them by your side.” He tapped his foot against the ground while he spoke, like he was trying his best to put such profound emotions into a legible message. Slowly, you nodded your head, agreeing with everything he said.

Maybe he did get it, and more than you ever would have believed.

“I have Sam.” He continued, a small smile stretching his lips. “Been my friend for as long as I can remember. Wouldn’t know where I’m going or what I was doing without him by my side.”

“Yeah, exactly.” You squeaked a response, your heart racing as you shot at another ball. Something about the topic of conversation made it all feel real, and as much as you were enjoying it, it also scared you. Being perceived as a person with depth did not usually bode well with you; you much preferred to be the heartless snake that could kill a game of pool, especially to strangers. It was nice being understood, but hard to swallow all the same. “When things were really rough, I guess we were desperate to find a distraction. Something to look forward to that wouldn’t hurt us any more.” You cleared your throat, watching the last colored ball fall into a pocket, leaving you with just the eight ball.

“And that was playing pool?”

“Sort of.” You nodded, deciding to take a break before finishing the game against yourself. For a topic so heavy, you thought it best to give him all of your attention. “I always loved the game. Been playing it since I was this big.” You held your hand out a few feet above the floor, giving a vague estimate to accompany your words. “When we found this bar, it wasn’t very popular, which was good. Lots of tables and none were ever filled, so we spent a lot of nights at this one. I played and Iz watched—she was never much of a pool player, but she loved to spend time with me. It worked for us.”

“How did you start playing for money?” His questions were endless, and you didn’t mind. You enjoyed his intrigue, happy that he wanted to know you as much as you wanted to know him.

“After about a year or so of playing for fun, we made pretty good friends with the bartender.” You nodded your head towards Chuck. “Great guy, but too cocky for his own good. He bet twenty bucks, and lost it in less than ten minutes.” At that, Daniel let out a bellowing laugh, causing an unfamiliar flutter in the pit of your stomach. How could one man be so perfect? “A few guys watching caught wind, and I s’pose they all thought they’d try their luck. I went home with a bit of extra pep in my step and a hell of a lot more confidence. Didn’t win very much, but when you don’t have it in the first place, it’s a lot. Was different than winning the slots, or something like that. Made me feel good, like I was good at something.”

“From what I’ve seen, you’re a lot better than good.” You weren’t sure why the compliment struck you with so much force, especially considering so many people often spoke the same sentiment, but you held it close to your heart. With blushing cheeks and a racing heart, you muttered a small thank you.

“After that, I realized I could keep making money off of it. Instead of wasting hours on nothing, we came down here with a purpose. Word went around, and everybody wanted to take their chances. It took a little while to win anything substantial, but it eventually started paying some of the bills and even more than that. Now people come here just to play against me.” You couldn’t help the smirk that formed, proud of yourself for creating something from nothing. As you bargained with the idea, you leaned down and shot the eight ball, effortless and confident as it rolled into the side pocket.

“That’s pretty damn impressive.” He took a step closer to the table, inspecting the clear top after you sunk all of the shoes without a hitch. “You’re pretty damn impressive.” Your cheeks burned again, but you looked to the ground so he did not notice. You wished you could understand why he had such a big effect on you, how he rivaled every other man you had ever met and all he had to do was talk to you, but you understood that not all things need an answer. Sometimes, it’s just nice to appreciate it while it lasts. “I think my biggest question is how did you get so good at it?”

You caught his eye for a moment, his face lucent even in the near darkness of the bar. It knocked the breath from your lungs, his burning stare and unwavering commitment to knowing you. You wondered if it was just because of curiosity, or if he had a hidden agenda that he would only share at the perfect moment. Either way, it did not matter; you would be overjoyed to go along with whatever plans he wanted to make for the night, and you would be even happier if you ended up in his bed. For a single moment, you debated whether you should bring it up yourself or see what tricks he had up his sleeve.

You opted to make him sweat a bit, knowing that every extra minute spent in his company would be worth it.

“Is that your biggest question, Daniel?” You raised an eyebrow, a knowing expression on your face as you saw his eyes flicker down to your lips. Silently answering the question for you, you felt a slight bit of satisfaction at his miniscule action.

“One of them.” He replied, nonchalant as he began to place the balls back on the green.

“Well, get to askin’, then.” You decided to help him out with his task, wondering if his curiosity really did lie in the game and you were reading too far into it. “I don’t have all night.” A lie, but he didn’t need to know that.

“I was asking—you were avoiding.” He caught your eye again, each time his stare landed on you the effect far worse than the last.

“Maybe I don’t like that one.” You weren’t being dishonest; that question, above all, was your least favorite of any one that anybody could ask you. To answer, you would have to talk about your dad, and that was best left as a memory rather than a story. “I want to hear what else you’ve got.”

“Alright,” he conceded, racking the balls in the middle of the table. He did not outright say it, but you could see his desire for a game hidden deep in his features. You wondered how long it would take for him to place his wagers. “Are you going home with anyone tonight?”

You thought about it for a moment, the ghost of a smile on your lips as your silence led him astray. You weren’t going home with anyone, nor did you ever have any intent to. In fact, you had been looking forward to walking home to find Izzy curled up on the couch (because that’s where she always fell asleep when she was drunk), all of the lights on and the television playing loudly in the background. You would sit with her until your mind stopped racing, and eventually you would crawl up to your bedroom and sleep off the night's excitement while planning for tomorrow.

Now, you weren’t sure how much you liked that idea. With him standing so close, the fresh scent of his cologne distracting you and the warmth of his presence more persuasive than anything else, you didn’t want to go home alone. His gentle smile and burning gaze sent the hair on the back of your neck raising and goosebumps littering your skin. For a brief moment, you wondered what it would be like to touch him, to put the conversation to rest and explore more pleasurable, fulfilling alternatives. He made it so easy to ignore everything else and focus your attention solely on him, and since he joined you at the table, you hadn’t been able to think of anything but him.

If you went home alone, would you regret it?

If you went home with him, would you regret it?

For some reason, you believed that you would never regret a night spent with someone as compelling as him, but the fear still remained. You barely knew him, nor his intentions. You were rightfully concerned, but something deep in your heart told you that you could trust him and that he would not do you wrong.

You hoped so, anyway.

“Not unless I meet someone worth my time, no.” You shook your head, giving him a lingering stare as he processed your words. The corner of his lips quirked upwards, not necessarily into a smile, but a response to you nonetheless.

“How do your games work, sharpshooter?” He asked, removing the plastic triangle and hanging it on the hook on the side of the table.

“Depends.” You chalked the end of your cue, gearing up for another game you would inevitably win. “Usually, you pick the price, and I tell you if it’s worth my time.”

“Only money worth your time?” He grabbed the second block of chalk, catching your attention as he reached up to do the same to his cue. You noticed the veins in the back of his hand, leading to the same prominent feature in his forearms. Your stomach fluttered with curiosity, studying him closely as the muscles in his biceps flexed. For a brief moment, you imagined what it would feel like for his hands to be on you, his flexing muscles under your touch as he offered you much more than a challenge.

“What do you have in mind?” You finished off the last of your beer, discarding the bottle on the ledge by the bar and making quick work sipping at your second. He seemed hesitant to answer, but his eyes were glimmering with mischief. You wished it didn’t intrigue you as much as it did, but you felt yourself leaning into him as you awaited your answer, showing your own desperation for him to speak. “Out with it.” You pressed, smiling again as he rocked back onto his heels.

