Chocolate Cosmos

Chapter Three

I wake up in darkness. The kind of darkness that presses down on you, suffocating, thick, like it’s alive. My chest tightens as I look around, but there’s nothing. No walls, no furniture, no ceiling—just endless black.

“Hello?” My voice echoes, too loud in the emptiness. I swallow hard, my throat dry, the sound bouncing back at me.

Then I hear it. A faint whisper. It’s distant, like it’s coming from far away, but it grows louder, closer, each word unintelligible but filled with malice.

I turn in circles, searching for the source, but the void is disorienting. My feet don’t feel like they’re touching solid ground, yet I can’t move properly. It’s as if I’m wading through thick water.

A shadow shifts in the distance. My heart leaps into my throat. It’s not just a shadow. It’s a figure—tall, distorted, its limbs too long, its movements jerky and unnatural.

“Who’s there?” My voice cracks, barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

The figure doesn’t respond. It moves closer, its grotesque form flickering like static on a broken TV.

I try to run, but my legs are heavy, sluggish. The figure gets closer, and with each step, I feel it pulling the air from my lungs, leaving me gasping.

Then the whispers become screams—horrific, blood-curdling screams that seem to come from every direction. My hands fly to my ears, but it doesn’t help. The sound burrows into my skull, relentless, inescapable.

“Stop!” I shout, my voice drowned out by the chaos.

The figure is in front of me now. Its face—or what should be its face—is nothing but a void. No eyes, no mouth, just an endless, swirling blackness. And then it leans forward, its cold, invisible breath brushing against my skin.

“You don’t belong here,” it whispers, the voice a mix of multiple tones—male, female, childlike, and ancient all at once.

I can’t breathe. My chest is tight, my lungs screaming for air. My knees buckle, and I fall into nothingness, the screams still ringing in my ears.

And then I wake up.

I sit bolt upright on the bed, drenched in sweat, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The room is dark, but the familiar scent of pine grounds me. For a moment, I just sit there, trembling, trying to convince myself it was only a dream.

But I can still feel it—the cold, the pressure, the whispers.

I need to get out of this room. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and tiptoe to the door, careful not to make a sound. My heart is still racing as I step into the hallway, the soft carpet muffling my footsteps.

The living room is dimly lit by the glow of the city lights filtering through the balcony windows. I head for the kitchen, my bare feet cold against the tiles. Maybe a drink will help calm me down.

I open the fridge, squinting against the harsh light as I grab a bottle of water. I close the door, only to freeze when I see a silhouette standing just a few feet away.

“Jesus Christ!” I jump back, almost dropping the bottle.

Adrian catches my arm before I can stumble. His grip is firm but not painful, steadying me as I try to catch my breath. “Relax,” he says, his voice low, a hint of amusement in it. “It’s just me.”

I glare at him, my pulse still racing. “What the hell, Adrian? Were you trying to give me a heart attack?”

He chuckles, letting go of my arm. “Didn’t think you’d scare so easily.”

“I don’t scare easily,” I snap, though the tremor in my voice betrays me. “You just—God, you can’t sneak up on people like that.”

Adrian crosses his arms, leaning casually against the counter. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, his hair slightly mussed. “You’re the one sneaking around in the middle of the night. What’s got you so jumpy?”

I hesitate, debating whether to tell him. “Just... couldn’t sleep.”

His sharp eyes narrow slightly, studying me. “Nightmare?”

I exhale shakily, nodding. “Yeah.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then he opens a cupboard, pulls out two glasses, and grabs a bottle of whiskey from the counter. “Come on,” he says, pouring a generous amount into each glass. “You look like you need something stronger than water.”

I hesitate but take the glass he offers. The amber liquid burns as I take a sip, but it’s oddly soothing. Adrian watches me, his gaze unreadable.

“So,” he says, breaking the silence, “what was it about?”

I shake my head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Try me.”

I glance at him, his expression calm but curious. Against my better judgment, I tell him—about the darkness, the whispers, the figure with no face.

When I’m done, he takes a sip of his drink, his gaze thoughtful. “Sounds like your subconscious is working overtime.”

“Thanks for the psychoanalysis, Dr. Adrian,” I say dryly, taking another sip of whiskey.

