Nobody Knows

Chapter 12: One More Night

The house felt smaller that night.

Not physically.

But in the way the walls seemed closer. The way the air felt thick in my lungs.

Downstairs, the television murmured softly. My father cleared his throat every few minutes. My mother laughed at something gentle and harmless. Plates clinked. Water ran in the sink.

Normal sounds.

Safe sounds.

They pressed against my ears like accusation.

I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, feeling that familiar tightness building in my chest. Not panic. Not fear.

Restlessness.

I turned onto my side. Then onto my back. Then onto my side again.

The fan hummed overhead. The air felt too warm.

My phone lay beside me.

No notifications.

No messages.

No distractions.

Silence stretched too long.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed before I could think about it.

No internal debate.

No whisper telling me not to.

I stood and walked to my closet.

The red dress was there.

Waiting.

I didn’t hesitate.

I pulled it off the hanger in one smooth motion and stepped out of my pajamas. The fabric slid over my skin like memory. Familiar. Dangerous. Comforting.

I didn’t overthink the neckline.

Didn’t adjust the straps.

Didn’t stare at myself long enough to feel guilt.

I let my hair fall loose.

Glossed my lips.

Left my glasses on the desk.

Brooke did not need them.

I grabbed my small bag and moved toward the window with practiced ease.

The night air hit my skin the moment I slipped outside.

Cool.

Sharp.

Free.

The tightness in my chest loosened instantly.

Not because I was happy.

Because I could breathe.

The streetlights flickered softly as I walked. Every step away from the house felt lighter. Every step toward the noise felt inevitable.

One more night.

That was all.

Just one more night of music loud enough to drown everything.

One more night of being someone who did not think too much.

One more night of not feeling like I was suffocating in my own skin.

The club was louder than the others I used to go to.

Not just music loud.

Bodies pressed too close. Heat sticking to skin. Lights flashing too fast to think.

Perfect.

No space for thoughts.

I walked straight to the bar and ordered something strong without asking what it was. I didn’t care. I didn’t need to care.

I wasn’t here to feel.

I was here to prove I still didn’t.

A guy slid into the empty space beside me after my second drink.

Not too close. Not desperate.

Confident.

“You look like you’re trying to intimidate the room,” he said casually.

I didn’t look at him. “Maybe the room deserves it.”

He chuckled softly. “Or maybe you’re overcompensating.”

That made me turn.

He was attractive in a way that didn’t scream for attention. Clean shirt. Sleeves rolled. Eyes too sharp for someone in a place like this.

“Overcompensating for what?” I asked flatly.

“For something you’re pretending doesn’t bother you.”

I held his gaze.

“You don’t know me.”

“No,” he agreed calmly. “But I know that look.”

“What look?”

“The one where someone is trying very hard not to care.”

I smiled slowly.

Dangerously.

“You think you’re smart.”

“I know I’m observant.”

I took a step closer, invading his space instead of letting him invade mine.

“And what exactly do you think I’m pretending not to care about?”

He studied me for half a second too long.

Then he said it.

“You look like someone who just lost control of something.”

The music kept pounding.

But for a moment, it felt distant.

My smile didn’t drop.

But something inside me did.

“I don’t lose control,” I said evenly.

His eyes didn’t move away from mine.

“Everyone does,” he repeated quietly.

I didn’t think.

I didn’t argue.

I stepped forward and kissed him.

Hard.

Not slow.

Not teasing.

A statement.

His body stiffened for half a second in surprise.

Then he kissed back.

But not the way other guys did.

Not greedy.

Not desperate.

Measured.

His hand came up to my waist, firm but not claiming. Like he was testing me instead of consuming me.

The music pounded against my ribs.

This is nothing.

I feel nothing.

I tilted my head, deepening the kiss just to prove it. My fingers curled into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, daring him to lose composure first.

He didn’t.

He pulled back slightly instead, just enough for his lips to hover near mine.

“That’s not proof,” he murmured.

I frowned. “Of what?”