“How about…” he sucked in a breath through his perfectly straight and white teeth, his eyes darting from you to the table. You raised an eyebrow, cocking your head to the side as you waited for him to continue. “If I win, I get to take you home for the night.”

You froze momentarily, your heartbeat and breathing included. Your cheeks, burning red under the dim pot lights overhead, giving away your feelings on the matter almost instantly. Could you agree to such personal terms? Even if you wanted to go home with him, you still weren’t quite sure if it was a good idea. You hardly knew him, and could barely comprehend his boldness even if it did turn you on. If you turned him down, you felt that there was a possibility of regret, and you certainly didn’t want to see him turn and walk away, especially after how much you enjoyed talking to him.

Then again, you barely even believed he could beat you in the first place. At the very core of it, the very beautiful, polished man that stood before you didn’t seem to have a competitive bone in his body, nor did he seem to be as well versed in the game as you were. Even if he had skill, you couldn’t imagine he would be as committed to beating you as you were to beating him. That was most of the reason you won as often as you did. If you agreed, the chances of his desired outcome happening were slim to none. That made you feel worlds better, and your cockiness gave you the extra push to agree with his crazy idea.

Maybe by the time the game was over, you would know for sure if you wanted to go home with him or not. An extra hour spent getting to know him definitely wouldn’t hurt, and then you would be able to join him on your own accord if you so wished. With a dry mouth, you swallowed back your surprise, bargaining with the fluttering of your heart as you understood he definitely found you as attractive as you found him. To bet on something so forward, you really must have caught his eye.

“And what if I win?” You asked, trying your best to keep your cool and remain confident.

“Guess that’s up to you, is it not?” He flashed you a smile, and for a split second you wanted to abandon the game entirely and accompany him home then and there. Whatever he was doing to you, he was doing it incredibly well, and you began to fear he would get what he wanted no matter who won the game.

“S’pose it is.” You pursed your lips slightly, running the tip of your tongue over the back of your teeth as you brainstormed your stipulations. Then, an idea struck you, working for you in more ways than one. “If I win, I want two tickets to your next show, rockstar.” You pointed in his direction, knowing that your offer would send the subliminal message that you did in fact want to see him again, even if you did not end up in his bed.

“I’ll even throw in a backstage pass, just because. Best view in the whole house.” He sent a wink in your direction, forcing you to look away as your breath caught in your throat. You could feel a dull ache begin to bother you between your legs, and you knew if you let yourself focus on it, the game would be his before it even started.

“Mr. Important, or whatever.” You teased, your finger tracing the wood grain on the table as you reached for the coin sitting on the very corner. “Didn’t realize I was in the presence of such a big celebrity.” You took the cool metal coin between your middle and index finger, flashing it in his direction so he could see what you were up to.

“So, we have a deal?” He asked for clarification, wanting to ensure there were no blurred lines.

“I think we do.” You nodded, turning back towards him only to notice he had stepped closer. “Shake on it?” You asked, extending your hand towards him. He reached forward, his palm landing against yours as his fingers closed around it. You hated the fact that something as simple as a handshake from him had you weak in the knees, but you bargained with the lack of strength in your legs as you focused on the warmth he provided.

“Game on, sharpshooter.” He said, his hand lingering on yours for a moment longer than it should have. He was close, much closer than a friendly opponent should be. You could see the rise and fall of his chest, just inches from your own, and when you looked upwards to meet his eyes, his face wasn’t much further away. The two of you stayed locked in the same position for what seemed like an eternity, both of you understanding the pull of your heartstrings as you admired each other up close.

“I flip a coin for start, but if you have something better in mind, please do tell.” You explained, your voice barely above a whisper because it did not need to be. He was close enough you were sure he could hear your racing heart and shallow breaths. The smell of his cologne was intoxicating, and you felt more drunk the longer he stood near. If this was how the whole game was going to go, you understood you were in for a wild ride.

“Sounds good to me.” He finally dropped his hand, but much slower than normal, like he was hesitant to let you go. You placed the coin on the back of your thumb, hoping he did not notice the slight trembling of your fingers.

“Heads or tails, Daniel?” You held his gaze, finally getting the chance to appreciate the sea of brown in his irises, the flecks of near blackness and the golden streaks that accentuated the already beautiful chestnut color. Soft and warm and kind, something you felt like you could get lost in forever and never yearn to be found.

“Tails.” He said, seemingly studying the intricacies of you.

You tossed the coin in the air, barely looking down as you guided it to the back of your hand with your palm. For a few seconds, you stood still once more, not ready to part from the closeness the moment granted. His skin was soft like wind in the reeds, the ends of his curly hair tickling his cheek ever so gently. For once, you did not feel uncomfortable under another’s stare—you did not want to hide, nor to turn away or dissolve into nothing to avoid the attention from another. This time, you felt appreciated, seen for everything rather than just something, and you thought it a crime to never be on the receiving end of his attention.

Eventually, you withdrew your hand covering the coin, looking down to see it showing heads.

“Looks like luck is on my side, tonight.” You mumbled, knowing that if you truly wanted to be a dick, you could take the game out in one play. He let out a small huff of air, similar to a laugh but not quite, like he was amused by your response.

“We’ll see.” He replied, taking a small step back from you. Your eyebrows furrowed together, your eyes lingering on his face as he stood stationary beside the table.

What did that mean?

Opting to ignore his attempt at undermining your ability, you shook off your nerves and realized that it would affect your game if you focused on it for too long. Instead, you decided to show him that luck had little to do with it, and going home with him would not be your punishment for loss, but a choice you made on your own accord. You had never bet on something so extreme, and especially never something sex-related. You would be lying if you said it didn’t put any extra pressure on you, but your win streak from that night alone led you to believe that you wouldn’t have to suffer any consequences. Beating him would be as easy as any other game, and that fact played a huge part in agreeing to his terms.

Well, that, and the fact that going home with him would be an option even if pool wasn’t a factor.

You placed the cue ball on the green, leaning down and settling the tip of your cue in the groove between your thumb and forefinger. You placed your four fingertips against the felt below, and lifted your thumb slightly to give yourself better control of the cue. Aiming and faking your shot a few times, you let yourself get a feel for the position without following through. Eventually, you withdrew your arm and spring forward with an ample amount of force, sending the white ball rolling forward and crashing into the racked balls.

Your eyes stayed glued on the table as all of the balls scattered across the top. A few rolled into the rails, then you watched as two striped balls rolled to the side and into a corner pocket, back-to-back. A triumphant smile on your face, you scanned for the next best move, noting that the white ball rolled to a stop near the middle of the table. You straightened up, taking a few steps to the side of the table before leaning down again and repositioning yourself.

You shot at the yellow striped ball, calling the side pocket just before you slid the wooden stick forward into the cue ball. Just as you expected, it rolled straight in without a hiccup. Since starting, you hadn’t looked anywhere but at the game, and as you stood to shoot for the third time, you made the mistake of casting your gaze in the direction of your opponent.

For the first time ever since playing a game of pool, you made a mistake classified as fatal, and you did so without second thought or any inkling that it would be a mistake at all.

