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Glancing at her window once more, I ponder her activities within. Does she reflect upon me? Does she feel the same magnetic pull that courses through my veins? Or am I destined to become a fleeting memory, an exhilarating night soon forgotten?
Running a hand through my dark locks, reason dictates that I should depart, sever ties with this madness, and never look back. Yet, my body remains rooted in place, ensnared by an invisible force.
Minutes wane, and still, I wait. My gaze remains unyielding, fixated upon her illuminated window, even as the rest of the neighborhood slumbers. In this silence, I imagine the sensation of being with her—holding her close, shielding her from the malevolence of the world.
Thoughts churn in a tumultuous whirlwind of confusion and longing, each surge more potent than the last. I understand the perilous path upon which we tread, our worlds too disparate for any semblance of salvation. Despite the perils, I cannot bring myself to sever this connection.
Abruptly, darkness descends as her light extinguishes, plunging her abode into an abyss. The image of her curled upon her bed, her hair strewn across the pillow, blissfully ignorant of the darkness she briefly embraced, stirs a primal pant amidst the stifling night.
I’m taut as a coiled spring, my muscles primed and ready to unleash. The pulsation of my pulse eclipses the nocturnal symphony enveloping me, my desire intensifying with each fleeting second.
“Fuck,” I mutter, glancing at my watch, cursing the relentless passage of time. I should depart, relinquishing any hope that she might appear on her doorstep, inadvertently inviting me into her sanctuary.
Within this part of the city, lurking gangsters would relish the opportunity to claim her if they but knew. I gamble with her life, remaining steadfast for the girl I should not want, the girl I cannot possess. Yet, against all reason, I stay, knowing that one day, she will be mine.
Son of a bitch.
Leaving remains an impossibility for now. It has been at least twenty minutes since she sought solace within her abode. Yet, each attempt to depart renders me immobile, as if my bones have been replaced with unyielding steel.
Clutching my fists, I wage a war against the yearnings of my body, knowing that I cannot return to her tonight. But gods, how I long to—with every fiber of my being.
Forcing myself to walk away, I struggle with waning self-control, wavering with each step, slipping back into the enshrouding shadows. Regardless of the obstacles, I vow to never relinquish this perilous, forbidden desire. In this moment, I recognize the depth of my yearning—to have her by my side, not as a mere pawn in this lethal game, but as an equal partner who shares my insatiable passion for the darkness that resides within us all.
4
SUMMER
Waking up with a raging thirst, a banging head and stiff legs, I groan against the light pouring into my bedroom through a crack in the curtains.
Celebrating my twenty-fifth birthday yesterday had been a mistake. I should’ve stayed home, knowing I had work today.
Sitting up, clutching my head and grappling with the bottle of water to remove the cap and chug down the entire contents without taking a breath, I gingerly place it back on the nightstand and attempt to rise. My job as a retail assistant working at a big department store in downtown Manchester is calling me.
Taking an unsteady step toward the bathroom, my world comes crashing down around me, and I stop with a grunt.
“Fuck.”
The stranger in the club.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Summer,” I mutter, remembering his cock thrusting into me. Dropping my hungover head into my hands, I shake it. Pregnancy isn’t an issue; I’m on the pill, but fuck. I had unprotected sex with a complete stranger in the middle of a public place. I could’ve been arrested for indecent exposure or taken advantage of by other clubgoers who thought I was an easy lay. Amongst other things.
What was I thinking?
Well, that’s easy.
I wasn’t. It was the wine that followed him when he grabbed my hand and danced with me, slowly gyrating his hips against mine. Muttering words in that hot as fuck accent that will always be my sweet spot.
But I’m not usually so brazen or uninhibited.
My life has always been a mix of quiet introversion and hidden sweetness, shaped by the tragic loss of my parents in a car accident when I was just ten. That’s when my cruel aunt took me in, casting a shadow over my life with her oppressive ways.
She never allowed me to have any fun, to go out with friends or even think about dating anyone. Her words and icy glare were like chains that bound me to a life far from adventure and romance, making me long for something more, which I always found in romance novels.
Until last night.
“Fuck.”
I’m going to have to get tested for god only knows what STI’s now due to my wanton behavior.
