PAST 🥀
1208 Words
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CHAPTER FIVE
Damon couldn’t stop smiling as he drove through the quiet city streets. The soft hum of his engine echoed in the stillness of the night, headlights painting golden lines on the asphalt. His thoughts kept circling back to her. That woman. Ayra. The way she carried herself, the way her voice had sliced through the air like it owned the moment. He chuckled lightly, shaking his head.
“Bossy ass lady…” he muttered under his breath as he pulled into the lounge’s parking lot. He rolled the steering wheel with ease, easing the car into the space like it was second nature—foot on the brake, a quick glance into the rearview mirror, gear in park, engine off.
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THE LOUNGE
Inside, soft jazz played in the background, but nothing could drown out Dorian’s laugh or the flirtatious squeals of the four women lounging around him like ornaments. Two were seated beside him, another perched on the arm of the couch, the last one strutting back with cocktails in hand. It was a typical Dorian scene—he was in his element, all charm and mischief.
Damon walked in, expression blank as ever, but Dorian didn’t miss the faint blush on his friend’s face.
“Ouuu... what’s this?” Dorian grinned, narrowing his eyes as he twirled the curly-haired beauty beside him. “Someone’s been up to no good.”
Damon didn’t say a word. He strolled over, his steps calm, collected. The two exchanged a handshake and a quick shoulder bump before settling in.
“Caught you blushing when you stepped in,” Dorian said, his smirk widening.
“Yeah, I was coming to see my babe,” Damon shot back, mimicking a high-pitched tone and flipping imaginary hair. “And he was looking sooo fine, I just had to blush.”
Dorian burst into laughter. “You suit that voice too well. Honestly, bro, what are you doing as a man? You missed your calling—be a woman and maybe, just maybe, I’ll date you.”
The two cracked up together. For a moment, the world was light and easy.
Once the drinks were set down, Dorian waved the girls off with a subtle nod. “Give us a moment, loves,” he said, and they obeyed with little giggles.
Now alone, Dorian leaned forward and raised a brow. “So... what really kept you so long? You’re never late. Not you.”
Damon looked down at his drink, swirling the liquid like it held all the answers. “I... might’ve met someone.”
“Wait, hold up.” Dorian leaned in closer, his grin returning. “You finally over that girl you stalk on i********:?”
Damon rolled his eyes. “Can you just shut up and listen?”
“Alright, alright. I’m all ears,” Dorian said, settling back.
“I met her. The one you always tease me about... I met Ayra tonight.”
For a beat, silence.
“You met the CEO of Carter Empire?” Dorian nearly spat out his drink. “Damn! She’s real? You’ve finally met your fantasy girl. You should call your grandma—she needs to know her wall’s safe from more Ayra posters.”
Damon sighed, already regretting speaking. “We’re done talking about this.”
But even as he tried to move on, he couldn’t help but smile again.
This was them. Chaotic, loud, loyal. The kind of friendship built on years of surviving the world together.
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MORNING – CARTER MANSION
Sunlight crept into Ayra Carter’s room like a soft intrusion. Her long lashes fluttered, her face serene in sleep. There was something heartbreakingly peaceful about her when she slept—as if in those moments, the world didn’t demand too much of her.
But the peace shattered in an instant.
Her bedroom door flew open with a bang.
Ayra tensed, her brows furrowing. Eyes still closed, she clenched the sheets.
“Who barges into a room like that?” she muttered, rolling over. And then she saw her.
Her mother.
Which only meant one thing—her father was home too.
“What the hell, Mom? Peace ruiner,” she snapped, sitting up.
“Why haven’t you answered my calls? Or my texts? And you don’t greet anymore?” her mother scolded, hands on her hips.
Ayra scoffed. “You call just to hook me up with men I don’t want to meet. What kind of mother does that?”
“You’re getting older, Ayra. You need someone.”
Suddenly, Ayra’s mood shifted. Her shoulders slumped, her voice cracked. “Can’t you see I’m not healing? That every day is a war just to get out of bed? And you want me to go smile with strangers like it’s all okay?” Her voice broke. “I’m tired. Just stop.”
But her mother wasn’t listening. “It’s been over three years. Enough is enough. You’re going on that date—and that’s final.” And with that, she slammed the door on her way out.
Ayra sat in silence, staring at the door. Her breathing trembled. Then, she dragged herself into the bathroom, steam curling around her as she stepped into the warm water.
“You’ll force me to go on a date?” she whispered to herself, a small, bitter smile tugging at her lips. “Alright then.”
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She dressed quickly, her heels clicking against the stairs as she made her escape. She didn’t want to see her father—couldn’t see him.
But his voice stopped her....that voice she hated most in the world...
“Child, come eat with us,” Mr. Carter called from the dining table, his tone calm, unaware of the storm in her chest.
Ayra didn’t even turn. She hissed loudly, stormed out the door, and slammed it shut behind her.
Back inside, Mrs. Carter reached for her husband’s hand. “She’ll come around,” she said gently.
He nodded, but his eyes lingered on the door with a heavy heart.
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FASHION HOME
Ayra arrived at her office, dressed in a sleek black skirt and a white blouse tucked perfectly in place. Her hair was tied up, her face flawless, her aura commanding.
“Good morning, ma’am,” her staff chorused.
She gave a faint nod—but instead of heading to her office, she turned around and left.
The workers exchanged confused glances.
She got into her car, locked the door, and rested her head on the steering wheel. Remember what her father did to her...she couldn't help but cry...
“I’m sorry... Aria, I’m so sorry...” Her voice trembled.
Tears blurred her vision. Her heart ached. Memories clawed at her like demons—blood, sirens, her daughter’s lifeless body.
She didn’t care about direction anymore. She drove.
“Aria... baby...” she sobbed.
Her grip on the wheel loosened. Her mind screamed for peace, but her eyes were wet, her soul broken. She couldn’t focus—everything was a blur.
And then—
A flash of headlights.
A screech.
A crash.
The sound tore through the quiet morning like a scream.
Glass shattered. Metal twisted. Her body slammed forward, and everything turned black.
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- Writer