“That you don’t care.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

I forced a smirk. “You talk too much.”

“And you kiss like you’re trying to win something.”

My chest tightened.

“I already won.”

He looked at me steadily.

“No,” he said calmly. “You’re trying not to lose.”

For a split second, I felt exposed.

Too exposed.

I stepped back.

“Don’t psychoanalyze me,” I said.

He shrugged lightly. “Then stop acting like a case study.”

The music surged again.

Someone bumped into me from behind and I lost my balance for half a breath.

His hand steadied my waist instantly.

Warm.

Solid.

And suddenly—

The room tilted.

Just slightly.

Not dramatic.

Just enough to make my vision blur at the edges.

“Don’t,” I said sharply.

He blinked. “Don’t what?”

“Act like you know me.”

The words came out colder than I expected.

His expression didn’t change much, but something in his eyes shifted. Not hurt. Not angry.

Just… observant.

“I don’t,” he said calmly. “You’re the one who keeps trying to prove something.”

“I’m not proving anything.”

“You are.”

I stepped back.

“You don’t get to stand here and pretend you understand me because we kissed.”

He raised a brow. “You kissed me.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

The music suddenly felt too loud. The air too thick.

I hated this.

I hated that he wasn’t flustered.

I hated that he wasn’t chasing.

I hated that he wasn’t reacting the way other guys did.

“You’re overthinking,” I muttered.

“No,” he said evenly. “You are.”

That did it.

I scoffed, grabbing my bag from the counter.

“Congratulations,” I said. “You win whatever game you think we’re playing.”

He didn’t reach for me.

Didn’t stop me.

“Sam.”

My name.

Not Brooke.

Sam.

It froze me for half a second.

I didn’t turn around.

“How do you—”

“I listen,” he said quietly.

My chest tightened.

“I don’t need you to.”

Silence.

Then, softer—

“Yeah,” he replied. “I figured.”

I walked away before he could say anything else.

Fast.

Too fast.

The hallway lights felt brighter this time. The music behind me duller. My heartbeat louder.

Why does it feel worse when someone doesn’t chase you?

I pushed through the exit doors and stepped into the night air.

Cool.

Sharp.

Real.

My breathing felt uneven.

I didn’t like that he said my name like that.

I didn’t like that he wasn’t impressed.

I didn’t like that he saw through me.

I leaned against the wall outside the bar.

And for the first time in a long time…

I didn’t feel powerful.

I felt exposed.

I pushed off the wall.

The world tilted.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

The streetlight above me blurred at the edges. The sound of traffic stretched strangely, like it was underwater. My stomach dropped in a way that had nothing to do with nerves this time.

I grabbed the edge of the building.

Okay.

Breathe.

It’s just the alcohol.

Except I hadn’t had much.

My pulse thudded in my ears. Too loud. Too heavy. My fingers felt cold.

Not again.

The heaviness from this morning.

The classroom.

The hallway.

The park.

It wasn’t just tiredness.

The ground shifted slightly beneath me and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Focus.

Inhale.

Exhale.

A laugh spilled out of the bar doors behind me and the sudden noise made everything worse. My vision flickered.

For a second—just one second—I thought I might actually fall.

Strong hands caught my shoulders.

“Hey.”

That voice again.

Steady. Close.

“Sit down.”

“I’m fine,” I whispered automatically.

“You’re not.”

He guided me toward the low concrete ledge near the entrance. I didn’t fight him this time.

I couldn’t.

My breathing felt shallow.

The night air that usually made me feel alive now felt too thin.

“You’re pale,” he said quietly.

“Stop saying that.”

His hand hovered near my back again.

Not touching.

Just there.

“Did you eat today?”

“Yes.”

“Properly?”

I didn’t answer.

He exhaled slowly. “Okay. We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Pretending this is nothing.”

The dizziness spiked again, sharper this time. A wave of nausea twisted through me.

I bent forward slightly, gripping the edge of the ledge.

“Sam.”

There it was again.

Not Brooke.

Not playful.

