Chapter 7
Lucy
Jackhole6666 comments: I'd still bang her, but she'd need to put a ball gag in her mouth first
DestineeesCome comments: I feel so bad for Delaney, like, the expectations are just so high, and honestly I always thought @ZenInTheCity was kinda full of hrslf
ChimeraNailsIt comments: I have a theory, it was bunnies. Just kidding, Delaney totally murdered Lucy to try and steal her boyfriend, she's been missing for like a week. God why is this so good. Lemme get the popcorn.
AnneP02aughts comments: @WaywardDelaney is way more interesting anyway, at least she's speaking the truth about how hard her life is, @ZenInTheCity is just a whiny bitch
It's official. I'm going crazy. After a week of hiding out in my apartment, my anxiety has transformed me into a wild beast.
I've been avoiding social media, the barrage of hurtful lies and comments from Delaney's followers, and my advertiser's constant emails, concerned over missing content, since I haven't been posting. And even though I've talked to Mateo, he's deliberately avoiding any meaningful conversation, and I feel like we're trapped in this endless loop of uncertainty.
I've left millions of my followers unattended while speculation and conspiracies fill the void; I could fix it all with one post, but then what? Admit to having a breakdown? Admit to everyone that one of my closest friends lied about sleeping with my boyfriend to drum up drama for the sake of followers? That those are the types of friends I keep?
Admit I can't handle the pressure?
Since Mateo won't talk to me, I can't make myself post, and I've barely left the apartment, I came up with a brilliant plan to regain control of my life: dress in disguise—re: no makeup, since that basically makes me unrecognizable—and follow around my unsuspecting boyfriend.
I blame Portia, since it was her idea.
I've been following Mateo for hours. Wearing black leggings, a white tank top, and a black, wide-brim hat, I've tried to disappear into the crowd on the streets. He walked several blocks from his office, changed cabs twice, entered random stores along the way. I nearly lost him three times, and I'm no closer to answers, but feel guiltier with each passing moment.
He went inside an apartment building nearly an hour ago. I assume this is where he's staying since the two doormen standing outside greeted him like they knew him, so I should just go home, but I can't bring myself to leave.
Hiding behind a newspaper stand, I bought a magazine, chewed some gum, played on my phone, ignored all forms of social media, and waited. For what, I don't know; there's no reason for me to follow him. I just want answers. I want to know what he meant when he said I never wanted it to touch you . What it ? What did he mean?
Does he even want to save our relationship? If he isn't cheating on me, then what's he hiding?
It's getting late. The sun set an hour ago, and I feel like a fool. Just as I'm about to give up and go home, Mateo reemerges from the building with two men. They grab a cab, and I rush to flag one down, doing my best to hide my face behind the brim of my hat.
The beauty of my plan is in its simplicity and its stupidity. There's no reason for Mateo to think he's being followed, because he's likely under the assumption that his girlfriend is sane. He would be wrong.
The cab driver must assume I'm on some sort of cheating-fishing-expedition because I tell him to follow their cab, and, surprisingly, he does. We follow them into the warehouse district, the businesses fewer and further apart, the atmosphere seedier. Worry clenches my gut at what he could be up to, at what secrets he's been keeping, what dark shit he can't admit to that would bring him all the way out here.
My cab driver pulls back without me having to ask, but eventually, it gets so dark and quiet that it's obvious we're the only other car on the streets.
"Want me to get closer or drive past?" He asks when Mateo's cab pulls down a narrow alleyway.
"Drive past. Slower, please." The cab driver, fully invested, slows right down, both of us gawking down the darkened street.
No other cars are around, no lights, only what appears to be the entrance of a nightclub with streams of people in front of a door with glowing lights. I ask the driver to loop back and pull over. After paying him, I climb out, lingering because I know I shouldn't be here; I shouldn't have followed him.
My nerves are on fire, fear licking my skin while I approach the swarm of people. Oddly, I don't feel anxious. It's a different kind of fear, the energy of it dancing inside me. My heart still races, but I don't feel like my chest is overheating, overwhelming my senses.