He smirks, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I’m just saying, it’s interesting.”

“Interesting isn’t the word I’d use,” I mutter, staring into my glass.

Adrian leans forward slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing tone. “You know, if you get scared again, you can always come running to me. I’ll protect you.”

I snort, rolling my eyes. “From my own mind? Good luck with that.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Hey, I’m good at keeping people distracted.”

I meet his gaze,a small smirk teasing my lips "Alright,show me how good you are at keeping me distracted."

Adrian’s gaze locks onto mine, and the air shifts, thick with tension that’s impossible to ignore. He takes a slow step closer, his eyes glinting with something I can’t quite place. Something dangerous, something thrilling.

“Your eyes,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like gravel smoothed by velvet.

I blink, caught off guard. “What about them?”

“They’re trouble,” he says, his lips curling into a faint, maddening smirk. “The kind of trouble that sneaks up on you and keeps you awake at night.”

A nervous laugh bubbles up, but it dies in my throat as his hand brushes against my cheek. His touch is featherlight, a tease more than anything, and it leaves a trail of warmth in its wake.

“You talk a lot of nonsense,” I manage to say, though my voice wavers.

“Do I?” he counters, tilting his head. “Because I think you know exactly what I mean.”

I want to scoff, to roll my eyes, to say something sharp that will wipe that smug look off his face, but I can’t. My body betrays me, leaning into his touch, my pulse hammering in my ears.

“You’re beautiful, Leah,” he says, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone. “You don’t see it, but it’s there—in every glance, every breath, every word.”

My chest tightens, and I try to ignore the way his words make me feel—seen, wanted, completely exposed. “You’re impossible,” I whisper, but even to my own ears, it sounds weak.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his body just inches from mine. His scent surrounds me—cedarwood, whiskey, and something dark and intoxicating. “But so are you. And I like impossible things.”

Before I can form a response, his hand moves to cup my face, and his lips crash into mine.

The kiss is nothing like I expected. It’s wild, consuming, and utterly Adrian. He doesn’t ask for permission—he takes, commanding every part of me with an intensity that leaves me breathless.

I gasp against his mouth, my fingers clutching at his shirt, desperate to anchor myself as his tongue brushes against mine. He groans softly, the sound sending a shiver down my spine, and any lingering hesitation dissolves in the heat of him.

What am I doing? The thought flickers briefly in the back of my mind, but it’s drowned out by the way his hands grip my waist, pulling me closer as if the space between us is unbearable.

When he finally pulls back, his lips hovering just inches from mine, I’m gasping for air, my chest heaving.

“You taste like sin,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, his eyes locked on mine.

I’m too breathless to respond, but he doesn’t wait for me to. His mouth finds my neck, his lips trailing fire along my skin as I tilt my head, giving him more access.

This is madness. My rational side tries to fight through the haze, but it’s no use. Every nerve in my body is alive, tuned to the way his hands grip my hips, the way his teeth graze the curve of my neck.

“You're breathless already ,” he says against my skin, his voice dripping with amusement. “And I haven’t even started.”

I manage to find my voice, though it’s shaky. “You’re awfully confident, aren’t you?”

He chuckles, a deep, rich sound that vibrates through me. “I have a reason to be.”

And then he lifts me. Effortlessly, as if I weigh nothing, his arms strong and steady as they wrap around me. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and I can feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of my pajamas.

He carries me toward the bedroom, his lips never leaving mine, and I cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

When he lays me down on the bed, his body pressing into mine, his weight a delicious reminder of how real this moment is, I should be nervous. I should be thinking about all the reasons this is a bad idea.

But all I can think about is him—his lips, his hands, the way he looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes dark and intense. “Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice low and strained, his hand brushing against my cheek. “If this isn’t what you want, Leah, tell me now.”

My heart pounds, the intensity of his stare stealing the air from my lungs. But I don’t look away. I don’t hesitate.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

His control snaps. He kisses me again, harder this time, and I lose myself completely in him. His touch is everywhere—demanding, relentless, and I meet him with a fire of my own.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I let go. I let myself feel everything—the passion, the wildness, the way he makes me come alive. And as the night unfolds, I realize I don’t want it to end.