Not teasing.

Serious.

The world steadied slowly, painfully.

But something inside me didn’t.

This wasn’t just nerves.

And for the first time…

That scared me more than getting caught ever did.

The world tilted again.

Not dramatic.

Not cinematic.

Just enough.

The streetlight above me fractured into halos. The music from inside the club stretched thin, like it was underwater. My stomach twisted sharply, and this time it wasn’t from nerves.

I gripped the edge of the wall.

Breathe.

It’s just the alcohol.

Except it wasn’t.

My fingers felt cold.

My heartbeat felt wrong. Too heavy. Too slow. Too loud in my ears.

The ground shifted.

And then—

Nothing.

---

Sound came back first.

Muffled voices.

A door opening.

Footsteps too close.

“Sam.”

That voice again.

Steady.

Controlled.

Not panicked.

“Hey. Stay with me.”

Something cool touched my cheek. My vision flickered but refused to focus. The world was still tilted, like I was waking up in the wrong body.

I tried to move.

My limbs felt heavy.

“Easy,” he said quietly. “Don’t try to stand yet.”

I blinked slowly.

The ceiling above me wasn’t a ceiling.

It was the night sky.

Blurred.

I was sitting.

No — half sitting.

Supported.

His arm was behind my back, keeping me upright against the wall.

My head throbbed.

“What…” My voice came out weak. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

I frowned slightly. “No, I didn’t.”

He gave a short breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “You did.”

“I don’t faint.”

“Apparently, you do.”

I swallowed. My mouth felt dry. My skin felt strange. Too warm and too cold at the same time.

People passed us near the entrance, but no one stopped. Just another girl who had too much to drink. Nothing unusual.

Except I hadn’t.

I turned my head slightly.

His face came into focus this time.

Calm eyes. Sharp jaw. No smirk now.

Just observation.

“You’re Santos,” I murmured.

His brow lifted slightly. “Good. You’re conscious.”

“Don’t act like I almost died.”

“You didn’t,” he said evenly. “But you definitely lost your balance.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted automatically.

“You weren’t.”

My pride flared weakly. “I don’t need help.”

“And yet,” he said quietly, adjusting his grip just enough to keep me steady, “you needed someone to catch you.”

That shut me up.

My breathing slowly evened out, but the heaviness in my chest didn’t.

This wasn’t normal.

This wasn’t just alcohol.

Santos studied my face carefully.

“When’s the last time you slept properly?” he asked.

“I sleep.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

I didn’t answer.

His gaze didn’t move.

“You didn’t eat enough either,” he added calmly. “And whatever you’re trying to outrun tonight? It’s catching up.”

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Talking like you know me.”

He held my eyes.

“I don’t know you,” he said. “But I know when someone’s about to hit the ground.”

Silence settled between us.

The music behind the doors felt distant now.

I tried to sit up straighter.

The dizziness didn’t spike this time.

Just lingered.

Annoying.

Unsettling.

Santos slowly removed his arm from behind me once he was sure I could hold myself upright.

“You’re not walking home alone like this,” he said.

“I can.”

“You can’t.”

I shot him a glare that would have worked on anyone else.

It didn’t work on him.

“You don’t get to decide things for me,” I said.

“I didn’t decide,” he replied calmly. “Your body did.”

I hated that.

I hated that he was right.

I pushed myself to my feet carefully.

The ground stayed still.

Good.

“I’m leaving,” I said.

“I figured.”

He didn’t try to stop me.

Didn’t grab my wrist.

Didn’t chase.

He just watched.

But before I could take a full step away, he spoke again.

“Sam.”

I paused.

Not turning.

“You don’t look like someone who’s in control tonight,” he said quietly. “You look like someone who’s exhausted.”

My throat tightened.

“I’m not exhausted.”

“Then why do you look like you’re fighting yourself?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t know how.

Or maybe I did.

And that was worse.

I walked away without looking back.

The night air felt colder now.

And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure if the version of me that left the house tonight was the one who came back.