Chapter 26 Gorgeous - VHS（X）（Rerecorded） #2
Then I'm shaking my head.
“Nah. Not good.”
I should’ve swallowed the words.
Should’ve choked on them and died.
But they’re bleeding out of me.
“See the problem I’m having isn’t some girls sayin’ hi.”
That’s a lie.
A massive,
chest-punching,
stomach-hollowing problem
festering beneath the other big problem.
But sure,
let’s pretend I’m cool and mature and moved on.
“It’s that you asked me to meet you here—home of your hookups. Where the whole fuckin’ street’s got a hard-on for you.” My eyes bounce between his. “I’m confused—why the fuck did you want me to meet you here of all places? What exactly did you want me to see?”
Worry rises in his eyes as he finally sees the scene from my side of the glass.
“You think I want you doubtin’ me? No fuckin’ way.” He shakes his head. “I wanted to give you the results myself, aight? Been runnin’ since fuckin’ dawn. Hotel, bar, now here. This was the only window I had.”
He drags a palm across his mouth.
“It’s been two days, Sonny. Before that? Ten.
“I just wanted to fuckin’ see you.”
The wind takes my hair again.
I sweep it off my face, hold the strands back.
“Andrew.” I squint at him.
“You playin’ tonight?”
He exhales, shoulders sinking.
“Yeah.”
I nod.
“Wow.”
Another laugh slips out.
It's the same as the last one, dead on arrival.
“I’m the dumbest person on the fuckin’ sidewalk tonight.”
I turn against the cold,
breathe it in deeply to soothe the burn.
Or at least put my heart on ice, freeze it,
bring it back to life when it stops bein’ a fuckin’ idiot.
“Lemme get this straight.” I smirk. “You lure me down here, hand me your test results like a backstage pass to your tongue, then shove me off the curb right before you go play rockstar for some girls you’ve fucked?”
I point toward Vice.
Like I know where the fuck it is.
“What? Only people who’s takin’ a ride on Saint Drew’s dick allowed inside?”
Andrew’s shaking his head,
stepping in closer.
“C’mon, don’t say that.
“You really think that’s what this is?”
Jesus Christ—am I overreacting?
Fuck if I know. I don’t do this shit.
All I know is I’m reacting,
and I don’t trust this feeling.
I pull in a breath,
then say as calm as possible—
“You expect me to quit usin’ Ben,
“to fall apart in your hands,
“hand myself over to only you.
“Meanwhile, you?
“You slam the door in my face.”
I shrug, dead-eyed.
“Yeah. You want everything. But Allison?
“Nah. She only gets what I give her.”
He grabs his hips,
eyes on the ground,
finger tapping the bone once.
Deep inhale.
“God’s honest truth?
“Didn’t think it'd matter to you.”
Does it?
No.
Maybe.
Shit.
He wets his lip. “It ain't you I'm closing the door on. It's this place. I been tryin’ to leave it behind… I don’t want my past layin’ its filthy fuckin’ hands on you, aight? You’re not supposed to be part of that... I’m just doin’ Matt a favor tonight. One-time gig.”
He’s staring at me,
seeing if I believe any of this.
I don’t answer.
I stare back.
Silence makes people stupid.
They start confessing. Explaining.
Telling on themselves.
And I know if I stand here long enough—
let the silence get awkward—
someone’s bound to fill it.
Usually with shit they shouldn’t say.
So the silence keeps stretching.
And stretching.
His eyes bounce between mine.
Another second goes by.
Then—
“Allison. If you walk in, it’ll stir shit.”
Psh. Idiot fell for it.
My heart and brain high-five,
then immediately start fighting again.
He keeps going, Jersey boy mode, pointing behind him. “Those walls remember everything, shit I ain’t proud of, and I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m still that guy. I don’t want you in there. I don’t want you gettin’ hurt. And I sure as fuck don’t wanna lose you over bullshit that meant nothin’.”
Silence drops between us again.
Both of his hands stay lifted, surrendered,
hanging for whatever I decide to give—or not.
I smile the sweet kind that rises just before blood splashes the floor. “Yeah, nah. I’m good. Appreciate the concern.”
I fold up the papers
and shove them into my bag.
“But I’m goin’ inside.” I shrug. “Watch my fuckin’ boyfffr—uck—in…”
I freeze.
Statue-still with my hand in my purse.
His eyes lock on me, wide—half-shook.
My eyes lock on him, wide—whole-screwed.
He blinks once.
I blink next.
“Watch my boy fuckin’ sing his heart out,”
I save myself, like a fucking boss.
“Madonn’…” he breathes,
a slow rising smile, a shake of his head.
Then he laughs, a quiet wrecked laugh,
his arms falling to his sides.
I turn on my heel
and start walking without him.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
I was just about to say boyfriend.
Almost slipped out. Like a two inch dick.
I walk in the direction he was pointing.
