Bad Decision:Tell me you didn't kiss him back.
I stare at my phone. The truth sits there, complicated and messy.
I didn't. It tasted like nothing.
Bad Decision:Good girl.
Those two words hit like a morphine drip—instant warmth, spreading everywhere, making everything fuzzy and perfect and dangerous.
Bad Decision:Good girl for telling me. Good girl for not kissing back. My perfect angel.
I'm not perfect. I'm a disaster sitting in a pharmacy parking lot sexting someone I barely know while rejecting someone who offers stability.
Bad Decision:You're perfect for me.
You don't know me.
Bad Decision:I know you save lives then touch yourself in parking lots. Know you named your vibrator. Know you can't come without help since some asshole broke your confidence. Know you chose me over Doctor Stability. Know you're mine even if you're fighting it.
He's not wrong. Every word is diagnostically accurate, symptoms of a condition I don't want to cure.
This is insane.
Bad Decision:Everything good is.
Bad Decision:When do I see you again?
I don't know. Miguel's suspicious. He's been watching me.
Bad Decision:Tomorrow. Midnight. Same place.
I can't.
Bad Decision:You will.
It's not a question or a request. It's a statement of fact, like noting a patient's vitals or reading lab results. Inevitable.
Diablo?
Bad Decision:Yeah, angel?
What happens when this explodes?
Bad Decision:We burn together.
I sit in that parking lot for twenty minutes, rereading our conversation, feeling claimed and owned and thoroughly fucked despite not being touched. Nathan's kiss is already forgotten, replaced by words from a man whose kiss would probably destroy me.
My phone rings. Miguel.
"Where are you?" His voice is careful, controlled. Never good signs.
"Walgreens. Needed tampons."
"For twenty minutes?"
"They didn't have my brand."
"Lena." The way he says my name is a warning, a prayer, a promise of protection I'm actively betraying. "Be careful."
