Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Mateo
The pounding bass reverberates through my chest as I step onto the sidewalk outside the club, neon lights illuminating the night in brilliant flashes of color.
The line wraps around the building despite it being Christmas Eve, bodies shivering against the chill, but I’m too wired and lost in my own turmoil to feel the cold.
Without hesitation, I slip the bouncer a crisp hundred-dollar bill, earning myself a nod of acknowledgement as he unhooks the velvet rope and gestures me inside.
The dim lighting engulfs me as I step into the club, the pulse of music vibrating through every cell in my body.
The atmosphere is intoxicatingly seductive.
Every corner is an invitation to lose myself, to forget the harshness of reality.
Drinks flow freely, glistening in glasses under the sporadic beams of colored light.
Beautiful faces laugh, flirt, and lose themselves to the hypnotic rhythm.
The air is thick with temptation, a heady mixture of perfume, alcohol, and glistening skin on display.
I navigate through the crowded dance floor, bodies brushing against me, every touch an electric jolt, reminding me of everything I came here to forget.
My father’s harsh disappointment, Grace’s silence, and most of all, Vaeda.
Her words echo in my mind, taunting me with a truth that cuts deeper each time it replays: her marriage and the ten years between us.
Reaching the bar, I lean heavily against the polished surface, catching my reflection in the mirrored backdrop.
My eyes look dark and troubled, searching for answers at the bottom of a glass.
Just one drink, I reason silently, fingers tapping anxiously against the bar.
It won’t hurt. Alcohol was never the vice that nearly killed me.
It was the pills, the powder, and the desperation for escape.
The bartender approaches, an eyebrow raised in silent inquiry. My throat feels tight, but I push through the hesitation, my voice sounding foreign to my ears. “Whiskey sour,” I manage, my voice raspy, barely audible above the music.
The bartender nods, moving away swiftly, leaving me alone once again with my spiraling thoughts.
I grip the cool edge of the bar, my knuckles whitening as I battle with myself.
One drink won’t hurt, but deep down, I know the truth.
It’s not about the drink. It’s about surrendering control, slipping back into the oblivion where nothing matters and the pain finally numbs.
As the bartender returns, sliding the amber liquid toward me, my phone buzzes insistently in my pocket. I fumble for it, irritation sparking momentarily until I see Yvonne’s name flashing across the screen. A slow smile spreads across my lips, dangerous yet enticing.
Yvonne likes me, parties without apologies, and she isn’t complicated by marriage vows or professional boundaries. She’s safe in her simplicity, the opposite of Vaeda’s complex allure. Maybe she’s exactly what I need tonight.
I answer, raising the phone to my ear as I stare at the untouched drink, fingers wrapped tightly around the cool glass. “Hey.”
“Mateo!” Her voice is bright, yet tinged with worry. “I wanted to check on you. You seemed really upset earlier. Where are you?”
I pause, the thrum of the music beating through my silence. “I know it’s Christmas Eve, but I’m at Pulse. Come join me?”
She laughs lightly, clearly surprised and delighted by my invitation. “Absolutely. I’ll be there in ten.”
Ending the call, I finally lift the glass, studying the swirling liquid. This is reckless, but tonight I crave recklessness. My gaze drifts to the crowded dance floor, the rhythm calling to me, promising distraction and release.
Yet as I stand poised at this edge, drink in hand, waiting for Yvonne’s arrival, a nagging thought gnaws at the back of my mind, whispering dangerously, Once you cross this line, can you ever really turn back?
VAEDA
I stand frozen just inside Fusion Core’s studio doors, watching as Yvonne paces restlessly across the polished hardwood floors.
Her cell phone is pressed urgently against her ear, her face alight with anticipation and excitement.
My stomach twists uncomfortably, a growing knot of suspicion and jealousy tightening inside my chest.
She laughs, a bright, carefree sound that sends a pang of irritation straight through me.
My jaw clenches as the unsettling thought takes root.
She’s talking to Mateo. I’d meant every word about our age difference, the gap that seemed insurmountable, but the idea of Mateo turning his affections toward Yvonne fills me with irrational jealousy.
A jealousy I don’t want to acknowledge, let alone feel.
Suddenly, Yvonne grabs her coat from the rack by the door, her movements hurried and eager. She hangs up quickly, a smile still curving her lips, oblivious to my watchful gaze.