Spot the neon sign across the street.
House of Vice in purple neon.
I step off the curb—
Then get snatched back in the air
before my foot touches ground.
Just as a bus slices the curb.
Where I was supposed to be.
My back slams against his chest,
knocks the wind out of me.
Then my feet hit concrete again.
Both of his arms crush me against him.
My heart’s ramming my bones.
His heart's pounding against my back,
hard and fast.
I’m not dead.
I’m here.
Andrew turns me to face him.
His eyes are wild.
“You serious right now? You tryin’ to fuckin’ kill me?” He's breathing hard, clutching my face. “What—you don’t look before steppin’ off a goddamn curb? Just walk into fuckin’ traffic? The fuck’s wrong with you? You’re New York.”
His voice spikes, almost yelling now.
“You think you’re invincible? Madonn’… Sonny—use your fuckin’ head!”
His voice cracks mid-curse,
realizing what he's saying.
His chest rises,
a breath he can’t swallow.
My eyes water, my vision going blurry.
“I didn’t see it.”
My words shake.
My hands too.
“I didn’t fuckin’ see it coming.”
His stares into my eyes,
and his chest caves.
Panic, relief, fury, guilt,
all of it floods his face in three seconds flat—
eyes shining, mouth open, caught between
begging, cursing,
throwing up his whole heart on the sidewalk.
And then—
He exhales.
His hands still shake as he cups my face.
His forehead presses to mine,
the only way he can stay upright.
Then he pulls me back into his arms,
head dropping into my neck.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he murmurs into my hair. “Don’t do that to me.”
Whispers it this time—
“Don’t ever fuckin’ do that to me.”
// 9:52 PM //
The second we step inside House of Vice,
November’s gone.
It’s hot, wet, pulsing with music.
Bass punches in, guitars loud and dirty,
drums hitting with closed fists,
the whole building sweating rock-n-roll.
Andrew’s walking behind me,
his hand at my back.
As if he lets go, I might step off another curb.
I still can’t breathe right.
I’m still shaking.
Little Death's breathing down my neck,
creeping under my skin,
sweet and starving,
and I’m trying not to show it,
trying to walk steady.
But my knees feel wrong and not part of me anymore.
Every muscle’s holding tight,
my body’s still waiting for the bus to hit.
The room’s watching us,
their stares dripping down my skin,
slow as sweat.
Every pair of eyes are unzipping me,
tracing my outline,
stitching me into stories,
drawing lines between Andrew's hand
and my dress.
He grabs my hip, possessive,
as if the same ache between my thighs
burns in him too,
my throbbing wired straight into his veins.
He must know the urge is here,
and it’s only screaming louder.
Then he leans in—
his mouth, my ear,
his breath sliding through my hair.
“Just five minutes.
“You and me.
“Somewhere quiet.”
He points to a flight of stairs in the back.
I nod, and he’s moving,
hand out every time someone gets too close.
No one touches me.
Not one bump.
Not one accidental graze.
He protects me on instinct,
as if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.
We hit the stairs, and security steps in.
Andrew talks low to the guy blocking them,
and the guy moves.
The sound room’s small,
carpet’s stained,
walls of black-painted brick.
Glass stretches across—
clouded, dusted with fingerprints.
You can see everything from here—
the floor below, the stage, the bar.
It all hums, a heartbeat behind glass as X Ambassadors pulses in the room.
“Never brought anyone up here,”
he murmurs from behind,
hands settling on my hips.
I turn in his arms,
and he steps in close,
grabbing my wrist,
hooking my hand around his neck,
then the other.
His hooded gaze holds me until brick catches my back,
and he pins me against the wall.
“I already know.
And I know you got it, but I got you, aight?”
My body’s now begging—
thighs clenching, clit pulsing,
everything soaking and swollen
and so desperate I could scream.
Andrew stays one beat ahead,
feeding the craving
before I have the chance to start fidgeting.
I swallow,
drop my head back,
eyes catching his.
“Yeah, you already know?”
“Yeah.” His palm drags down my arm. “Hits you when you’re scared, upset.
When you feel cornered, overwhelmed. You don’t want it—you just want the feeling to stop.
” He grips my hips, thumbs pressing into me.
“So yeah—I know the fuckin’ difference between when you want me and when you want out. ‘Cause I been payin’ attention.”
I can hardly comprehend what he’s saying,
'cause now it’s crawling up my spine,
building so fast it’s making me dizzy.
My hips curl into themselves
with this teeth-gritting need to break.
Andrew notices,
his hands falling down my body.
“You don’t gotta do nothin’.
“Just fuckin’ breathe and let me have you.”
I lift a brow. “Let you have me?”
“Mhm.” He grabs behind my knee,
hooking my leg around his hip,
pressing in, chest to chest,
needing every inch of me flush to him.
He holds my leg hostage under his elbow,
that hand spreading wide
and creeping down the back of my thigh.