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- Unknown
Twenty-One
The yellow lineson the road undulate and blur together as they flicker past us. The trees merge into an abstract painting, smearing into one another and only existing in bits and pieces, blending with the night sky and storm clouds. Raindrops beat against my window, obscuring my view. Shapes are bent and distorted by the water running down the glass, seeming to take on a life of their own.
Desmond sits in the driver’s seat, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. His hands are relaxed on the wheel, his thumbs tapping it ever so slightly. He seems to be riding a high from the events in his… What? Kill room? Spectator box? I don’t even know how to define it.
I don’t know what to say or do as my personal morals blur the line between good and evil. All I know is that right now, a part of me wants to go home and crawl into bed with Milo, hold him close, and reassure myself that he’s okay.
You can never go back.
At first, I barely hear the words, but then, they slowly slither into my thoughts and weave through them like a serpent, repeating themselves with each turn of my mind. If I thought for one minute that I could return to who I was before now, I would march as fast as my legs could carry me in the other direction. Only an invisible god can wash away the tainted darkness on my soul after I ask for absolution.
“Charlotte,” Desmond says, his voice cutting through the shock building inside me. I slowly roll my head against the headrest to look at him. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I confess, my voice trembling as the rain outside intensifies, a symphony of doubt and turmoil echoing in every drop. A low, ominous rumble courses through the vehicle, its resonance palpable in the steering wheel and my bones. It’s as if the car itself is a mirror to my inner chaos, trembling under the weight of my unspoken fears.
I search for answers on the rain streaked windshield, but it offers no clarity, only distorted glimpses of the world outside. The sound of silence is deafening, wrapping around my thoughts like a vise. Is this what silence sounds like when it’s pregnant with secrets and questions that claw at the recesses of your mind?
Or is it the relentless and merciless panic that churns within me like a turbulent sea, threatening to consume every rational thought? Each heartbeat thunders in my chest like a metronome marking the relentless passage of time, each tick pulling me further into a maelstrom of uncertainty.
The car swerves abruptly, the tires hissing on wet pavement, and Desmond deftly guides it onto the shoulder of the road. He throws the car into park, and as he turns toward me, I can feel the weight of his unspoken questions bearing down on me. His intentions are clear in the intensity of his gaze, and I’m acutely aware that he’s about to unravel the threads of my inner turmoil, but I can’t bear to expose the raw vulnerability pulsing beneath my skin.
I don’t want to hear Desmond’s probing inquiries or endure his potential condemnation. The idea of uttering the truth terrifies me, for it might solidify the unsettling reality of my choices.
Instead of baring my soul and allowing the words to pour out like a torrential confession, I decide to act impulsively. My lips meet his in a fierce, almost desperate kiss. It’s a daring, unspoken plea, an attempt to drown my doubts and fears in the intoxicating embrace of our mouths.
In this kiss, I seek refuge from the storm brewing both within and outside the car, a temporary escape from the tempestuous whirlwind of emotions that threatens to engulf us both. The rain pelts the window like a percussionist heralding a tumultuous symphony, but in this stolen moment, it’s just us, locked in a battle between desire and doubt, seeking solace in each other’s embrace.
My heart races and my breath hitches as the nightmare clings to me like a suffocating fog. I struggle relentlessly to ward it off, but its malevolent presence draws closer, inch by terrifying inch, threatening to pull me into the depths of madness. A primal cry of terror attempts to claw its way up my throat, desperate for release, but no sound escapes as I grapple with thoughts too unbearable to contemplate.
“Chase the pain away,” I whisper, my voice trembling against his lips, inhaling the lingering scent of whiskey from his earlier cocktail. My tongue traces a path across the crease of his lips as I commit their shape to memory, a desperate attempt to drown my sorrows in the intoxicating taste of desire.
“Charlotte.” Desmond moans my name, and a surge of electricity courses through me. “Are you sure?”
“That’s the first question you’ve ever asked me,” I murmur, a teasing smirk dancing on my lips, despite the turmoil that threatens to consume me. His gaze burns into me, a fiery connection, as he briefly glances at my mouth before returning to my eyes.
“I would never steal your consent,” he murmurs in a voice heavy with desire, the promise of shared passion lacing his words, “but if you give it to me right now, I’ll chase away your pain.”
“I don’t want to think about what could have happened,” I confess, my throat tightening with emotion as the words tumble out. It’s all-consuming, this relentless fear that claws at my soul. “Milo is all I have. He’s everything good and pure in this world, and he’s going to grow up and make it a better place.”
“Shh,” he soothes, his lips brushing gently against mine, each kiss erasing a shard of my anguish and pain. “Kitten, you have me.” Another gentle kiss follows. “And you have Lyric.”
Matty.
I bite my lower lip, savoring the secret name that rolls around in my mind like a treasured marble. It’s a secret I’m determined to keep, something special that belongs solely to me, at least for now. The mere sound of it plays like a seductive melody in my head, a reminder that I’m alive, but deep down, I’m aware that eventually, it will escape, flowing from my lips like a dam breaking open, forcing me to confront Lyric about his brother. The thought sends shivers down my spine because I understand it will irrevocably alter everything, but for now, I relish this sweet secret like a ripe fruit, savoring its tangy sweetness before it inevitably drops from the branch.
Right now, I need Desmond in a way I’ve never needed another person in my life, and that realization terrifies me, so I do something uncharacteristic of myself. I embrace the madness and press my lips against his again and again. The taste of whiskey on his tongue becomes my lifeline, and I drink it down as if my existence depends on it.
I press my lips to his, the roughness of his stubble scraping deliciously across my skin. His hands cradle my face with a strength and heat that sends waves of pleasure coursing through me so intensely, I’m almost lost in it.
One of his hands glides down my neck, traces the curve of my breast, and briefly rests against my waist before inching higher. In this moment, I give him permission, silently begging for a distraction from the crushing weight of fear and worry. I need to forget, if only for a little while.
Desmond’s fingers slip beneath the hem of my sweater, his thumb stroking a sliver of bare flesh. I gasp, my body instinctively arching toward him in an invitation he eagerly accepts. Pressing his forehead to mine, he traces little circles against my skin.
Each brush and stroke of his fingers elicits a soft gasp from my lips, and I surrender to the sensations coursing through me. I press my lips against his. They are soft and pliant, and he kisses me unhurriedly, as if we’re not sitting on the side of the road but rather nestled in a luxurious bed under silk sheets, our limbs tangled together.
My breath hitches as his hand travels higher and higher, only to settle on my waist after running his hands up and down. He’s deliberate and slow, etching this moment into my memory to savor later, when I need to recall every touch and kiss.