I don't see Mateo or either of the men he was with. Sneaking closer, I scan the crowd for the guy with the close-cropped black hair and warm brown skin and the other with long, dark brown hair and light, almost pale skin. They were dressed far more casually than Mateo, both in t-shirts, but I didn't have time to think about his companions before I was following them through Port City's downtown into the warehouse district.
There's a common thread amongst the various people crowding the entrance—couples, thruples, men, women, trans, gay, straight, bi—they're all dressed similarly. Lots of little black dresses. Leather, latex, tight, sexy, revealing clothing, all waiting, trying desperately to get into the club. I'm out of place in my cotton, country bumpkin clothes and big hat.
While I hesitate, wondering if I need to be on some sort of list to get in or at least dressed in something black and shiny, a heated argument erupts between two couples, causing a loud, chaotic commotion.
On a whim, because apparently, it's a night of stupid decisions, I slip past them all unnoticed, innocently hiding behind the distracted bouncer who deals with the yelling men, walking backward till my back hits the door.
I'm too curious, too nervous, too worked up to turn back now. In a rush, I dart inside, easing the door so it shuts quietly behind me, then hurry down the long, dark hallway, relieved when no one comes after me.
The warm, inviting glow of the low-lit sconces guides me forward. I'm alone, in a vacuum of silence, each step echoing around me, but I know something big is coming, something life-changing. My heart skips a beat, thinking of Mateo in this beautiful, hidden, ominous place.
The moment I press open the door at the end of the long hall, I'm transported. Cool air hardens my nipples, and I self-consciously shrug my arms across my chest, but no one's paying attention to me. The potent scent of jasmine and lavender permeates the air. Sultry dance music and gold filigree adorning the black walls set the mood; it's a strange combination of high-class, dark, and sexy, with an old-world yet youthful energy.
Awestruck, I walk slowly past all the dancing bodies and scattered tables. The closer I get to the gyrating crowd, the hotter everything feels. I push my way through the room, searching for Mateo.
I wonder if this club was one of his secrets, and why he never brought me here.
I debate leaving. I should. If he sees me here, he'll know I followed him. That I don't trust him.
But that could force a conversation. It's been almost a week since I last saw him. We've talked on the phone a few times, but our conversations consisted mostly of me grilling him for answers, him being evasive, and both of us hanging up, unsatisfied.
I miss him fucking terribly . Something's got to give. So, I keep searching.
Two staircases sit on either side of the room, leading up to a second floor, with more bouncers guarding the base. They stand tall beside a podium, each holding a tablet, dressed in black, looking serious. I wonder if Mateo's upstairs.
I should have brought Portia; she'd know what to do. Even though I said I wouldn't follow Mateo, once she planted the seed... I went back and forth for days, talking myself in and out of it, but ultimately decided it was the only way to get answers. Admittedly, being alone for days and feeling like I was going crazy contributed to this really stupid plan. But Portia would have come along and been supportive.
I'd have liked that kind of support right about now because the more time passes without seeing him, the more uncomfortable I feel.
Weaving through the dancing crowd, I realize I must have lost him. He's not here. It's been almost an hour. And I'll need to get an Uber out of here because there are no yellow cabs in this neighborhood, and I have no clue where I am.
My earlier nerves morph into that familiar anxious territory, heat crawling up my neck, and I nearly give up. But as I make my way back through the room, intending to leave, my gaze snags back on the stairwell and the bouncers.
They look serious, and they might find out I snuck in here. I don't want to get in trouble, but determination wins, so I stalk toward the staircase on the far right, near the end of the long bar. What's the worst that could happen? They kick me out?
The bouncer looks down at me, giving my outfit a once over before lifting a brow.
I clear my throat, adjusting the brim of my hat. "Umm, excuse me. Can I go up there? I'm just lookin' for my boyfriend."
His gaze narrows, and he shakes his head once.
"Please? I just need to know if he's here."
The bouncer grimaces. "Lady, if your boyfriend is up there, you're better off not knowing."
What the hell does that mean?
"Look, I just need to talk to him. I ain't gonna cause any trouble," I say in my sweetest Southern accent. "His name is Mateo. Mateo Torres?"
The bouncer sighs, about to tell me to leave again, when someone touches my elbow. "Are you Lucy, by any chance?"
