Fermented Desires

Something to Feel

The safe house was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that pressed in, thick and still, reminding Isabella that silence wasn't always peace. Sometimes, it was just the absence of chaos. She stood barefoot in the hallway, one of the boys' oversized hoodies hanging off her frame, sleeves swallowing her hands. Her hair was still damp from the shower, clinging to the side of her cheek where it curled in shorter, jagged layers. A new face in the mirror. A new weight in her chest.

She had survived the wedding. The announcement. The escape.

And now?

Now she felt like she'd jumped off a ledge only to land in the air.

She padded toward the kitchen, hoping for water or wine or something to anchor her to the floor. But when she rounded the corner, she stopped.

Ashton was already there.

He sat at the small wooden table, one leg bent, knee up, a glass in hand. His dark hair was still messy like he hadn't bothered to fix it after the chaos. He looked up when he heard her and gave her a small nod, not speaking yet. Just watching.

"You couldn't sleep either?" she asked, her voice low.

He shook his head. "Too much noise in my head."

She exhaled. "Same."

Without asking, she walked over and pulled out the chair across from him. He pushed the bottle of wine toward her silently. She poured herself half a glass, then rested her elbows on the table.

The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was heavy with something unsaid.

"I feel like I'm waiting for something that already happened," Isabella said, her voice hushed.

Ashton looked at her, gaze steady.

"Everything led to that moment—the wedding, the escape. And now that it's done, I don't know what to do with myself."

He nodded slowly. "That's normal."

"Is it?" she asked, her voice cracking just slightly. "I feel empty and wired at the same time. Like I should be doing something. Like my body is stuck in survival mode."

She looked down into her wine, then back up at him. "I thought cutting my hair would be enough to feel new. But I still feel like I'm wearing someone else's skin."

He studied her for a moment. "You've been through a lot. It's going to take time."

She let out a soft laugh. "I don't want time. I want to feel something right now. Something real. Something that isn't about obligation or fear. Just... me. Choosing something for me."

Ashton stayed silent, but the shift in the air between them was sharp, palpable.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, eyes locked to his.

He nodded slowly.

"If I asked you to touch me... would you?"

He tensed. "Isabella..."

She stood up, walking slowly toward him, each step more sure than the last. "I'm not broken. I just want to feel something that belongs to me. Not stolen. Not taken. *Mine.*"

She reached him, standing between his knees. Her fingers gently brushed his jaw. "I trust you."

He exhaled, chest rising. "You're sure this is what you want?"

She nodded. "I need this. I need *you.*"

And that was all it took.

Ashton stood and kissed her — softly at first, like a test — then deeper, with purpose. She melted into it, tasting red wine and regret and a heat that made her knees tremble. His hands cupped her jaw, thumbs brushing her skin like he might lose her if he let go.