18
Ben
Soft, bare skin pressed against mine. The slow, steady rise and fall of her breath.
Lila.
My head is heavy on the pillow, my entire body languid, sated in a way I’ve never felt before. I exhale slowly, eyes still closed, my fingers tracing lazy circles against her back. She shifts, murmuring something incoherent, nuzzling into my chest.
I smirk, cracking an eye open. “Tired, sweetheart?”
She makes a sound that’s half a sigh, half a laugh. “Shut up.”
I chuckle, tightening my arm around her, feeling the weight of her against me. Jesus. This is real.
We did it.
After months of waiting, of holding back, of being careful, tonight, she was mine. And it was everything.
She’s still tucked against me, her fingers idly tracing over my ribs, completely at peace and for the first time, so am I.
Until it happens.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
I jolt upright.
The knocking is loud. Insistent.
My heart slams against my ribs as I glance at the clock, 3:27 a.m.
What the hell?
Lila stirs, eyes fluttering open. “What was that?”
BANG. BANG. BANG.
A voice cuts through the night.
“Ben! Open the damn door!”
I freeze.
No.
Not him. Not now.
My jaw clenches, rage crackling through me like a live wire. Drunk, no doubt. Here to give me shit about Lila. Like he has any right.
I shove out of bed, yanking on my jeans so fast I nearly trip. Lila stirs beside me, already reaching for her robe, her wide eyes flickering with worry.
I catch her wrist before she can move. “Stay here.” My voice is low, firm. “It’s my dad. He’s drunk, and I don’t want you anywhere near this.”
Her brows knit together. “Ben—”
“Please, Lila.” I don’t wait for an argument. I don’t need her seeing him like this, slurring, swaying, reeking of booze and bad decisions. I don’t need her witnessing the man who calls himself my father, especially not in this state.
She hesitates, but I don’t. I let go of her and turn away, storming out of the room, my pulse hammering.