I turn, but my response gets stuck in my throat, my jaw hanging open. It's him, the guy Mateo was with. Long dark brown hair, tied in a knot at the nape of his neck, and up close, I can see it's cut shorter on the sides, with a few pieces fallen from the tie. His facial hair is unshaven but closely cropped, framing a rectangular-shaped face, captivating hazel eyes and a pointed chin. He smiles softly, and it's so jarring. He smiles wider the longer I stare.
"Umm… huh?"
He laughs, and it's so fucking charming. Jesus, Lucy, get it together. You're here for Mateo.
The reminder makes me stand a little taller. I've seen hot guys before, and never has one distracted me this much. It's just because things are up in the air with Mateo, it's the only reason I noticed. As his words sink in, I steel my shoulders.
"How do you know my name?"
"You are, then? Mateo's girlfriend?"
"He told you about me?" I ask, shocked. Since I'm realizing how little I know about Mateo, I'm surprised he talks about me at all, to anyone.
"Of course. You're his girlfriend. What are you doing here? Does he know you're here?"
I shake my head, glancing at the bouncer, who's still wincing. What could be so bad that he keeps giving me that pitying look?
"He doesn't know I'm here." I don't admit I followed them.
"Okay… I'm not sure how he'll feel about you being here," he confesses, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. There's a sharp sting in my chest, and I flinch at his admission.
"I didn't mean… it's not that he won't be happy to see you. I know he misses you. It's just…" He looks up the staircase, then back at me. "I'm Noah, by the way. Mateo's one of my best friends. Come on, let's go find him."
Taking my elbow, Noah leads me up the stairs, and we pass the bouncer, who unnervingly says, "Good luck."
Confused by all the secrecy, it takes me a second to appreciate the room we walk into as we ascend the stairs. Lush assortments of plants, flowers, and greens cover the walls, with massive planted sculptures in the center of the floor, surrounded by plush seating. Above, a domed ceiling made of glass enhances the greenhouse effect. It's stunning.
Despite Noah's heated hand on my arm pulling me forward, I'm distracted by all the people we pass. Some cluster together in small groups, others lounge on couches and chairs, half on top of each other. Everyone seems… It almost looks like people are about to have sex… or are having sex. Right there in the open. But that can't be right.
I watch couples disappear down several rows of hallways and wonder what they could be doing.
I haven't even seen Mateo yet, but my sex clenches in response to the energy in the room. What the hell is this place?
Then I see him. His back, anyway. He's talking to the other guy he came here with, both with a drink in hand. The other guy sees me first, and recognizes me instantly, his brows rising high, lips curling into a huge smile, dimples deep in his cheeks. Mateo must have shown them my picture or my profile because both his friends know who I am.
It makes me feel marginally better, but my hope plummets when Mateo turns to see what his friend is staring at, and his scowl—one I've seen before but never directed at me—sharpens, brows furrowing. He's furious. My steps falter, but Noah is still holding my arm. Leaning close, I try to ignore the feel of his breath in my ear and how his kind voice vibrates through me when he says, "Relax. Mateo's all bark."
That's not entirely true.
Tentatively, I lift my fingers in a wave, feeling so awkward, so unwelcome, tears burn in my eyes.
"Lucy," Mateo growls as we approach. Somehow, the sound only turns me on more, and I'm so confused by the myriad of emotions, feeling turned on in this strange club, feeling sharply dejected by Mateo, I don't know what to do or think, so I stand next to Noah, frozen.
Just looking at him hurts, but feels so good. I've missed him so much. Again, for the millionth time in a week, I just want to say fuck it, keep your secrets, just come back to me.
Mateo and his friend come closer, and I take a step back, bumping into Noah's chest. Only he doesn't move out of the way or back off. His hands come to my arms in support, and I feel guilty, so fucking guilty for leaning against him. He squeezes tighter, and I expect Mateo to throw a fit, to tell his friends to fuck off.
Instead, he comes closer, pushing me further against his friend's chest.
"What are you doing here?"
I sniff, no longer on the verge of crying but feeling sensitive all the same. I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Mateo looks around, running his hand through his hair in exasperation.
He must come to some kind of decision because he tilts his head, relaxes his scowl, and says point blank, "Did you know you were coming to a sex club?"