You froze in place, noticing his eyes burning into you as you leaned down over the table, but they were no longer warm and kind. Instead, his gaze was fixated on the pull of your dress from your skin, gravity giving him a bit more of a show than you intended, and the sweetness in his stare had dissolved into a hunger you could only imagine was felt by a man starved. You felt a rush of emotion straight to the pit of your stomach, only worsened as his tongue delicately traced his lower lip. Your skin tingled with desire. And for a fleeting moment you considered forfeiting the game and sinking the eight ball just to get to his house faster.

“Nice shot, beautiful.” He whispered, his tone much more gravelly than it was when he was speaking to you before. He knew what he was doing, and he was unashamed to admit it.

Without responding, you brought your shaky hands back to the table, your stomach twisting and your mind flooded with all kinds of thoughts that had little to do with the task at hand. You were committed to winning, and you would make it a point to do so, but he was making it incredibly hard to prioritize that.

Trying to push the thought of him far from your mind, you zoned back in on the game. As you pulled your arm back to shoot, a quick flash of his darkened eyes flooded your vision, pointed at you like a predator in search of prey. As you shot at the cue ball, you did not even notice that it hit a striped ball against the rail and nowhere near the pocket. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to shake the memory away, but it seemed permanently seared into your brain. You could feel your heartbeat in your toes, your own arousal pulsing under your skin and forcing you to feel it when his perfectly sculpted features flashed before your eyes.

For the first time in your entire career, losing the game was more plausible than winning, and the fact only became more pertinent every time you remembered what it felt like to be under his burning gaze.

You had to get ahold of yourself, to shake off the very thing that would lead you to your demise, but you couldn’t. Whatever he was doing was working, because the man that stood before you now was much different than the one who challenged you to begin with. Being near him was to be one step away from insanity, and focusing on anything other than him was impossible. Knowing that he was watching you with the same intensity, imagining what you would look like out of your dress and underneath him when he won the game, was sending you down a rabbit hole that was far too steep to climb out of.

But you had to win.

It wasn’t an option, nor a question.

Winning was the only thing you knew how to do.

You stood, eyes casted to the floor and a blush across your cheeks as you stepped back from the table, not daring to look in his direction as you bargained with your own embarrassment. Had you ever shot so poorly before? You couldn’t recall a time in which you missed your target so entirely, and your entire body was ablaze with disappointment at your own actions.

“You know, you never actually told me…” Danny started, snapping your thoughts away from your bad play, as if he knew that’s what you were brooding about. You finally looked at him, the entire world in slow motion as your eyes landed on him again. He was tall, slim but muscular. His shoulders were broad, not noticeable from afar but very much so once you were up close and personal with him. His lips were plush, smooth and soft as your mind begged you to get a taste. “How did you get so good at pool?” Your eyes cut to his own, nervous for a moment that he was judging you for your oblivious admiration of him.

“It’s a long story.” You said, your gaze flickering to the table. He didn’t seem keen on taking his turn, though. Instead, he wanted to know you, which was as sweet as it was aggravating.

“I have time.” He assured you, stuffing one hand into the pocket of his tight jeans. You let out a huff of laughter, almost shocked at how interested he was in you. Nobody had ever cared this much—well, aside from Izzy, but never a man. Certainly not one as breathtakingly beautiful as him.

“My dad.” You responded, swallowing down a mouthful of beer so you would not choke up at the thought. You didn’t know why it was so easy to tell the truth. You could have lied, brushed it off and moved on, or ignored him completely. Instead, you wanted him to know, wanted to take solace in his heart and mind. It was a new feeling, but something you wouldn’t mind getting used to. “Had an old bar in Perrysburg, left to him by my grandfather when he died. I was six or so when he packed up and trucked us across the state so he could take over. Dad didn’t know it was as run down as it really was… thought maybe we could make some money out of it, or whatever.” You paused, feeling your throat begin to close as you recalled the memories you kept locked up tight for so long.

“We moved into an’ old fixer upper, something cheap so he could afford to fix the damn dive without us suffering because of it. We spent every day at that bar. I’d do my times tables sittin’ on the old bar top, ‘till he tore it out f’course.” You chuckled, swiping your stray hairs away from your forehead. “We’d eat takeaway on the squeaky barstools, throw the garbage in the big dumpster he rented when he tore out the old floors, and then he’d shoot some pool before we went home. Back then, I was curious, and annoying. I didn’t let up until he let me try, and wouldn’t give up until he forced me out the door.” Danny laughed at that, picturing it in his mind as he listened intently.

“Was some sort of routine we got going, you know? Get home from school, do my homework, eat, and play pool. Once he knew I wasn’t gonna give it up, he actually taught me how to play. Took a while, but by the time the bar opened I could play a game ‘till the end. Even when the reno’s were finished, we kept at it. Was our thing, you know?” You let the butt of your cue fall to the vinyl floor, the weight of the memory like cement poured atop your bones. Missing him was violent, painful and torturous. It didn’t get easier with time, nor did it ease when you recounted the beautiful years you spent with him. Worst part was, it didn’t even help if you stayed silent on the matter. The whole damn thing hurt, and it would for the rest of your life.

“Just you and him?” He asked, noticing your sudden withdrawal. Your eyes fluttered closed as you gave a small nod of your head.

“Yeah, was just us.” You hummed. From the very beginning until the very end, it was the two of you against the world. Some would say it was still the same, now. “And Izzy, sometimes.” You couldn’t leave her out, knowing it was not fair when she spent so much time with the two of you. “Her dad met mine when we were redoing the plumbing. Contracted him for it… didn’t realize he also signed us both up for lifelong friends.” A smile crossed your lips. At the end of the day, no matter how sad the situation was, you were thankful it gave you Izzy. You were always thankful for her.

“Where’s your dad now? Still at home, playing pool?” His question was innocent, but you couldn’t help but feel the stab in your chest. You wished it was that simple, but it rarely ever was.

“Not sure he can play pool where he is, honestly. Heaven’s got a wicked reputation, but I’ve never heard of angels playin’ shitty ol’ bar games.” You tried to make light of the fact, but the words came out with a wheeze as they knocked the air from your lungs. “If I’m lucky, I’ll find out someday.”

“Oh,” he whispered, shocked at the fact but trying his best not to make you feel worse about it. The impact was lessened at his soft tone, like he was breathing life straight back into you as he spoke. “He must’ve been one hell of a guy to raise someone as fantastic as you.” Your cheeks burned red at the sound of his words and all you could manage was a small shake of your head.

“You hardly know me, rockstar.”

“I know enough.” He whispered, his tone still strong despite the volume. At that, you had to look at his face, just to catch a glimpse of the conviction that he held in his features.

“He was a pretty great guy.” You agreed, smiling softly at the thought. “The best, actually.”

“I believe it.” He offered a smile of his own, cheering you up ever so slightly. “So you play for him now… that’s why you’re so damn good at it.”

“S’pose so, yeah.” You nodded, watching him lean down to take his shot. “Always feel like he’s looking over my shoulder, telling me exactly what to do. Not sure if he’d be proud of the name I made for myself, but I know he’d love me regardless.”

