#blackdragons

WHEN YOU CAME TO , your head was resting against something soft. It felt like a couch, but then again, it could have been anything. You quickly identified the warmth surrounding your body as a hoodie, although you weren’t too sure it belonged to you. Your skirt, disheveled and wrinkled, sat unadjusted at your hips. One sock was clinging to your thigh for dear life, while the other was coiled up around your ankle.

You blinked slowly, unsurely, while waiting for the blurriness to subside. Groaning at the pain you felt in your back and thighs, you rolled to the side. 

Something smelled good. Really good.

“Hey there,” You heard a familiar voice call. A quick glance up brought back memories of… only a few hours ago, probably. 

"You’re taking me so well,” He grunted against your neck. His teeth nipped at the sensitive skin. “So good.”

And standing there in the kitchen with a pan in his hand and a shit-eating grin on his face, was your dealer. His hair was tied back into a bun. He had an apron on in a remarkably cliche fashion, though the frilly pink pattern stood out against the black tank top he was wearing beneath, and even more so with the black sweats hanging loose around his hips. A navel tattoo peeked out from the waistband.

You remembered being high. Rather, you still felt a little high now. Judging by the fact that it was nowhere near as strong as it had been last time you were consciousness – as well as the noticeable gaps in your memory – you assumed you were beginning to come down.

“How long has it been?” You asked weakly.

He set the pan down on the stove. His pretty eyes flitted over your tired face. A knowing grin spanned the length of his lips. “Since what?”

“Since i passed out on you,” Huffing out a brave sigh, you crossed and then uncrossed your legs. “Sorry about that.”

And then the reality of what you had done finally set in. Shit

You had just cheated on your boyfriend.

After two years, you had cheated on your boyfriend – gone against every moral opposition you had and you had slept with another man. His coworker , nonetheless. 

“Oh, fuck…” You cried.

He sighed happily, thrusting up a little harder. “You like that?” 

"Please," You repeated. “Harder.”

You had slept with his fucking coworker and you enjoyed it .

“Don’t be, I’m flattered,” He said. Turning back to the stove, he picked up the wooden spoon and dipped it into the pot. He brought the spoon up to his mouth, blew on it, and then sipped some sauce off of it. He looked to be trapped in thought for a brief moment before eventually nodding and setting the spoon down on the stove. “You like pasta?”

Your heart felt heavy. How could he be so casual? So unbothered? He had just slept with his best friend’s girlfriend and he seemed – at least on the exterior – to have no complaints about it. 

Wakasa turned both burners off. He reached into the cupboards and produced two ceramic dishes. You watched as he scooped some pasta into the first dish, topping it off with some sauce.

“Yeah, sorry,” You sighed. Who were you kidding. This was your mistake and yours alone. 

Your lover of the evening approached the couch with two dishes. He plopped down next to you, offering one in your direction. Rather hesitantly, you took him up on his offer. 

“Thanks,” you said, though your voice was barely louder than a whisper.

As he reached for the remote and turned the TV on, you shifted in your seat, wincing slightly as the jolt of pain that you felt brought back memories of what you had done. He flicked through the channels, stopping on one that was showing a movie.

Then he put the remote down and sat back, throwing his arm over the back of the couch.

You could smell his cologne again, though it was mixed with something else. The smell of sex, probably. The two of you had done it in the back seat of his car, after all.

After a long silence – during which you spooned a few bites of pasta into your mouth – you voiced your thoughts. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

Though he didn’t turn to look at you, Wakasa’s lip curled into a little smirk. “No, probably not.”

“Shit,” You sighed. It felt as if the weight of the world was suddenly on your shoulders. You felt crushed beneath its weight. “You don’t feel guilty?”

“No,” he muttered. 

In hindsight, it would have served you well to remember that the two of them were currently on bad terms. Very bad terms…

The man next to you swallowed. This time when he spoke, he actually did turn to look at you. Though, as those pretty eyes looked you up and down, you wished he hadn’t. “You enjoy it?”

After a brief period of self-reflection, you realized you didn’t have it in you to lie to him. “Yeah.”

“Mm,” he hummed. He glanced at the TV, and then back at you. This time it was you who had your head turned away from him, avoiding eye contact. “Do you regret it?”

“I don’t know,” You answered truthfully. Honestly, you had no idea. Part of you wanted to regret it. You wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shout at him for taking advantage of you, cry to him that you were a taken woman. But the reality of the situation was much different. It was you who had initiated things with him, and it was you who set your relationship aside for a backseat quickie. “I don’t know.”

You set the dish down on the coffee table, resting your head against the couch cushion. 

“Hey.” The gentle tone of his softspoken words made you open your eyes. He had turned his whole body towards you. Setting his own dish down on the table, he gazed at you with strong concern in his eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose in an effort to relieve the ache that had begun to take over your head. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“What do you need?” He asked. He seemed genuine.

“I think…” you paused. You wanted to cease existing. That’s what. “I think I’m gonna go.”

Wakasa looked at you for a moment, and for a moment it seemed as if those lilac hues were staring into your soul and pulling your resolve apart piece by piece. “...Okay.”

You yearned to stay with him, to hold him. Nothing would bring you more joy at this moment than to have him beg you to stay, even if you knew it would do more harm than good. To be held and comforted by him, only that might bring you peace, though you had no idea why.

You were conflicted. You needed to leave this situation before you began to cling to those feelings.

He pushed himself off of the couch, hand grazing your shoulder as he stood up. “I’ll take you home.”

Swallowing the huge lump in your throat, you fought the urge to cry. “Okay.”

The tension between the two of you was palpable.

And some fifteen minutes later, as Wakasa sped to your place on his motorbike, as the cold wind blew against your tired face, you felt that weight on your shoulders again. It was almost overwhelming, that horrible sinking pit in your gut. 

He tensed his shoulders and for some reason, some godforsaken reason, you felt a certain sense of peace. When the two of you were like this, with your arms around his waist, with his strong, warm back pressed against your cheek, it felt as if everything would be okay. 

While the city lights flashed past, you shifted closer to him, bringing your arms tighter around his waist. He glanced back at you, casting you a knowing look before turning back to the road. He pulled his hand away from the handlebar for a moment – steering with the other – to rub small circles over the arm you had thrown around him.

Is it really so wrong?

You sighed, letting yourself melt into his spine. Just a moment longer, you thought. It won’t hurt.