Just sincerity. And guilt. And something that looks like triumph hidden beneath shame.
I don’t know if he was lying then or if he’s lying now. All I feel is hopelessness. Inability to gauge anyone’s motives. I don’t feel the confidence of knowing black from white—lies from truth.
And I fall.
Not for him. Not for the past. But into something much darker. A hollow pit that eats away at the part of me I’d only just started to rebuild.
With her.Fuck.
The next thing I know, I’m at some seedy bar—alone, drunk out of my fucking mind. Saturday rush is stifling me.
A hand trails up and down my forearm. I shift slightly and come face to face with a woman. Full lips, bedroom eyes, that practiced sultry smile that says she knows exactly what she’s doing.
I don’t think. I don’t feel. I just let it happen.
I throw a few flirtatious lines. Some slurred charm. I barely remember her name—Chrissy? Christina?
I take her home anyway.
Somewhere between the streetlamp outside and my apartment door, a part of me remembers the text.
Aarohi.
She sent it after she finished her shift. Said she will swing by after completing her assignment. Might already be there.
But I don’t stop.
I can’t stop.
I’m not even sure I want to anymore.
My body moves on autopilot, my mind cracked open and spilling. I let the self-destruction bleed through every action, every decision.
We stumble into the apartment. It’s quiet. Empty.
She’s not here... yet.
The woman presses against me, fingers curling into my shirt, mumbling something into my neck before her lips find mine. Wet. Eager. Off.
Everythingabout this feels off.
Kissing her feels like dragging my face through shattered glass. Like someone took a blowtorch to my insides and left me to blister.
But I let it happen anyway.
We’re in my bedroom. Clothes hit the floor in quick succession. Hers, mostly. I can’t even be bothered.
She drops to her knees in front of me, trying—desperately—to stir my limp cock to life. But I’m not there. I’m not with her.
I’m inhercafé.
I’m watching the way Rohi’s smile curls just before she greets a customer. I’m remembering the way she tucks her chin when she is nervous. The way she trembled when she told me the truth—maybe lies.
I don’t feel desire. I feel dread.
My ears are glued to the front door.
And then—I hear it.
