Chapter 18: Blurred lines of Lust

The walk down the hallway felt like a slow, deliberate punishment—each step dragging my thoughts deeper into the mess I was trying to keep buried. The walls of the mansion felt narrower tonight, like they were closing in on me. My father’s voice replayed in my head, “You both have to settle your differences.” As if the cracks between Kevin and me were something that could be patched up with a polite conversation.

The truth was, I didn’t even know what “differences” meant anymore. Everything between us had blurred so far past the line that there was no distinction left between wrong and right—only what felt unbearable.

By the time I reached Kevin’s door, my palms were clammy. My heart was slamming against my chest so hard it almost hurt. I stood there for a moment, staring at the door like it was some threshold I wasn’t ready to cross. The faint scent of his cologne seemed to cling to the air around the frame—faintly woodsy, sharp, familiar. It made my throat tighten.

I lifted my hand to knock but hesitated, frozen in place. The quiet stretched out, heavy and suffocating. I took a long, shaky breath, trying to calm the tremor in my chest before I finally knocked—softly at first, like I was afraid to wake a sleeping beast.

No answer.

I knocked again, this time harder. The sound echoed through the corridor. Still, silence.

A surge of something desperate flared up in me. Maybe anger. Maybe fear. Maybe both. I twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open.

“Kevin?” I called out softly.

The room was empty.

The lights were dimmed low, and the faint scent of cigarette smoke still lingered in the air. His jacket was tossed carelessly across the back of a chair, his tie draped over the nightstand. The window was slightly open, letting in the cool night air that ruffled the curtains like quiet whispers.

He wasn’t here.

My eyes darted toward the bathroom door. It was slightly ajar, and for a second, hope flickered through me—maybe he was in there, maybe he just didn’t hear me. I took a step forward, my heartbeat drumming in my ears as I gently pushed the door open.

Empty.

The mirror was fogged slightly, like he’d been there not too long ago. A damp towel hung on the rack, and a glass of water sat half-full on the sink. It felt like he had just disappeared, leaving behind traces of his presence that made my chest ache even more.

I stood still for a long moment, frozen in the middle of his room.

My thoughts were a mess—looping, colliding, unraveling. Where could he have gone? Was he avoiding me? Or had he simply needed to get away from everything… from me?

My gaze moved around the room again, as if I could find answers in the smallest details—the way his sheets were rumpled, the faint indentation on the edge of the bed where he must have sat, the open book on his desk. It all looked so ordinary, and yet the silence made everything feel wrong.

I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling the cold finally catch up to me. Maybe it was relief that he wasn’t here—relief that I didn’t have to face him yet, not after everything I’d said. But under that relief was something darker.

Disappointment.

Because a part of me had wanted him to be here. Had wanted to see him again, to say something, to fix the chaos between us—or make it worse, I didn’t even know anymore.

The tension sitting at the pit of my stomach only grew heavier.

The mansion around me was silent, too silent, the kind of silence that made every thought sound louder in my head. I could almost hear his voice—low, rough, teasing—and I hated how easily it crawled back into my mind.

I pressed a hand against my chest, trying to steady my breathing. I shouldn’t have come. I wasn’t ready for this, not after last night, not after the words we threw at each other like knives.

Still, I couldn’t make myself leave.

I just stood there, in the middle of his empty room, surrounded by the ghost of his presence and the unbearable question of where is he?

And more than that—why does it feel like he’s already gone from me?

That was when I noticed a small note.

The note lay there, folded neatly beside his pillow, looking so harmless at first glance that I almost ignored it. But something about the way it was placed—too deliberate, too intentional—pulled me in. My fingers trembled as I picked it up, feeling the weight of its simplicity. Kevin’s handwriting was unmistakable. The sharp, confident strokes of his pen were the same as always—calculated, steady, maddeningly sure of themselves.

"If you crave for me so much that it makes your core wet, you'll find me at the same place where it all began."

—K.

My stomach twisted. The words sank into me like a knife dragged slowly across tender skin. Heat rushed to my face, not just from the vulgarity of the message, but from the memory it carried—the memory of the place he meant. My thoughts darted through every possible meaning until one, inescapable realization hit me.

The Club.

Of course. That dark, smoke-filled room where music throbbed against the walls and strangers became stories that shouldn’t have been written. That was where it all began—where Kevin and I had crossed paths without names, without rules, without the faintest idea of what we’d become to each other. One night. One mistake. And everything changed.

The memory came rushing back in a blur of dim lights and breathless laughter. His hand at the small of my back, the way he’d looked at me like I was something forbidden he couldn’t resist. My pulse quickened as the images clawed their way up from where I’d buried them.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat refusing to go down. The note crumpled easily in my palm, but even after I threw it aside, it still felt like it was burning a hole through me. My breathing grew shallow. I looked down at myself—thin cotton pyjamas, bare feet half-cold against the floor. I must’ve looked insane, standing there in his room with my hair messy, my eyes red, and my mind unraveling.

But I didn’t care. Not in that moment.

Before I could even think twice, I found myself moving—fast, frantic. My heart was hammering so violently that it almost drowned out the sound of my own footsteps as I bolted out of his room. My hands shook when I grabbed the car keys from the living room table, the metal clinking sharply against my skin. I didn’t stop to put on shoes. I didn’t stop to think about what I was doing. I just knew that if I stayed, I would suffocate under the weight of everything left unsaid between us.

The night air slapped me across the face as I stepped outside. Cold, wet, electric. I could feel it cutting through the thin fabric of my pyjamas, but the chill barely registered. I slid into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and the sound of it roared through the silence of the sleeping street.

As I pulled out of the driveway, my heart pounded harder with each turn of the wheels. The empty road stretched out ahead like a dark tunnel I couldn’t see the end of. The wind lashed through the open window, tangling my hair, and I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles whitening.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I knew that. Every rational thought screamed at me to turn back. But logic had long stopped being part of this equation. It wasn’t my mind driving anymore—it was the ache in my chest, the pull in my gut, the ghost of his voice whispering through my memory.

The streetlights blurred past like streaks of fire. My reflection flashed faintly in the windshield—pale, wild-eyed, and lost.

Then I saw it. The red light ahead, glaring at me like a warning. I should have slowed down. I should have stopped. But something in me refused to. My foot pressed harder on the accelerator, the engine growling in defiance as I tore through the intersection.

That was when the white Sudan came out of nowhere.

The blinding headlights exploded across my vision. Instinct screamed through my veins as I slammed my foot on the brakes. The car jerked violently, tires screeching so loud it felt like the sound would split the air apart. My body lurched forward, my heart felt like it had been yanked out of my chest, and I clamped my eyes shut, bracing for the impact that never came.

Silence.

For a few seconds, there was only the sound of my own breathing—ragged, uneven, desperate. My fingers were clenched so tightly around the steering wheel that they ached. Slowly, I opened my eyes. The white Sudan had stopped just inches away, its headlights pouring harsh light into my car. My pulse was still hammering in my ears, drowning out everything else.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. All I could feel was the trembling inside me—the mixture of fear, relief, and something dangerously close to longing. Because even now, even after almost crashing, my mind was still on him.

Kevin.

And no matter how much I wanted to hate him for it, a part of me still couldn’t resist the pull even though I almost met my end.