“What’s there not to be proud of?” Daniel asked, barely exerting any effort as he shot at a solid ball and called the pocket. When it rolled inside, he moved positions to continue his play. “You learned how to make money off of something you’re really good at. That’s smart, if you ask me.” He shrugged a bit before calling another pocket. You watched as the ball rolled across the table, knocking into the solid blue ball. It bounced off the rail and hit the green one in front of the side pocket, and both rolled in effortlessly. You felt your stomach sink, watching and understanding such a strategic move, and wondered if you had finally met your match.

How was he so good at pool, and why the hell did you take him for innocent?

You were too trusting of the man that stood before you, who once seemed humble and shy. Now, you knew he was far more than that—talented, a tad cocky, and sneaky. Thankfully, in no way did he showcase those traits in a bad way, but you had underestimated him, betting on something so grand and risky.

Had he done that on purpose? Had he approached you with the desire for you to underestimate him?

And if he did, why did that turn you on more than it turned you off of him?

“Looks like you have some hidden talents of your own.” You commented, crossing your arms over your chest as you pursed your lips slightly. He peeked back at you from over his shoulder, a sly little smile decorating his annoyingly perfect face.

“Not really hidden,” he replied, his stick settled in the same space between his thumb and index finger, but he had his finger clasped overtop it for support. You hated how much it kept your attention, the intricacies of the very simple action making your heart thrum in your chest. You had no idea why you found it so attractive, no idea why you couldn’t care about anything else. “You never asked.”

“My mistake.” Your words came out breathy, embarrassing you further as he sank another ball effortlessly. When he aimed for his fifth ball, he was a bit short on the draw, his ball stopping just before it fell into a pocket. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

“Picked up a few tricks here and there.” He shrugged, a sly smile on his lips as he turned towards you.

“Nuh-uh,” you shook your head, stepping towards him instinctively. You yearned to feel close to him again, desperate to feel his hand in yours and longing to breathe in time with him, wondering if your hearts could beat in sync for long enough to become one. He welcomed your advance, staying still as you gradually creeped towards him. “If I told you my dirty secrets, you have to tell me yours, too.”

“Oh, I have to, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, his Adam’s apple bobbing gently as he spoke. It sent a shiver down your spine, the entire sight of him before you sent your body into overdrive. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s only fair, Daniel.” You looked upwards, feeling the closeness of your face to his as gravity continued to force you towards him. “Unless you’re not a very generous person, in which case would make our little arrangement much less intriguing for me.”

“Now you’re jumping to conclusions, baby.” He grinned, almost amused that you would pin him with such a crime. The pet name sent your already racing mind spiraling even further, making you want to jump straight into his arms and figure out the truth of the matter yourself. You let your tongue run over your bottom lip, your mouth watering from the smell of his cologne and the intoxicating look in his eye. The tension between the two of you was immeasurable, and it was growing worse by the second.

You wanted to drop the act and touch him, uncaring of how he obtained his skills and eager to see his talents in other areas. Still, you stood your ground, cue gripped tightly in your hand as you stared him down. You were annoyed that he deceived you, but more annoyed at yourself for letting him.

You let out a huff of frustration, understanding he would not answer your question right away, and turned on your heel to continue the game. With intent, you barely stepped out of the way as you leaned down to aim at the white ball, making sure to push your hips back far enough that you were just inches away from where he stood. So far, both of you had done incredibly well in ignoring the temptation of each other, but you knew his willpower was cracking when you heard him suck in a sharp breath through his teeth.

Admiring you from a distance was very different than having you bent over in front of him, within arms reach and with intent to bother him.

It certainly didn’t help that he had been picturing what you looked like underneath your clothes all night, and the tight dress you were wearing gave him an even better idea than he had before.

His eyes were fixated on the slight sway of your hips as you took aim, never daring to look away as you took your shot at a striped ball. You managed to land two balls in one shot, speeding up the process and leaving you just a bit further ahead than he was.

Before you shot again, you looked back over your shoulder, keeping your position as you locked eyes with him. You noticed the rise and fall of his chest a little more aggressive than it was moments before. The same animalistic look was shining in his eye, and his knuckles had turned white from the grip on his pool stick. You felt your core aching, desperate for relief as the two of you continued your tyrant without letting up. To rub a little extra salt in the wound, you gave a subtle wink and blew a kiss at him.

“I might need help with my next shot.” Your lower lip jutted outwards into a slight pout, playing on his already worn nerves. “Could you teach me how to shoot like you do?”

Both of you knew you didn’t need any help, but part of your teasing came from a place of desperation, unsure if you could handle another minute without his hands on you. Intoxication had become you, and the many beers you had finished off that night were finally beginning to catch up. He stood stoic for a moment, knowing if he turned down the offer, he would be an idiot. Still, the simple thought of you beating him and him not getting to take you home was wearing on him.

Confident in his own abilities, he decided to take the risk.

Leaning his cue on the wall nearby, he stepped closer to you, slow and gentle as he realized just how intimate the position was. You felt his hips press against your ass, his upper half leaning down to meet yours. Your chest was already low to the table, nearly pressing against it as his chest fit flush against your back. Ever so slightly, he let his chin rest on your shoulder and his arm wrap around yours.

“You don’t need help at all, baby.” He hummed, the warmth of his breath tickling the skin of your neck. His lips hovered just above your ear, making your heart race and your palms break out into a sweat.

“Maybe I just wanted you close to me.” You offered, feeling his heartbeat racing just as fast as your own. “Good luck charm, or whatever.”

More like a distraction, but you couldn’t seem to care. Feeling him fit so snug against you was better than winning a thousand games.

His large hand landed on your hip, his skin searing with heat and felt like it was burning straight through the fabric of your skirt. Immediately, without hesitation, you pushed your hips back into him a little further, hearing that same strained breath catch in his throat.

“Take the shot, then.” His tone was firm, challenging you as he spoke. His mouth was grazing your skin now, the man completely overtaken by desire and unable to think of anything else.

“What if I want to enjoy it for a little bit?” You bit back a smile, but knew you were feeling the effects of it too.

“Can enjoy me all you want when I win the damn game.” He growled, his low tone sending a shiver down your spine.

“Is that so?” You asked, ignoring the throbbing between your legs as you drew your arm back and prepared to take your shot. He did not respond, instead watching your movements carefully and staying as still as possible so he did not interfere with your play. When he did not reply, you followed through and knocked the cue ball forward, watching as it hit one of your last two balls into the side pocket. “Don’t be so sure of yourself, honey.” You turned your head to the side, the tip of your nose brushing his as you did so. You felt his fingers tighten on your hip, gently guiding you closer to him as he resisted the urge to close the gap between your mouths.

“Game’s not over yet, sharpshooter.” He reminded you, his brown eyes heavy lidded as he seemingly stared straight into your soul. As he straightened up, pulling away from you so you could not bewitch him any further, his palm grazed the curve of your ass, only worsening your growing need for him. Still, as badly as you wanted him, you were half tempted to win and leave him behind, just to teach him a lesson about his egotistical ways.

Still feeling your skin tingling from his earlier touch, you were vibrating as you leaned down to shoot at your last colored ball. You noticed Daniel had not moved from his place, nor had he moved his eyes from you. The thought alone had you reeling, and the longer he stared the more nervous you felt. You had to close your eyes to focus your thoughts before making any moves, but it seemingly did nothing to help when you misjudged the strength in which you shot. Your striped ball ricocheted off the rail and rolled all the way back down the table, nowhere near any pocket at all, let alone the one you called.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself, stressed as you studied the table and digested the very real possibility of him winning the game.

