Confused
1024 Words
Elena got to the club unsure of how she made it there, the rain had followed her or maybe it stopped, she could not tell, all she wanted was to forget everything.
As the events of the day played in her heart, she didn't remember what song was playing, or how long she'd been staring into nothing,
but her red lips were smeared, and her mascara had long since been soured.
She took a seat at the bar like it owed her something, slamming her purse down and pulling off her wet coat. The bartender gave her a
once over, sympathy in his eyes, but said nothing. She liked that. No questions. No pity.
“Double scotch,” she said, voice raw.
“Rough night?” he asked.
Elena didn’t look at him. “Just pour”
The glass hit the counter with a satisfying clink, and
she downed the first one like it was oxygen. It burned, but not as much as the ache in her chest.
She wasn’t here for company. She wasn’t here to forget.
She was here because if she didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t scream inside the noise, she was going to fall apart. Again.
She was on her third drink when the first hand touched
her waist.
She flinched, turning to see a man with slicked-back hair, reeking of alcohol and cheap cologne. His grin was too confident, his
eyes too entitled.
“Elena De Luca, huh?” he whispered beside her "Didn't think a princess like you knew where the dirtier clubs were.”
She didn’t look at him. Just sipped.
The man sat down beside her anyway, sliding far too
close. He smelled like stale cigarettes and his annoying entitlement. His voice dropped. “Word is, your boyfriend’s screwing half the city now. Guess you're on
the market again.” He laughed annoyingly
“I could use some silence,” she replied flatly.
He chuckled, like she’d just flirted. “Feisty. I like that."
“Walk away,” she said, her hand tightening around her
glass.
“Or what?” he leaned in, breath reeking of booze. “You'll cry on me?”
Before she could answer, or swing, his hand gripped her
wrist.
“I said, let go!” she snapped, voice breaking. A few heads turned, but most ignored it. Just another drama at a club.
“I’m trying to help you forget whoever hurt you. You
should be thanking me” He said satisfactorily
Her hand tightened on the glass.
He leaned in. “Come on, baby. Bet you could use someone to make you forget…….”
Crash.
Then he was gone.
Elena blinked.
The man was no longer standing, he was flying.
Slamming into a nearby table with the sound of shattering glass and breaking ego.
Someone had grabbed him by the collar and flung him like
He weighed nothing.
She turned.
Everything paused. Gasps rippled. Music dulled.
“Back the f**k off,” a cold, razor-edged voice snapped.
Elena blinked, her vision blurry, she was tipsy, her heart beating fast as her eyes locked onto the man who had stepped between her
and the sleaze in a commanding manner.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Steel cut jaw. Hair tousled like it fought him in the mirror and lost.
He looked like he dropped out of an action movie scene.
But it was his eyes that made time stop for her, they
were grey, furious, and yet, oddly…calm when they landed on her.
“You alright?” he asked, his voice low and husky.
The drunk man scrambled to his feet, holding his ribs. “You crazy bastard!”
One step forward from her savior, and the guy backed off,
cursing under his breath as he staggered toward the door.
The stranger turned to her again. “Are you sure he didn't hurt you?”
“No. He just bruised what little faith I had left in
men,” she muttered bitterly.
Something flickered in his expression, was it amusement? Empathy?
“I’ve seen that look before,” he said.
“What look?”
“The one people wear when they’ve been torn apart but
still showed up to fight.”
Her throat tightened. Her lip trembled before she could stop it. “He cheated on me… with my best friend. I walked in on them. Tonight.”
Silence stretched.
“I left everything for him,” she added, the tears threatening again. “My family, my name, my soul.”
“Then he’s a f*****g i***t,” he said simply.
She let out a bitter laugh, wiping her face. “You don’t
even know me.”
“I don’t have to.”
His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite mockery either. “Yeah. It looked like you were doing great.”
She opened her mouth to snap back, but then her fingers
brushed his as he handed her fallen purse from the floor. “What’s your name?” she asked, voice softer.
“Dominic,” he said. “And you?”
“Elena.”
“Elena,” he repeated, like tasting it. “Let’s get you out of here.”
“I’m fine,” she said, even though her knees were still
weak and her stomach twisted. “I’m not that fragile.”
“I didn’t say you were,” Dominic replied, offering his hand. “But sometimes even warriors need help.”
Her pride battled with her pain, but in the end, she
reached for him. And the moment their skin touched, everything stopped.
The music, the murmurs, the ache.
Dominic looked down at their joined hands, almost confused.
His brows furrowed, but he didn’t let go.
“You felt that too?” she asked.
He nodded once. “I don’t usually… react to people.”
“Well,” she smirked sadly, stepping closer, “I don’t
usually throw myself at strangers either.”
But then, something broke loose inside her, grief, fury, loneliness. She looked at his face searching, grabbed his collar, and kissed him hard.
It wasn’t soft.
It was desperate. Pain meeting pain. Fire crashing into ice.
- Writer
