- twenty four - alex
Her wrists are in my hands. Soft. Warm. Delicate in a way that shouldn't make me feel like this-like I'm holding something sacred, something fragile.
Something I might ruin if I keep holding on.
I should let go.
I can't.
Her eyes burn into mine, fierce, demanding. Her breath comes in short, shallow bursts, every exhale like a plea for me to stop, to let her go. But she doesn't understand.
I can't let her go-not yet. Not when she's here, this close, this real.
My pulse stutters, my entire body on high alert, like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff, and one wrong move will send me plummeting. I can feel the heat radiating from her, the tension vibrating between us. It's electric, impossible to ignore.
And fuck, she's a mess. A beautiful, infuriating mess. Her lips are parted, her hazel eyes wide with something-anger, confusion, maybe fear? I can't tell, but whatever it is, it's a reflection of me.
Of the shitstorm I've created between us.
"Alex," she breathes, her voice strained, yanking at my grip. "What do you even want from me?"
I don't answer. I can't.
She tugs again, but I won't let her go. I can't.
"What do you want from me?" she demands, her voice sharp, cutting through the air like glass.
Her hands curl into fists in my grip, and I feel the pressure, the desperation in her movements, but I don't let go.
"Because you-you piss me off." She pauses, her chest heaving. "You are the most frustrating, insufferable, rude, and arrogant person I have ever met. You get under my skin. You make me insane."
Her words cut deep, harder than they should. I should be angry, should feel something other than the way her voice twists inside me like a knife, making every breath feel heavier.
She exhales sharply, and the words that follow are quieter, almost like she regrets them, like they're a secret she didn't want to let slip.
"And still," she says, her voice unsteady, "for some fucked-up reason, I don't even understand-I like you."
The confession hangs in the air, heavy, thick with something dangerous.
It fucks me up in the most dangerous way.
"I like you," she repeats, her voice wavering like she's trying to convince herself more than me. "But if we kiss, we're crossing a line. And I won't let you kiss me if I don't know where you stand. If I don't know how serious you are."
The words hit me like a fucking wrecking ball. The room shrinks. The air grows thick, suffocating. My chest tightens, my mind whirling in a thousand directions.
And me?
I'm unraveling.
What do I want?
Fuck, what don't I want?
I want her.
I want her with a desperation that claws at my ribs and turns my thoughts into something unhinged, something primal. The weight of it is too much, too real. I want to feel her body pressed against mine, to kiss her until there's nothing left but the taste of her on my lips.
I want to feel her breath on my skin, the way she shivers under my touch.
I want to be inside her world, take over her thoughts, make her mine in every way that matters. I want to possess her, own her in ways that make me burn from the inside out.
But I also want to run.
Because I can't. I'm not the man she deserves. I'm a fucking mess. I can't offer her the safety she wants, the stability she deserves.
I need to let go.
But I can't.
I stare down at her, her eyes wide and full of emotion, full of confusion. She's waiting. Waiting for me to answer.
But how the hell do I answer when I'm this far gone?
I open my mouth, but the words die before they leave me.
"I-"
Nope.
I can't fucking finish it.
I can't tell her the truth. I can't lay it all bare because if I do, she'll never look at me the same. She'll see me for the monster I am.
Instead, I drop her wrists like they're burning me, my whole body going cold with the shock of what just happened. My heart is racing, my mind a storm of confusion and raw, aching need.
"I'm sorry," I mutter, my voice rough, cracked. "I-I just need-"
I don't finish the sentence. I don't even try. I turn away, stumbling over my feet, panic surging through me like a tidal wave.
"I'm sorry," I repeat, louder this time, desperate. "I-I just need-"
I can't fucking breathe. I'm suffocating, drowning in my own thoughts.
I turn toward the door, not even realizing I've backed away until my hand touches the handle. The sound of the door creaking open is too much, too real. I'm about to lose it. I need to get the hell out of here.
"I'm sorry," I say again, voice breaking. And then, I'm gone.
. . .
The air outside is sharp. Cold. It cuts through my jacket and sinks into my skin, but it doesn't do a damn thing to calm the storm inside me.
I drag a cigarette from the pack, fumbling with the lighter, hands shaking. The smoke hits my lungs like a temporary fix, but it doesn't stop the chaos inside me.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
She said she liked me. Me. The words echo in my head, over and over, a mantra I can't shake.
Would she still say that if she knew?
If she knew the things I've done? The shit I've buried deep down, so far I can't remember the last time I saw the light?
I'm not the kind of guy she thinks I am.
I'm not the guy she deserves.
I pace, dragging in deep breaths of smoke like it'll clear my head. But it doesn't. Nothing does. I'm spiraling, unraveling, and there's no way out.
I light another cigarette. Drag. Burn. Repeat.
And then-
The door creaks open again.
My cigarette freezes halfway to my lips as I turn.
Footsteps.
Heels.
Her perfume hits me before I even see her.
Warm, expensive. Vanilla and something darker. Something intoxicating. I inhale, greedily, my lungs aching for her scent like it's the only thing keeping me from losing my shit.
And then she steps into view.
She's wearing a red dress. Short. Tight. Like it was made to tease, to seduce. Stiletto heels click against the pavement, the sound sharp, almost mocking.
Her hair is pinned up, but a few strands fall loose, messy in a way that's deliberate. Her lips are red, glossy, full. And God, she looks like every goddamn fantasy I've ever had, all rolled into one beautiful, impossible package.
She looks like a dream.
A nightmare.
She walks right past me, and for a second, I think I'm imagining it. I think my mind is playing tricks on me because this-this isn't real. We were just there, in that moment. She just said she liked me. She wants me. And now she's walking past me like it's nothing.
Like I don't matter.
I blink.
She doesn't even hesitate. Just slides into a sleek, black car.
The door slams shut.
And then they drive away.
What the fuck?
I stand there, frozen. My heart is pounding in my chest, my lungs burning. Where the hell is she going? Why the hell is she dressed like that?
And why the hell does it make me want to lose my fucking mind?
I take a step forward, like that's going to answer anything.
She said she liked me. She said it like it cost her something. And now she's gone. Gone with some rich bastard in his car, looking like a fucking seductress, looking like every man's wet dream.
She's gone. And I'm the one left standing here, cigarette burning down between my fingers, heart sinking into my stomach.
I'm so fucked.