“To answer your question,” he started, breaking you free from your internal brooding. Your eyes snapped to him, immediately relieved of your stress once you remembered how alluring and enchanting he was. “When you spend so much time on the road, you start to look for things to pass the time.” He continued, ignoring the game waiting to be played and focused only on you, clad in a little black dress that would ultimately be his demise.

“Rockstar lifestyle not enough to please you?” You raised an eyebrow, reading him as he stepped towards you.

“No, it is.” He corrected, his eyes casted down over your face as he closed in on you again. “But when your biggest responsibility is getting on stage and playing music, the rest of the world seems a little boring. We spend a lot of time at bars, which usually leaves us standing in front of a pool table.” He shrugged, his eyes flickering to the green felt. “Those guys are my best friends… my brothers, and you aren’t really siblings without friendly competition, right?”

“Right.” You chuckled, finding yourself completely enamored with him as he spoke. You wanted to know everything, to hear every story and share every memory. You hoped he was willing to give as much as you yearned to take.

“We bet on lots of stuff… twenty bucks doesn’t mean much when the same bill gets passed around to everyone. Pool just happened to be one of ‘em.” He seemed to grip his cue tighter as he stood before you, resisting the urge to reach out and touch you. The temptation seemed to be wearing on him, but he was doing his best to withstand it. “We played so much that we never kept that twenty for more than a game or two, so I decided to put some extra effort in. Never cared much about the money, but it gave me something to do.”

“So you made it your life’s goal to master pool… for a twenty you don’t even give a shit about?” You giggled, feeling the heat of his body start to take a toll on you. You wanted to bring him closer, to close the gap between you for good and forget about the stupid bet that got you here.

“For something worth a lot more than twenty dollars, baby.” He corrected, grinning as he noticed the slight blush on your cheeks. “For bragging rights.”

“A humble man.” Sarcasm dripped from your tone, but you weren’t put off by the thought at all. If anything, you were just desperate to keep the conversation alive.

“No, but seriously.” He chuckled, leaning down and taking a shot at the cue ball. As he sank the last coloured ball and called his pocket, you both realized he had little chance at sinking the eight ball with the position in which the cue ball landed. Taking his loss, he made a quick move to block your next shot, figuring if he could not win he could at least make it harder for you. “At first, I just played ‘cause it was fun. It really does get boring… or monotonous on the road sometimes, and I think we all agreed on that. We all started playing against each other, and at first, we sucked. Like, so bad one game would take us all night.” He smiled to himself, finding the memory as funny as you did.

“We all start somewhere, huh?” You completely ignored the fact it was your turn, too enthralled in his voice to care about anything else.

“Yeah, that’s for sure.” He agreed, raising a hand to the back of his neck as he nodded. “Once we started to get better, I realized just how annoying it was to lose against them, because they were insufferable about it. So I started to practice more… went to bars on my own, played against myself and whoever else was around… watched a few videos. I really was determined to get better, just so I wouldn’t have to hear them brag about beating me anymore.” At that, you couldn’t help but giggle, finding that the funniest bit of all.

“So it’s an ego thing? Couldn’t handle it?”

“No, I don’t think you understand.” He laughed, his shoulders shaking and his eyes glistening with joy for being able to share this moment with you. “I’m okay with losing, but they’re the type of guys to never let you forget it. You’ll get it, when you meet them.”

When you meet them.

Whatever was going on between you two, he wanted it to last. He wanted you to meet his friends, to be a part of the inside jokes and share the sentiments instead of just hearing a retelling of them.

You weren’t sure why, but it touched your heart much more than you thought it should.

“After a while, they caught on to me.” He confessed, his lips still holding the ghost of a smile as he watched your expression. “That’s when it really became a competition. With Sam especially, ‘cause we’ve been friends forever. Just a rite of passage for us to do shit like that.” He continued to explain himself, but you were no longer listening or caring about how he acquired his talents. Instead, you were already daydreaming about what would happen when you stepped out of the bar, what the rest of the night would hold.

You liked him, and there was no doubt about it. Everything about him, the curl of his hair and the sparkle in his eye, the slight Midwest accent still lingering in his tone and the sweetness dripping from every word. There was a kind of light, a sense of wonder and warmth that radiated from him as he stood, and you couldn’t seem to keep your eyes off of him. Worse yet, you were so attracted to him that you could barely keep your hands to yourself, and for the first time in your entire career, you were ready to throw the game and take the loss with pride.

“I like you, Danny.” You confessed, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them. The confident facade shattered in an instant, leaving your cheeks stained red and your lower lip caught between your teeth, embarrassed about your own blunt nature.

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, a sheepish smile on his face as he processed your words. “I like you too, sharpshooter.”

“You’re not going to win this game, though.” You continued, trying to regain your composure as your heart raced in your chest. At that, he gave a playful roll of his eyes, motioning to the table.

“If you’re so sure of that, why don’t you win, then?”

“Good idea.” You hummed, giving a curt nod. Your head was swimming, making you realize you were much more intoxicated than you thought, but you would not let it get in your way. “Tell me about your music, rockstar.”

“Not much to tell.” He shrugged, one hand in the pocket of his jeans and the other holding his cue close to his body. He watched as you leaned down towards the table, gravity pulling the fabric of your dress away from your chest ever so slightly and causing his breath to catch in his throat. Shifting on his feet, he tried his best not to let it distract him, but he couldn’t help but fix his gaze directly on the skin where the fabric used to lay. “It’s a rock band… started it a long time ago, when we were in high school. Released a few albums and we’re about to go on tour for another one.”

“Jeez, don’t sound so enthusiastic about it.” You smiled, noticing his trailing eyes and understanding he was no better than you were, for your gaze was stuck on him just the same. Particularly where his shirt met his jeans, how when he moved just right, it shifted and exposed the smallest flash of skin.

“I am enthusiastic, but I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging. That never leaves a good impression, now does it?” He raised an eyebrow, noticing your eyes fixated on him but nowhere near his face. Smug and cocky, he waited until you looked away.

“I asked, didn’t I?” You challenged, finally looking up to meet his eye and noticing he was no longer fixated on your chest. Your stomach filled with lead, but the look in his eye did not lead you to believe he was judging you for your actions. Instead, it was curious, inviting you in for more without having to say a word.

“I play the drums.” He continued, giving in a little bit as he realized you truly did want to know and weren’t just asking as a formality. At that, the definition of the muscles in his arms suddenly made a whole lot more sense.

Then, behind your eyes, a vision of him using that strength for nothing innocent derailed your train of thought completely. You felt your thighs squeeze together instinctively, the arousal pooling beginning to soak straight through your underwear.

‘Fuck, Y/N. Get it together.’ You thought to yourself, almost appalled at how distracted he had you. You gave your head a slight shake, refocusing your eyes on the table as you drew your arm back, calling for a corner pocket and taking your shot.

“Son of a bitch.” You hissed through your teeth, all of the factors working together to frustrate you further. The ball bounced off the corner of the pocket and rolled backwards, close but not close enough. The throbbing between your legs and the twist of your stomach was driving you mad, making your palms clammy and your mouth dry.

“We won a Grammy, too.” He added, smirking at your obvious disappointment.

Hold on—Grammy?

