TOXIC relationship with Caleb [LADS]
Masterlist
Warnings; alcohol use, unhealthy/toxic relationship dynamics, possessive behavior, jealousy, emotional manipulation, rough intimacy, references to past breakups and heartbreak, desperate and clingy behavior, mild violence during intimacy (biting, scratching, hair pulling, wall sex) dark, messy, codependent themes.
The club reeks of cheap vodka and broken promises...
Caleb slumps at the darkest end of the bar, jacket thrown over the stool like a do not disturb sign. Fifth whiskey now. Or sixth. The ice melted hours ago and he still orders another. His phone stays face-down because every buzz reminds him who it will never be again. She left for good this time. Said he clung too hard, loved too loud, scared her off. Maybe she was right. Does not stop the ache from swallowing him whole.
He hates clubs, hates the pulsing lights and the strangers grinding like nothing hurts. But home is worse. Her scent still clings to his sheets, his pillow, the air itself. So he sits here, knuckles white around the glass, trying to burn her out of his throat.
Three stools away, you chase the burn of something pink and sugary that tastes like lies. Your ex’s final text glows on your screen: I just don’t feel it anymore. You read it until the letters smear. You came to dance, to prove you are fine, but every beat feels like it is laughing at you.
Your gaze keeps sliding to the man drowning at the end of the bar. Black hair falling into hollow eyes, jaw sharp enough to cut glass, shoulders curled in like he is holding himself together with his own hands. He looks ruined in the prettiest way.
He feels your stare. Turns. Eyes bloodshot but piercing, locking on you like you are the first real thing he has seen all night.
You do not look away.
He downs the rest of his drink in one swallow, slams the glass down, and walks over. No smile. No pretense.
"Rough night?" His voice is gravel and smoke.
You laugh, bitter and soft. "You have no idea."
"I might." He slides onto the stool next to you, close enough that his knee brushes yours. "Buy you something that actually burns?"
You nod.
Hours blur. Shots turn into confessions whispered over thumping bass. He tells you her name like it is poison on his tongue. You tell him yours like it still belongs to someone else. You trade wounds like trading cards, each story uglier than the last, and somehow it feels good to not be the only one bleeding.
He gets mean-drunk the way broken men do. Words turn sharp.
"You think you are special?" he mutters at one point, staring at your mouth. "Everyone leaves. Everyone."
You lean in until your lips almost touch. "Then give me a reason to stay tonight."
Something cracks open in his eyes. Hunger. Desperation. Need so raw it looks like hate.
He kisses you like punishment. Teeth and whiskey and I dare you to leave me too. You kiss back harder, fingers twisted in his hair, pulling until he groans into your mouth. It is messy and wrong and perfect.
You end up in the back of his car, windows fogged, seats reclined all the way. He is on top of you in seconds, hands rough, mouth hotter, saying your name like a prayer and a curse. You bite his shoulder to keep from screaming. He begs, actually begs, voice breaking, please do not stop, please do not leave me like this.
After, he will not let go. Arms locked around you like you might vanish. Face buried in your neck, breathing you in like oxygen after drowning. He is shaking. You feel it and it scares you how much you like it.
This is how it starts.
He texts you at 3 a.m. three nights later: still awake. still thinking about you. come over.
You go. Every time.
It is toxic and you both know it. He gets jealous over nothing, checks your phone when you shower, fucks you against the wall when he thinks you smiled too long at someone else. You let him. You start fights just to feel him lose control, just to watch him crawl back whispering sorry baby I cannot lose you too.
He is always a little miserable, shadows under his eyes, voice raw from shouting or moaning or both. But when he is inside you, when you are clawing at his back and telling him he is yours, just yours, he looks almost peaceful.
You learn every inch of what breaks him and what puts him back together. He learns how to make you sob his name like it is the only word you remember.
One night, months in, he is drunk again, head in your lap on his couch. He looks up at you with wet eyes.
"I am still fucked up," he whispers. "I am still scared you will wake up and see I am nothing."
You thread fingers through his hair. "Good. Stay scared. Keeps you desperate."
He laughs, broken and relieved, and pulls you down to kiss him like he is starving.
You are both wrecked. You are both addicted. You are both, finally, exactly where you want to be.
