. ˖ 𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓

exhaustion seeps from zakia’s bones the moment she enters the house,  a place that it’s hard to call home,  that it’s hard to come to when she knows richie will be there,  or when she knows they’ll arrive at any given moment intoxicated out of their mind or smelling like someone else.   she sighs after the click that signals the door closing behind her back,  and takes her heels off,  rubbing her feet gently to get rid of the tension in her toes.   richie is half naked in the middle of the room the moment she lifts her head,  and her eyes can’t help but roam over their still-wet body.   they’re so damn attractive,  so damn alluring,  zakia’s mouth goes dry for a second,  the split second it takes her to notice the guilt in their face.   great.   “   you still smell like her,   ”   she retorts,  her tone even,  her eyes everywhere but on them.   she moves to the kitchen to grab a glass of water,  leaving her keys on the counter.   she uses the time the action gives her to untangle the lump in her throat,  to push back the tears simmering in the corner of her eyes at the feeling of her heart breaking.   “   who was it this time ?   ”   she asks,  nonchalance dripping from every word.   “   do i know her ?   you know,  i wouldn’t like to make a fool of myself if we cross paths and all that.   ”   was it worth it ?   she wants to ask,  too.   she always wants to ask if the women they sleep with are worth the pain she goes through,  the heartbreak,  the soul-crushing ache between her ribs.   she doesn’t,  though,  she never does.   why would she ?   the knowledge,  in the end,  is humiliating enough.

the guilt swells in a way that bubbles into defensiveness - old habits die hard and this fucker has played ball with the worst of men when it came to guilt trips. however this - wasn't a guilt trip. this was straight up their fault. but that part of their brain that's hardwired to deal with their father takes over and their eyebrows furrow - tossing the towel that was drying their hair into the open washer before they lean on the kitchen island across from her - fingers finding the obxiously expensive whiskey glass they'd poured before their shower. "you don't know her - she doesn't know you.. i -" they pause. flashbacks of the affair running through their mind. a younger blonde, pupils blown on whatever she'd popped at the club, going from making out then eagerly to her knees to please richie. and that didn't go down well. as far as their hooks up went - this was a fucking shit show. ending with them pushing her off - calling security with the excuse that the woman had too much to drink and paying the uber home. "i don't even fuckin' know her." they answer honestly before tipped the whiskey back, stood in their towel. picture of someone that's doin' fucking fantastic - right? "we didn't fuck if that's what you're getting at.." they bite. icy blue coloured hues finally rise to meet hers - shoulders tense like a dog figuring if it's suppose to go belly up and plead for forgiveness or get ready to pounce. "don't fuckin' look at me like that - like we sit here and play f - fuckin' happy families.." they tut head shaking as they reach to pour themselves another whiskey - ice cube in it this time as they move back towards their room. "not now, mommy - daddy's had a long fuckin' day at work, brain off.. everything else needs to just.." cue the zipper motion at their lips - throwing away the invisible key. their words drip in sarcasm - even how they address themselves.. as if they're ever someone ready to stand up and take charge or accountability of anything. there was nothing mature about them. the only actual act of care in this whole conversation was how they'd also poured the poor woman a drink. lord knows she fucking needs it now.

“  i'm  twenty-three!  ”  isabel  argues,  flashing  her  id  in  front  of  this  bouncer  whom  they're  certain  must  be  new,  because  isabel  had  never  seen  them  before  and  they  certainly  didn't  recgonize  her  when  she's  been  frequenting  the  club  for  the  past  few  weeks.  she  knows  she  looks  young,  and  she  technically  is,  but  seriously,  calling  her  id  a  fake  (when  they'd  just  thrown  out  their  actual  fake  id)  is  just  absurd.  they  heave  a  sigh  of  defeat,  ready  to  throw  in  the  towel  when  richie  appears  at  their  side  to  let  them  in.  “  your  new  bouncer's  a  dud,  ”  isabel  remarks,  purposely  not  yet  quite  out  of  earshot.  “  really?  then  i'll  take  whatever's  most  expensive.  ”  she's  joking  —  mostly,  but  it  didn't  hurt  to  push  her  luck.

id is plucked obnoxiously from the bouncers - reading it from a distance and comically squinting their eyes. "next time - she goes straight in. she's on the list. now, boys." richie barks at the towering bouncers who - paid very well.. answer with a 'absolutely, boss' as richie hands the id back to isabel. "so did you get that at a fucking craft swap or what?" they scoff, opening the door for her. "don't i know it, sweetheart." they reply in response to the comment about their bouncers. once at the bar - they end up smirking at her. they admire the boldness. they motion over a bartender, speak into his ear over the bar and before you know it - he's on a step ladder taking down a gorgeous top shelf bottle of champagne - two glasses. "so - what's got you trying to get in here by yourself this late hm?" they ask - uncorking the bottle with an impressive ease. "you lose your friends?" they ask - pouring her a glass and handing it over.

they're shameless in the way eyes scan her - up and down, bringing their lips to tug into a coy but.. charming grin. it's like they get to this fucking club - and the gold wedding band on their left hand deems to disappear from their own eyes. they hold out an inked hand to the woman - as if they assist her like a queen's hand. "your majesty.." added with the playful bow of their head - richie knew how to turn on the charm. heading into the club, past the line of unimpressed patrons - they head for the bar ( oh yes - the whole 'pull the chair out, take the jacket and push in the chair' schtick absolutely happens.. little to no shame ) they watch her - in their expensive little shirt - it's past 11 so it's buttons down to the dip of their flattened chest - visible scarring peaking all too proudly from under the satin. "well if that's how you take your martini's - i'm all too eager to see how you take company." they reply boldly - ordering her drink and an old fashioned for themselves as they sit beside her. "so what's got a woman like you out at a club like this.. at this time?" queue the playful - disappointed tutting.

shiva had been quietly observing the other person while she was in line for her morning coffee, if one could still consider it to be morning. she had worked at the electric lights until late last night, and a fresh cup of americano would just do it for her. once she's gotten her drink, she stood there for a couple minutes longer, waiting for the other to get their drink, and as she has predicted, they struggled walking up the door. "here you go." she says, out of nowhere, as if she just swooped by their side, opening to coffee shop's door for them. "you need a hand carrying those?"

they're lying if they say they don't care about electric lights. which - let's be honest, they'll often fob it off, say it's a money grab like the filthy capitalist they are. but it's somewhere - maybe.. the only business venture that's only been for them. so it holds a soft spot. but this business of picking up certain expensive coffee for the crew because they know they like it.. that's too soft. so seeing shiva - they're quick to nod to the iced americano ontop of the box of beans they were carrying. "grab that for me, would you? nobody wants to deal with me without that." they taunt - shameless wink fired at the manager as the pass - body grazing hers as they 'slip by'. muscles flex as they adjust their grip on the box - waiting on her to catch up outside. "didn't think i'd hear from you until much later - what're you doing awake already boss?"

"oh you have got to be kidding me."

the jacket barely has time to hit the ground before richie scoops it up. they're already holding it out when the voice hits them. oh, you have got to be kidding me. a laugh escapes before they can stop it at her weary pleads. "that's exactly what I was about to say." the words come easy, automatic. the kind of humor they've spent their entire life hiding behind. for a moment, they just stare at her. two years, and somehow she still manages to knock every rehearsed response clean out of their head. "what are the odds?" they ask. "out of every hotel in palmview, you pick the one I'm standing in."