“What?” You asked, eyebrows raised in surprise as you forgot about your previous annoyance. “That’s like… a big deal, Daniel. Usually an opening line.” You informed him, watching as he approached the table. You were still leaning downwards over the table, eye level with his waist as he towered over the opposite side. You tried your best to ignore the racing thoughts and sinful ideas flooding your mind, but it was proving impossible.

“Some would disagree.” He brushed it off, clearly proud of the achievement but doing whatever he could to get under your skin.

“Take your shot, rockstar.” You rolled your eyes, carefully raising yourself from the table as he lined himself up. You couldn’t help but notice how ethereal he seemed under the dim pot lights, how his hair hung over his shoulder and framed his perfectly crafted face, how the muscles in his arms flecked with every move. The chains around his neck hung low to the table, the watch on his wrist twinkling under the light, and that damn bandana on his head made him all the more charming.

You could feel every beat of your heart under your skin and behind your eyes. The flutter of your stomach as you watched him was nearly unbearable, and you wondered how in the hell one man could have such an intoxicating effect on you. Typically, you did not fall for the charm of regular bar patrons, but he was no regular guy. Everything about him was intriguing and intense, so overwhelming in the best possible way. You wanted him in every way you could have him, and you couldn’t bear to wait another moment.

“—sharpshooter!” Your attention was drawn to his smiling face, his expression delicately laced with glee as he looked down at the velvet tabletop. You furrowed your brows, hesitant to admit you missed the first part of his statement because you were too busy daydreaming about him.

Shit.

He won.

Effortlessly, he sank the eight ball and left the table clear of all but the cue ball. His words were not that of conversation, but of celebration. Your shock and upset did not come from regret on behalf of your wager, but simply because you lost. It had been a long time since you had fumbled so badly, and it was much harder to swallow than you previously thought it would be.

Trying your best to push that aside, you realized the other side of the coin was not any better. The burgeoning nervousness growing in the pit of your stomach was nearly sickening, forcing you to understand that it wasn’t just play anymore. You had been waiting to get his clothes off all night, but what if you were less than he expected? What if you disappointed him?

“Hey,” Danny’s sweet tone cut you loose from your endless stream of dread. As soon as your eyes connected with his, you understood you had nothing to be worried about. After everything you had seen from him, learned about him, you knew deep down he would never be that kind of person even if he tried. Goodness surrounded him, and you could not refute his kindness, not even for a single moment. “If you’re having second thoughts, we don’t have to do this, you know. I’m happy to have another beer and maybe take you for dinner tomorrow, if you’re free.”

God, why did he have to be so unbelievably perfect?

You felt guilty that your expression led him to believe you did not want to follow through, because that could not have been further from the truth. In fact, the longer you stared back at him, the more the ache between your legs pestered you. Quickly, it had become the only thing you could think about, much more pressing than your loss and much more important than your feeble insecurities. Without a second thought, you placed your cue down on the table with much less grace than usual and closed the space between you. He turned to face you, shocked at your suddenness but receptive to the change. You reached upwards, your arms snaking around his neck as your fingers tangled in the hair laying on the nape of his neck. Instantly, his large hands found your hips, pulling your body closer until you were flush against him, the beat of his heart as strong and fast as your own.

He tasted sweet, a hint of beer still lingering on his lips as you finally leaned forward and captured him in a kiss. The warmth of his body was inviting, his touch seemingly burning holes straight through the fabric of your dress. Your head was spinning, filled with thoughts only pertaining to him, and suddenly the bar in which you normally found solace was no longer where you wanted to be. His tongue traced your lower lip, his hands sliding backwards and settling just over the curve of your ass as he pulled your hips further into him. You let out a hum of pleasure, elated at his forwardness and tempting him to take it a step further.

The scent of his cologne had invaded every one of your senses, suffocating you in the most beautiful ways as you pleaded with him for more. The feeling of kissing him was beyond anything you had imagined that night, and now that you started, you couldn’t make yourself stop.

“Fuck, baby.” He muttered, his lips still grazing yours as he spoke. Now that he had a taste of the sweetness

“A deal is a deal, rockstar.” You murmured, eyes heavy as the tip of your nose brushed his. For a moment, you forgot where you were—the only thing that existed was you and Daniel, and the surge of emotion hanging so heavily between you.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” He replied, keeping one arm around you as he pulled his wallet out with the other.

Without complaint, you let him lead you towards the door, throwing a bill on the counter as you passed by Chuck, who was too amused at your appearance to utter a goodbye. Within minutes, you were in the backseat of a cab and on your way to Daniel’s house, which you didn’t even thing twice about. Feeling his hands on you, burning into the skin of your thigh as you drove in near silence, nothing else mattered.

When the cab pulled into his driveway, you were blinded by need for him. Any other day, in your right might, you may have marvelled at the beauty of his home, or perhaps felt nervous that your apartment could never compare. As Daniel helped you out of the back of the cab, you didn’t even have time to think of it, your head swimming with excitement for what was to come next.

Soon after, you were inside, the openness of his entry way leading to the living room unable to be marvelled at, because his lips were on your own again. The taste of him on your tongue, the sweetness of his skin, was almost too much to withstand. The ache between your legs grew stronger with every second that passed, and your stomach twisted in knots as your fingers wrapped around his bicep, pulling him closer than he could possibly get. His hands were on your hips, strong and firm as he held you to him, similar to how he touched you at the bar but with so much more intent. You could feel him through his jeans, his need for you showcased in the most beautiful way as all of the pent up tension bled both of you dry.

The faintest of whimpers fell from your lips as you kissed him, and he drank in the sound like it was necessary for survival. His hand slid backwards, over your ass as your hearts began to beat in time. Your head was spinning, filled with filth and sin as you craved more. You weren’t sure what came over you, the carnal desire so consuming you weren’t sure you had ever felt it so strongly before.

Never breaking from the kiss, he led you towards his couch, slow and cautious so that you would not get hurt. Soon enough, you felt the back of your legs knock against the leather surface, the chill shooting straight through you and sending you further into him. Taking the initiative, you sat yourself down, using your hands on his arms to pull you with him. The whole scene was primal, rushed and desperate. All night, the two of you had been dying to get to someone’s house to pursue the very act you were engaging in then.

Daniel lowered himself with you, but used his strength to push you further back, not stopping until your back was flush against the cushions and he was kneeling in front of you. Feeling a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins, you finally pulled away to admire him. His lips were swollen, pink and slick with saliva. His eyes were dark, his pupils blown and engulfing his irises. You wished to sit and admire him all day, but he had different plans. His hands were snaking up your thighs, his fingers under the skirt of your dress and pushing it upwards, stopping only when the fabric was bunched at your hips and exposing your lower half.

He sucked in a sharp breath, overcome with emotion at the sight, but did not wait to hook his fingers beneath the lace of your panties. Lifting yourself from the couch, you helped him as he slipped them off, tossing them behind him and out of sight. Returning his hands to you, your entire body was electrified with arousal, your stomach in knots as he lowered his head to your thighs.

His lips dusted over the soft skin, the attention new and exciting after months of going without. Even so, what he was doing then paled in comparison to anyone who came before, and you knew it would always be that way. There was something so special about Daniel, so enthralling and enchanting, and in a single night you knew that you never wanted anyone or anything else.

