But under my suit, my skin crawls, and my pulse stutters.
Because she’s not just the girl I love. She’s the only piece of me that ever feltreal.
When I see her slip away from the dance floor, ducking into the bathroom, I follow without thinking.
Muscle memory, instinct, desperation—whatever it is, it leads me straight to her.
The women’s bathroom glows like a jewellery box—soft gold light pooling over marble counters and sleek mirrors that reflect a version of me I barely recognise. There she is, bent over the sink, splashing cold water on her face like she’s trying to wash away more than just sweat. Her shoulders tremble, like every inch of her fights to hold together while quietly breaking apart all at once.
I lock the door behind me, not willing to let her slip away again—not this time.
She spins around with wide eyes that flicker with fear and something deeper, something like guilt tangled in the shadows. “You can’t be in here,” she says, voice sharp but cracking around the edges, a fragile sound barely holding itself together.
“When has that ever stopped us?” I ask, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal on the edge of running.
She takes a step back, her palms flattening against the cold marble, her pulse fluttering so visibly at her throat I can almost hear it. She looks like she’s trying to keep herself above water, but the weight drags her under.
“What’s going on, baby?” I ask, voice low and rough, hoarse from holding back everything I want to say but can’t quite find the courage for.
Her eyes burn with something wild—pain, regret, and love tangled up in a way I can’t untangle.
“We have to stop this,” she whispers, swallowing hard as if the words are bitter poison. “Don’t you see? It’s only going to end in heartbreak.”
That hits me harder than I want to admit because deep down, I’ve been trying not to say it out loud either. I reach for her, voice barely a whisper. “What changed? You told me you wanted this.”
Her voice breaks, fragile as glass. “I did. I do. But it doesn’t matter, none of this matters. We don’t get to decide, Matt. They do.”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and her mouth trembles like she’s on the verge of shattering completely. It crushes me because while I’ve been begging her to stay, she’s drowning in silence, swallowed whole by a world I can’t save her from.
All I want is to take that pain from her, carry it inside me where it can’t touch her anymore.
I press my forehead to hers, my voice breaking under the weight of everything I feel. “Just once more. Please.”
And then I kiss her before she can talk sense into me.
Her fists pound against my chest, as if she wants to push me away, but instead, her fingers tangle in my lapels, pulling me closer, desperate and furious all at once. Her lips part against mine with a broken gasp, and in that instant, I’m lost.
I kiss her like if I press my mouth hard enough against hers, we can both disappear—forget the world, forget everything that’s trapping us. Like I can fuse us together, so irreversibly tangledthat no one could ever come between us, no one could pull us apart.
“I hate you,” she breathes against me, voice trembling. “I fucking hate that I love you.”
“Then ruin me,” I whisper back, voice shaking with need and raw desperation. “Right here, right now. Show me how much you hate me, I can take it.”
She yanks at my belt, her nails digging into my hips. My hands slip under the silk of her dress, finding lace and heat that leave me breathless. She’s soaked and trembling in my grasp.
I curse under my breath.
Her head falls back, baring her throat in a silent invitation, and I don’t hesitate. “Fuck, Matt—”
“Say it,” I growl against her skin. “Say you still want me.”
“I never stopped,” she admits, voice barely more than a whisper.
That’s all it takes.
I lift her onto the counter, tug her dress up around her waist, and slam into her in a brutal, punishing thrust.
It’s frantic and furious and somehow beautiful all at once.
