I step into a narrow alley and pause. The passage is shadowed and reeks of old rain and cigarette smoke. The sky still holds the final flush of evening, but down here, it feels later—darker.
I hug my arms around myself. The wind sneaksinto my dress, curling around my legs. The light on each side of the passageway feels quite far. How big is this venue?
Lifting my skirt, I start walking. So much for a beautiful dress and stealing the show.
Asshole. He spoiled the night for everybody. And it doesn’t even seem he cared to run after me.
He probably did… in the right direction, unlike me.
Instead of spending a lovely evening in a beautiful venue, I’m in a smelly corner in the middle of junkie alley. Just great.
In the span of the past half an hour, I went from betrayal to anger, to annoyance to sadness… rinse and repeat.
The wall juts out in places, flaking brick and graffiti. A fire escape on the wall beside me blocks almost the entire width of the pathway. I turn sideways, slipping past it, wrinkling my nose at the odor coming from a pile of garbage under the metal structure.
A shape moves. A rustle. A low grunt.
A figure stirs in the shadows, and I freeze. My heart stutters. My breath catches. My pulse spikes into my throat, pounding in terror.
Another shift. Jesus, it’s a person. They cough and mutter something unintelligible.
I scream. Loud, raw, involuntary.
I try to run, but the heel of my shoe catches. Thehem of my dress snags on a jagged bolt sticking out of the fire staircase. I twist, tugging it violently, panic rising in a wave.
Swearing, I yank again, the fabric giving with a rip that echoes too loud.
I whip around and scream again, my body colliding against a solid wall of muscles.
Strong arms wrap around me.
I twist, panic still gripping my chest, but I know that scent. That warmth. That hold.
“Cora,” Xander breathes against my hair. “It’s me. It’s just me.”
His voice is a balm. A grounding rope thrown into my swirling storm.
I collapse against him, exhausted. Not physically, not from fear or from anger. From everything else that refuses to stay locked inside.
His heartbeat hammers against my cheek. He holds me tighter like he needs the reassurance, too.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t act like you care.” Despite my protest, I don’t push away.
Perhaps I’m a liar too. And right now, I want to soak in this illusion. For a moment, I want to be a damsel in distress, finding refuge in the arms of my knight.
Because the other reality is just too sad. In our real life, I need to be a strong, independent woman whofights for her values. Who doesn’t let him walk all over me. Who does what she thinks is right in this situation.
But fuck, if I don’t want to just forget and move on.
“I do,” he murmurs into my hair.
“You lied.”
“I know.”
We stand there in our own agonizing impasse, holding on to each other for dear life, knowing it’s a fleeting opportunity before we must address the things that will probably break us.
And if I shut down my rational, offended, disappointed mind, all other pieces of me want to lean into him more.