As his tongue traced over the inside of your thigh, he used his hand to push your legs further apart, exposing you completely. Your hands raised to his head, your fingers snaking through his hair as it curled around your hands. It was soft, perfect, the light tickling sensation adding to the overwhelming stimulation you were already experiencing. Just as you grew comfortable in your new position, feeling the gentle suction of his mouth on the inside of your legs, leaving marks for days to come, you felt the gentle pinch of his teeth closing around the supple flesh. Your hips raised off the couch, shocked at the new feeling, but definitely not opposed to it.

Looking down at him, admiring the sight of him between your legs, you wondered what parts of your soul necessary to sell in order to enjoy the sin forever. As his tongue connected with your core, your head falling back on your shoulders, you knew it did not matter—you would give anything, no matter how dark or dangerous, in order to have him in such a way whenever you wanted. The warmth of his mouth, the slight movement of his tongue as it traced over your aching clit was addicting, more intense than anything you had ever felt, and exactly what you had been dreaming of since you first laid eyes on him.

The muscles in your abdomen tensed, pulling with the wave of pleasure that washed over you. Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer as you casted a leg over his shoulder. Your shoulders shook with the ragged breath you drew in, knowing that it would not take long for him to get you exactly where he wanted you. A breathy moan filled the air surrounding you, loud and obscene as it made home in the walls, cementing the memory of your entanglement forever. As he flattened his tongue against you, repeating the same motion, your hips raised from the couch to meet his time, your body begging for more when your lips could not do it for you.

The need was throbbing under your skin, taking over your entire body and turning you into a mess below him. He hummed against you, showing his appreciation for the show you were putting on. Feeling your nipples harden, the slight friction against the rough fabric of your dress sent you even further down the spiral. A shiver went down your spine as he suctioned his lips around your clit, the slight pressure overwhelming and pushing you closer to the steep edge.

You were nearly embarrassed, humiliated that it took so little for him to get such a reaction. You wanted to blame it on how long it had been since you fell into bed with a man, how focused you were on everything but romance, but you knew it was all because of him. From the minute you laid eyes on him, you knew he was the very thing you were waiting for, the only reason to break your unintentional spell of abstinence, because he was worth it. He wasn’t just in it for himself, nor was he pretending to be something he was not. He was just a man, undeniably capable of things many others weren’t, and he wanted to use the skill with you. He was different, and you knew it from the minute you met him, and you hoped he felt the same about you.

“Oh, fuck.” You whined, the breath knocked straight from your lungs as he slipped his hand between your leg, the tip of his middle finger collecting wetness by your entrance. “Please, Danny—need more.” You choked out, the desire pulsing behind your eyes as you wondered if you could even handle more.

Obliging to the request, he slipped his middle finger inside of you, slow as he curled it ever so slightly. The feeling was euphoric paired with the movement of his tongue, and the cry of desperation that forced its way through you only encouraged him further.

“I guess my biggest question, sharpshooter,” he said, breathless as he pulled his mouth away from you. The loss was debilitating, but he slipped his thumb in place, just so he did not lose the momentum. You looked down, the cockiness written clear across his expression agitating just as well as it was enticing. “Is if I’m making you feel good?”

“Fuck you.” You muttered, my cheeks blazing as you held his gaze. For some reason, the eye contact was even more intense than anything else he was doing, making it seem like he had stripped you down to bare bones and wisps of soul, seeing the very things that made you, you.

“Yeah, that was my intention.” He teased, adding his index finger as he kept a steady pace, the slight curl of his fingers pushing you closer to a climax. “But that's not an answer.”

“God, yes.” You seethed, unsure why you were irritated when he was doing so much for you. Perhaps you were still brooding about your loss, about how he had many tricks up his sleeve he’d kept well hidden. Though his deceit paid off for both of you, you were a sore loser.

“Don’t sound so sure of yourself.” He echoed your earlier words, taunting me as the pull of pleasure threatened you. You were balancing on a delicate line, and it wouldn’t take much more to push you over the edge.

“What, you couldn’t see for yourself?” You tried your hardest to give it back to him, but your strength was wavering. Your eyes fluttered closed as your head fell back again. A gutteral sound left your lips, tainting the room with sin as your back arched off the couch.

“I could, but hearing you say it is so much better.” He confirmed, clearly seeing the state you were in, knowing exactly what he was doing to you. He had little remorse, little care, and he was intent to follow through until the very end. “Come on, baby. Tell me all about it.”

With that, he returned his mouth to you, his tongue taking the place of his fingers. The switch was lethal, the soft, warm wetness of his mouth overwhelming in the best possible way. Paired with the curl of his fingers, still moving inside you with that same, perfect pace, he did not miss a single movement. Feeling the tension in your belly reach a peak, you choked on the breath trying to force its way to your lungs.

The intensity grew as his tongue traced over the sensitive bundle of nerves, and soon after, you came crashing down. Spewing obscenities, your hands held his head in place as your hips raised to meet the time of his tongue, the orgasm so intense you felt like you were floating. For a few, unbearable seconds, your joints locked and your whole body ached from the sensation, your throat raw as you cried his name, pleading for something you knew you could not handle.

Waking you through it, he did not slow until you relaxed against the cushions. You barely noticed as he pulled away, still high from the pleasure and trying to come down. Finally cracking your eyes open, you noticed he was standing over you, undoing the buckle of his belt as he pulled it free from the loops of his denim jeans. He was painfully hard, strained against the zipper and desperate for relief himself. Your mouth watered at the thought, so eager to feel him inside of you that you did not wait until he directed you further.

With shaky limbs, you sat up, holding eye contact as he freed himself from his jeans and his boxers. Switching positions, he could not seem to pry his gaze from your fucked our expression, your flushed cheeks and plush lips the only thing on his mind until you turned away, not taking the time to rid yourself of your dress as you faced the back of the couch on your knees. Planting one firm hand on the frame, you looked back over your shoulders as you pushed your hips backward, towards him as you offered the very thing he’d been thinking of all night.

With a hiss of joy staining his teeth, his large palms landed on your hips, pulling you back a little further to make it easier for him. Stepping forward at the same time, you felt his cock against you, the tip gliding through the pooling arousal at your entrance. If possible, the sensation sent you further over the edge, so animalistic that you could barely recognize yourself.

“Is this what you wanted, rockstar?” You asked, your knuckles white as you felt him glide through your folds. The tip of his cock brushed over your sensitive clit, your legs twitching from the intense feeling.

“Bet on it, didn’t I?” He asked, knowing he was only teasing both of you further by refusing to fuck you.

“You could’ve just asked, you know.” You pointed out, sucking in a sharp breath as he repeated the same action over again. Your legs were trembling, barely holding you up, but you refused to give in. “Or were you too scared I’d turn you down?”

“Scared isn’t quite the word.” He corrected you, finally settling his tip just over your entrance. You felt yourself clench around nothing, wanting him so badly but refusing to give him any more gratification to fuel his ego. “No shame in earning something. You’d know something about that, wouldn’t you, sharpshooter?”

“You really would have gone home alone if you lost?” You asked, curious more than anything, wondering if he had wanted you just as badly, or if it really was a game to him.

“Fuck no.” He nearly laughed, slamming his hips forward at the same time as he spoke, catching you off guard and knocking the air from your lungs. Gasping at the feeling of him filling you completely, the stretch as you accommodated his size was addicting, irresistible. “We both knew I was always going to win.”