“Everything alright, Yvonne?” I call out, forcing my voice into neutrality even as my pulse races in my veins.
Yvonne glances up, startled, her eyes briefly flickering with surprise and irritation before quickly masking it with a casual shrug. “Yeah, everything’s great. Just going to meet a friend.”
The vague response only sharpens the sting of jealousy, the sensation burning through my chest like wildfire. I try to maintain composure, offering a faint, polite nod. “Be careful out there. It’s getting late, and Merry Christmas.”
“I will,” she promises quickly, clearly distracted. “Merry Christmas!” Then she rushes out of the studio, taking my patience and propriety with her.
An uneasy feeling settles over me, gnawing at the edges of my awareness. Something about her hurried departure and barely concealed excitement sends a chill down my spine. Before rational thought can intervene, I’m grabbing my jacket, pulling it tightly around myself as I follow swiftly behind her.
Outside, the city streets glisten beneath fresh snow flurries, streetlights radiating a hazy, golden glow across the wet pavement.
Yvonne strides confidently ahead, unaware of my presence, her steps hurried.
My heart pounds heavily, anxiety and uncertainty warring within me as I keep pace at a careful distance.
Every step that takes me closer to uncovering her destination brings a fresh surge of dread.
Yet beneath the apprehension lies a darker truth.
I’m driven by jealousy, by a possessiveness I have no right to feel.
Mateo’s face flashes vividly through my mind, his intense eyes, then the passionate edge of his voice when he spoke of his feelings for me.
I’ve pushed him away, yet I can’t bear the thought of someone else holding him close.
The thought sends an agonizing ache through my heart, clawing painfully at my insides, but beneath this jealousy, another emotion surfaces, powerful and insistent.
Worry. Mateo is vulnerable, standing at the precipice of temptation, and I know all too well how quickly a single misstep can unravel everything.
My footsteps quicken as Yvonne turns a corner, a sinking feeling pulling me deeper into this reckless chase. I know this is dangerous, risky, and possibly foolish, but my heart overrides every rational argument.
Fear tightens its grip around my chest, suffocating in its intensity.
If Mateo spirals, it could cost him everything he’s fought so hard to rebuild, and suddenly, the jealousy fades to the background, replaced by a profound sense of urgency and dread.
Tonight, boundaries blur, and I can’t help but follow the trail, even if it leads me into the very chaos I’ve desperately sought to avoid.
Because beneath everything, the one undeniable truth remains: I’ve finally realized that I’m terrified of losing him.
I continue to follow Yvonne from a safe distance, ducking beneath the streetlights and pressing into the shadows.
The streets are slick, reflecting the neon buzz of storefronts and car headlights in a distorted mirror.
Every time Yvonne glances over her shoulder, I duck behind parked cars and awnings, heart hammering.
I should feel ridiculous, but I don’t. I feel sick, because I have a feeling I know where she’s going.
The moment I see the glowing red letters of Pulse Nightclub come into view, another wave of dread washes over me. I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at the line of well-dressed men and women, the thrumming beat of bass vibrating in my chest like a second heartbeat.
He’s here, and she’s going to him.
I pick up my pace, eyes locked on her light brown hair bobbing through the crowd until she stops at the end of the line. She’s checking her reflection in the darkened glass, applying a fresh coat of lipstick, smiling like she’s ready to party. Like this is a date.
No. Fucking. Way.
I push through the crowd, ignoring the annoyed murmurs, and march straight up to the bouncer at the door. He eyes me with a mixture of boredom and irritation, arms folded across his chest.
“Please,” I gasp. “I need to get inside. My boyfriend’s in there. He’s an addict, and he’s... he’s not okay.”
The bouncer raises an eyebrow. “Because that isn’t a line I’ve heard before.”
“I don’t have time for this.” My voice cracks, more raw and real than I intended. “If he drinks tonight, he’ll relapse, and if he relapses, he could die. Please.”
He stares at me for a long moment, as if weighing my sincerity in his hands. Then he jerks his chin toward the door. “Go.”
I push past him and into the club.
The bass hits me like a wall, vibrating through my ribs. The air is thick with sweat, smoke, and desperation. Lights strobe over a sea of dancing bodies, arms raised, mouths open in joy or lust or oblivion. My eyes sweep the chaos, searching and hoping I’m not too late.