Bitter Hearts

Chapter three

We step into the club called Downtown, and I immediately notice the throngs of college students filling the space. We weave our way through the crowd, heading toward the bar, surrounded by sweaty teens, which I find rather off-putting. Cally and I each down three shots, and I can already feel the alcohol coursing through my veins. Glancing to my left, I realize Cally has vanished, leaving me feeling uncomfortably alone. I pull out my phone, feigning interest in a text message to avoid looking like a total loner.

"Pathetic," a familiar voice comments.

"You saw that?" I respond.

"Of course, love."

"Oh, it's you," I mutter, facing the annoyingly attractive jerk.

"You know you missed me, princess. I bet you've even dreamt about seeing me naked," he teases.

"You have quite the ego."

"Better watch your mouth. Looks like I'm the only one talking to you."

Ironically, I then feel a strong grip pulling me toward the dance floor. It's a tall, handsome guy with blond hair and bright blue eyes. His presence commands attention, and there's an aura of confidence about him that's undeniably appealing. His smile is disarming, revealing perfectly aligned, pearly whites, and his defined canines add a touch of allure. As he looks at me, there's a glint of mischief in his eyes, making me feel both nervous and intrigued.

"Was that guy bothering you?" he asks, his voice smooth and reassuring.

"No, well, yes, but not in a pervy way," I reply, suddenly feeling a bit flustered under his gaze.

"Well, I guess I saved you," he says with a smile, his tone playful yet genuine.

I can't help but notice the way his hand feels on my waist, strong yet gentle, as he draws me in closer. It sends a shiver down my spine, igniting a tingling sensation in my core. His gaze intensifies, fixated on my lips, as he continues to tease me with his words. As he brushes his fingertips against my collarbone, I can't help but feel a jolt of electricity pass between us.

Lost in the music and the moment, I sway with him, my head spinning from the alcohol and the intoxicating proximity of this captivating stranger. He moves with a fluidity that's mesmerizing, his movements seemingly effortless yet incredibly enticing. Every touch, every glance, sends my heart racing, and I find myself completely enraptured by him.

He spins me backwards, then pulls me in forcefully, his body pressing against mine in a way that's both exhilarating and overwhelming. I let out a soft moan, unable to suppress the rush of desire coursing through me, and he spins me back, his lips crashing onto mine with a hunger that's impossible to resist. Our tongues dance in sync, exploring each other with a fervor that leaves me breathless, my mind going blank as I lose myself in the moment.

I wake up in my bed, utterly confused, still engulfed in the stranger's scent-a rather enticing aroma that lingers in the air. I had only consumed three shots; how could I have possibly blacked out? A sharp pain in my arm catches my attention, and I notice a red dot-a sign that someone drugged me. I rush to the showers, desperate to rid myself of the remnants of the night, the memories of his touch still lingering on my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. I then collide with someone on the way.

It's him, the guy from last night, his face sporting bruises.

"Hey, feeling better?" he asks.

"I guess, but I think I've been drugged," I reply.

"Yeah, I know. I brought you back to your room last night when I noticed," he explains.

"What happened to your face?" I inquire.

"I guess being your knight in shining armor comes with a price," he chuckles.

"Thanks," I mutter, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over me.

"Hey, wait up. I wanted to apologize if things got a little heated yesterday. I was really drunk, and the last thing I wanted was to take advantage of you," he says sincerely.

"It's alright. I got carried away just as much as you did. You have nothing to apologize for," I assure him.

"Can I maybe get your name and possibly your number?" 

"Of course! I'm Isabella," I reply, entering my digits into his phone before heading to the showers.

"Nice meeting you, Isabella. I'm Owen, by the way," he calls after me.

I mentally berate myself for being so shy that I forgot to ask his name. He must think I'm not into him, but I am. The cold water cascades over me, clearing my mind as I let out a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of the night's events wash away with each drop. Flashbacks of the night before start flooding in, piece by piece:

I was in a stranger's arms, feeling oddly safe, while screams echoed around us. That's all I can remember after the kiss.