Before you could respond, he withdrew his hips and slammed forward with the same, bruising force. As the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix, your whole body reacted, your walls squeezing around him and pulling him in further. Drunk off him and eager for him to keep going, you still couldn’t keep your mouth shut, unwilling to go down without a fight.

“So you weren’t amazed by my skill.” You called him on the white lie, forcing the words through gritted teeth while pushing yourself back on him. He began a steady pace as you tried so hard to keep your mind straight to not give him the satisfaction. You looked back over your shoulder, catching his eye and locking him in a stare. He raised his hand to your head, gathering your hair in his palm and wrapping it around his fist. Pulling your head back ever so slightly, the new leverage he had over you sent your head spinning.

“It had nothing to do with skill, beautiful.” He replied, giving you a soft smile. The small expression sent your stomach fluttering with nerves for a whole new reason, making you fear that it only took a single night for you to fall head over heels for him.

“Then what would you call it, darlin’?” You asked, your breath hitching in your throat as a wave of pleasure washed over you. Tightening his grip on your hair, he pulled your head back a little further as he leaned down, his lips settled just over your ear as his warm breath tickled your burning skin. You couldn’t help but arch your back further, feeling the curve of your ass fit nicely against the groove of his hip.

You wondered, if you weren’t meant to go home with him, why the hell did the two of you fit so perfectly together?

“How the hell were you supposed to win when you couldn’t keep your eyes off of me?” He asked, making your mouth run dry as the vibration of his words ran straight through you. Swallowing hard, you felt his teeth close around your earlobe, applying slight pressure and sending you over the edge.

Taking it upon yourself, you moved your head to the side against the strength of his hand, unable to resist as you pressed your lips against his own. The taste of him was intoxicating, even more so with the taste of you still lingering on his lips. You felt his tongue graze your skin, your heartbeat so agonizingly strong it was all you could hear. It was messy, heated, and perfectly fitting for the two of you thus far. You weren’t sure anything else would work. Two seemingly strong personalities with no intent to back down, it was a battle from the minute you locked eyes across the pool table, and you had no intent of stopping.

He continued to move inside of you, the feeling even more intense after your last orgasm, and you knew you weren’t far out from a second. The sharpness of his tongue, always having a comeback, and the witty yet playful nature of his responses did more for you than his hands or his mouth did. It was a struggle to find someone who balanced you out, which was a big reason why you neglected to give in to the other men who tried to do as he did that night. For some reason, you knew, without doubt, that Daniel was the type of person you had been looking for all along. Exciting, challenging, and fun, but still sweet and kind. You wondered why he picked you, a burn-out adrenaline junkie who only ever paid rent on a whim.

It was easy to ask why, but as he moved against you, the answer was right before your very eyes. The chemistry between you was undeniable, something that could not be faked, and something that could not be ignored. Some things are just right, no matter how hard you try to fight it, and as it seemed, the stars aligned perfectly for you without you even realizing it.

Breaking from the kiss, you tried to catch your breath, finding it difficult as he moved inside of you. The pleasure was undeniable, bordering on painful as your body begged him for more. More he could not give, and more you could not handle, but god you wanted it. Everything about him made you want more, even if it was an impossible task, and as you verged on the edge of a second orgasm, you knew letting him go wasn’t an option. Not only had he amazed you with his ability to beat you at your own game, but he amazed you in every other sense. Disappointment was a far away feeling when with him, and that was something you wanted to get used to.

“Fuck, Danny.” You whined, his face still close to yours. The words vibrated through both of you, the feeling of him pressed against you exhilarating as you stared that same innate desire in the eye.

“That’s it, baby. Tell me how good it feels.” His words forced the knot in your belly tighter, fraying and threatening as it pleaded with you to let go.

“You fill me so fucking good.” You confessed, your whole body covered in a sheen layer of sweat as you tried to keep up with him. “M’gonna cum.” You confessed, knowing that you couldn’t take it any longer. Your mascara was running down your cheeks, blazing red and warm. Your throat was raw, your body aching with need, and you knew he was the only answer.

“Cum for me, baby. Being such a good girl.” You gasped at the sound of the praise, washing over you like summer rain and coercing you to let go. “Show me how good I make you feel.”

That seemed to be all you needed to give in to the feeling, submitting to the torturous pressure as your posture faltered, leaving you a mess again underneath him. The pathetic cries falling from your lips coerced him to do the same, his hips faltering and his pace slowing as the pleasure took over. The two of you, finally giving in to what you wanted so badly, experiencing a euphoric high together. He spilled his release inside of you, the sensation drawing out your orgasm just a bit longer as your body begged you to draw in a breath. Keeping a slow roll of his hips, he ensured you got the most pleasure possible, only slowing to a stop when the curses falling from your lips turned into desperate cries, pleading for mercy.

Both of you drew in a ragged breath as your composure faltered, your body trying to relax against the couch as you attempted to come back to. Carefully, Danny withdrew from you, making sure you were alright before sitting next to you. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him as he laid back against the arm, caring little for the mess and more about being near you.

The entire night had been a whirlwind of events, the adrenaline so high you barely had a moment to catch up with it. Laying there with him, silent and calm, you knew that what came before could not even compare to it. The strong arms holding you close, keeping you secure as you processed the rapid pace that led you there. You wondered, was it normal to feel so comfortable with someone you had just met? Was it normal to feel like you had known him your entire life?

You had let him in beyond what many others could comprehend, telling him about your father and allowing him to beat you at a game of pool, and not even that scared you. If anything, you were happy you did, and your only thought was when it could happen again. You wanted to keep getting to know him, to keep telling him things you never before cared to tell, and you wanted him to meet Izzy, because you knew she would love him. It was strange to be so open to letting someone in, but deep in your heart you felt it was the only thing you could do. Forcing him out seemed more painful than allowing him in.

“You okay, sharpshooter?” He asked, his voice so soft and different than it had been all night, so doting and caring. It was nice to be seen, nice to be known, and you wanted to know what it was like with him.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You nodded, smiling to yourself. “Just thinking.”

“About?” He chuckled, his long fingers toying with the ends of your hair. The slight tickle on your skin was soothing. You never wanted him to stop.

“You, I guess.” You shrugged. “I guess this means I lost out on backstage passes.” Laughing to himself, he raised a free hand to your face, turning your head to look at him. He admired you for a moment, the redness of your cheeks and the shine of your eyes, finding himself feeling all the same ways.

“I’m sure we could work something out.” He assured you, swiping away flecks of fallen mascara with his thumb.

“Guess that would mean I didn’t earn it.” You teased, exhausted yet still energized by his company. A blinding smile on his face, you couldn’t help but notice the tugging of your heartstrings.

“So, what? You want a rematch?” He raised an eyebrow, wondering if that’s really what you were asking of him.

“I guess so.” You shrugged, giggling to yourself as you stared up at his beautiful face. “Unless you’re scared it was beginners luck?”

“No, not scared.” He reiterated his earlier claim, his thumb still tracing your cheek. “You think you can handle the stakes?”

“I think I could manage.” You nodded, the same stupid smile still pulling your lips. It seemed permanent so long as he was around. “I suppose losing isn’t all that bad… especially if it’s to the right person.”