Chapter 2 Chapter 2
Hannah.
The private lounge was quiet, dimly lit, with a low hum of music playing in the background. I wasn’t supposed to be here. If my parents found out, they’d probably disown me.
But they already acted like I didn’t exist, so what difference did it make?
I sat at the bar, ordered a glass of wine, and drank it faster than I should’ve.
One glass turned into two. Then three.
It burned going down, but the numbness that followed felt like peace.
“Rough night?”
I turned my head and saw him. He had messy black hair, a leather jacket, and tired eyes. Handsome in a careless kind of way.
I laughed, bitterly. “You could say that.”
He slid into the seat beside me. “Me too. Fought with my girlfriend. She left. Probably for good this time.”
I looked at him. “You care?”
He shrugged. “I did. Not sure now.”
I nodded. “Same.”
He ordered a drink. We sat there, two broken people pretending the music could drown our thoughts.
“Life’s a mess,” I said after a moment.
“Unfortunately,” he replied. “It can’t possibly get worse from here. ”
“I hope.”
He smirked. “Let me guess. Family drama?”
I took a sip. “Something like that.”
We talked. About stupid things. Nothing deep. It was easier that way.
Somewhere after my first drink and the second, my head started spinning.
He blinked slowly, rubbing his temples. “Is it just me, or… does this place feel like it’s tilting? Did they put something in this drink?”
“It’s not just you,” I mumbled.
Then everything blurred.
I remember standing up, or trying to. I remember his hand grabbing mine, unsteady, like he was just as confused as I was. At his touch, my body flared with wanton heat and I think I moaned.
Lights. A hallway. Drunken laughter. We snorted about something and nothing.
Then a dark room and low lights. Heat, skin on skin. Breathing, ragged and rushed.
My lips on someone his.Our clothes pulled, tossed, forgotten.
Whispers I couldn’t understand, and aroused moans.
I couldn’t tell what was real and I didn’t want to.
Cause I felt wanted even if it was a lie.
So I let go completely and surrendered.
——
I woke up to soft morning light streaming through half-drawn curtains and a pounding ache in my head. My limbs felt like they’d been dipped in cement, heavy and unresponsive, and my mouth was painfully dry. For a moment, I just stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, confused and disoriented.
This wasn’t my room.
The sheets weren’t mine. The scent of the space was unfamiliar, something like faded cologne and a faint trace of alcohol. My heart thumped painfully in my chest as I slowly sat up, dragging the blanket with me. I was wearing naked and the sheets smelled masculine.
Like a him. Oh God.
I looked around the room in growing panic. No clothes or anything of whoever he was was left behind but I didn’t need that to know what happened. There was no one else here, but there didn’t need to be.
I didn’t remember what happened. Not exactly. My mind was a foggy blur, like a dream that slipped through my fingers the moment I woke.
But I remembered someone’s touch and the weight of a body over mine.
My stomach twisted as I tried to make sense of it.What had I done?
I looked around again, trying to spot a phone or a note or something. But there was nothing. Just the eerie silence and a broken puzzle my mind couldn’t put back together.
I stood shakily, my legs barely cooperating. My dress was on the floor in a heap, one of my heels lying on its side near the bathroom.
My skin prickled with shame and confusion as I got dressed. I didn’t know where I was or how I got here. But I knew I had to leave.
I stumbled out of the room and down the hall, past a concierge who barely looked up from his computer.
The fresh air outside hit me like a slap.
I took a cab back home, staring out the window the whole ride, barely breathing.
\---
Mom was already in the kitchen when I walked in through the back door.
She looked up, arms crossed, expression tight.
“You look like hell.”
“Good morning to you too,” I mumbled, heading for the stairs.
“Where were you?” she called after me.
“Out.”
I heard her huff and then mutter something under her breath.
I didn’t care.
.
But the second I reached the landing, Loretta popped her head out of her room.
“Well, well,” she said, grinning like a cat. “The prodigal daughter returns. Spent the night in some guy’s bed, didn’t you?”
I ignored her and kept walking.
She followed. “Wow. You must be really desperate to get attention.”
I turned slowly to face her. “Leave me alone, Loretta.”
“Or what? You’ll cry about it to Dad again?” she said with a mocking smile.
I clenched my fists. “Don’t you get tired of being this hateful?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t you get tired of being such a disappointment?”
I went into my room and slammed the door.
The tears came before I even hit the bed.
But they weren’t from shame. Or regret.
They were from how lost I felt.
From how I couldn’t even remember the one moment that, deep down, I knew had been beautiful in some strange, heartbreaking way.
\---
Days passed, and I tried to forget it.
Tried to throw myself into anything else.
But I couldn’t. Because the memory, no, the feelingkept creeping back in. That night was a black hole in my mind, yet I could still feel it in my bones.
Soon, I started writing again. Nothing serious at first. Just scribbles. Then paragraphs. Then pages. I didn’t even realize what I was doing until I saw it clearly.
I was writing about him, the stranger. He became the center of every scene and poem. The nameless man who made me feel wanted.
I gave him traits. A voice. I imagined what his laugh sounded like. What color his eyes were. He became my escape.
The world I built around him was a place where I wasn’t just the black sheep or the family’s mistake. I was adored. Desired. I started staying up late just to write more about him.
Sometimes I’d stop and smile, staring at the words like they belonged to someone else. It felt like breathing again after years of suffocation.
Until one morning, Mom knocked on my door without waiting for permission and walked in.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately,” she said, arms crossed. “You’re locking yourself away, disappearing at night, and now scribbling all over the place like some obsessed maniac.”
I closed my laptop quickly. “It’s just writing.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That’s what you said last time before your sister had to clean up your mess.”
My jaw clenched. “She stole my work.”
“She published your work,” Mom corrected. “You’d never have done anything with it. Just like everything else you start and never finish.”
I didn’t reply.
There was no point.
When she finally left, I opened the laptop again, staring at the story I’d poured my heart into.
And suddenly… the words came in faster than before and I threw myself into writing.
But I should’ve known better. Should’ve expected that someone like me with so little luck, would quickly lose the little light I’d found in the worst way possible.