Chapter 16 #2
The sound of his footsteps fades slowly as he moves down the hall. I know he’s not gone far. He won’t be, he’s too stubborn to leave.
And yet, I feel empty. Hollow. The apartment is quiet again, save for the hum of the fridge and the distant traffic. I reach for another bottle, my hands shaking. The alcohol is weak now, unable to dull the ache of missing him, the ache of needing someone who doesn’t want me.
I can’t. I can’t stop. I don’t know how to stop.
And somewhere down the hall, I know Phoenix waits.
? ? ?
I slide the door open a crack, careful not to wake Phoenix. His head is bent over his knees. His steady breathing carries through the hallway, too peaceful, too innocent, and I can’t risk him seeing me like this. Not now. Not tonight.
I creep past, bare feet on the cold hardwood. Every creak of the floor sounds like a shout in my head.
Phoenix stirs, just a flicker of movement in his sleep, but he doesn’t open his eyes. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief and slip out the main door. The cool night air hits me immediately, harsh and real, and for a moment I’m dizzy from the sharpness of it.
I wander without thought, my feet carrying me toward the corner club I know too well.
The neon sign flickers in the mist, pink and blue bleeding into the wet sidewalk.
I push through the door, the heat and music hitting me like a wave.
The smell of sweat and perfume and alcohol is familiar, and I hate that it’s comforting.
I order a drink at the bar without thinking, my hand shaking slightly as I grab the glass.
I swallow it in one gulp, the burn climbing my throat, settling in my stomach like fire.
I need it. Not because it’s pleasurable anymore, but because it numbs the thoughts clawing at me.
Every memory, every “what if,” every whisper of his name pressing against my skull.
I move to the dance floor, letting the pounding bass guide my movements.
I don’t care who’s watching. I don’t care if anyone sees how broken I am behind the mask of confidence I’ve always worn.
I dance like I’m trying to shake him out of me, like if I move fast enough, if I sweat enough, if I lose myself enough, maybe the pain will finally leave.
A hand brushes mine. I glance up to see a guy with sharp features and a crooked smile. He’s tall, dark, and magnetic, the kind of face that makes me forget myself for a second. I can feel the heat rising in my chest, the alcohol loosening what little restraint I have left.
“You dancing alone?” he asks, voice low, teasing.
I smirk, because smirking is safe, and it feels like power even though I’m a mess. “For now,” I answer, letting my words slip through like I don’t care.
He laughs, leaning closer. “Not for long, maybe.”
We move together on the floor, the music a blur around us.
Hands on shoulders, hips brushing, a flirtation that feels alive and dangerous.
My pulse pounds in rhythm with the bass.
I can feel the alcohol feeding the reckless part of me that wants to forget.
That wants to be anyone but Magnus who aches for Alaric.
The kiss happens fast. One moment we’re dancing, laughing, and then his lips are on mine.
I melt into it at first, the need to feel something, anything, pressing me into him.
But then the clarity slices through the haze.
The taste of cheap cologne and beer, the feel of someone I don’t know against me, it doesn’t reach the ache I’m trying to fill.
I pull away, breathing hard. “No.” My voice is rough, ragged, almost a growl, and he raises his eyebrows, confused.
“Everything okay?” he asks, voice gentle now, curious, not judging.
I shake my head, and the shame hits like a punch. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t need this. My stomach twists, guilt and self-loathing folding me in half. “I…” I can’t even form the words. “I can’t.”
He frowns but doesn’t push. Instead, he steps back, giving me space, a small kindness in a world that feels like it’s collapsing.
I stumble out of the club, ignoring the stares, ignoring the warmth I just abandoned.
The cold night air hits me like a slap. My hoodie sticks to me, damp with sweat and rain.
My knees feel weak. The alcohol buzz is thick now, cloying, and I hate it.
I hate that I needed it, that it didn’t work, that I almost let myself go completely.
I keep moving, aimless, heart hammering in my chest. Every light on the street feels sharp, cutting, reminding me of everything I’ve lost. The city hums around me, indifferent, and I feel like a ghost, a shadow of who I used to be.
I pass a trash can and nearly fall to my knees, retching, my body rebelling against the poison I’ve poured in. I taste bile and whiskey and regret. My hands shake violently, and I press them to my face, wishing I could scrub away the mess I’ve become.
Somewhere, far down the street, a car horn blares, and my pulse spikes. My vision blurs, thoughts jumbling together. I should be ashamed. I should be careful. I should go home. But I can’t. I won’t. Not yet.
I think about Alaric, about Phoenix, about every mistake, every moment I let myself slip. The guilt claws at me, harder than any hangover, harder than any self-inflicted pain. I can’t drink this away. I can’t dance it away. I can’t forget him, can’t outrun the ache, can’t stop needing him.
The guy from the club had been a distraction. A temporary, hollow reprieve. I’d kissed him, let the alcohol blind me, and now I feel like I’ve just confirmed what I already know—I want Alaric. I want him in a way no random night, no heat, no booze, no reckless flirtation can ever replace.
The street is empty. The neon from the club fades behind me. I stumble, swaying as my body refuses to obey. My mind is a jumble, a chaos of longing, shame, and guilt.
And then I see the headlights.
Blinding. Coming toward me fast. Too fast.
I freeze. My breath catches in my throat. My legs don’t move. My body doesn’t respond. All I can do is stare, my hands pressed to my chest, my stomach dropping as the light consumes me.
Everything narrows to a point of white-hot panic, my heart hammering in my ears, every mistake, every misstep, every longing flash before me in fragments.
I can’t think. I can’t move. I can’t fix this.
And then—