[FEATURED IN WATTPAD INDIA PROFILE]
❝Pioneering the art of constructing love, my Kanmani.❞
Xavier teased her skin, slowly caressing her cheeks and her lips trembled.
❝You don't dare!❞
And he kissed her.
------
When he had compromised his dreams and...
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Xavier woke up to a head-splitting migraine, regretting every second of attending Satya's birthday party last night. He'd expected something low-key and classy, not a full-blown rave. Adults his age didn't go to rave parties—hell, they shouldn't.
Satya had just turned thirty, and, for once, she'd thrown out all the boundaries and organized a private party, inviting everyone from executives to managers, along with a few close friends. Despite his half-hearted excuses, she'd managed to rope him in.
He learned the hard way that he was too old to drink like he used to. Growing up in a Christian household had its perks, though. Old Monk had always been stocked in the fridge, courtesy of his father, and by the time he was twelve, he'd snuck his first sip—only to be utterly repulsed by the bitterness.
But as he got older, he grew to appreciate it—all of it, really: alcohol, drugs, even the thrill of it. The only thing he'd ever abstained from was casual sex. He'd been loyal to his body in at least that one way, reserving sex strictly for love-making and nothing else.
Most people assumed he was the stereotypical "geeky nerd," the most disciplined, straight-laced kid in school. Sure, he'd been that—but he'd lived a lot more, and experienced way more than anyone gave him credit for.
He wasn't addicted to any of it, except maybe his work, but he'd learned to indulge here and there without consequence. Only one person had ever seen behind his carefully crafted mask: Subhadra. She'd been the one to share her first joint with him, and it'd become a long-running tradition between them.
"Ah!" he groaned as his head throbbed with fresh pain. He'd definitely been wasted last night, and now he had no idea where the hell he was.
Another wave of agony washed over him as he took in his surroundings, groaning as he recognized the room.
"Satya?" he called out, knowing he had to be in her home. "Satya!" he yelled, wincing when his vision blurred from the pain.
He pressed both hands to his temples, almost as if he could squeeze the migraine out. Closing his eyes, he tried to piece together the hazy events of the night.
Fuck!
His eyes snapped open, still pounding. His fingers brushed over his lips, recalling a spark—a passion he'd shared with someone. And just like that, it all came crashing back.
He was drunk—completely wasted—and had smoked right before that last shot. His steps faltered on the dance floor, but he kept moving, laughing as Satya pushed him to let go, to just feel. He danced, trying to drown the memories, to forget the past, to bury the ache of lost love and bitter heartbreak. What else could he do? What else could he feel? Since when had love turned poisonous, so toxic? A bitter smile touched his lips as he thought of Subhadra's "justification" for her cruelty, the way her sweet mouth had spewed that bullshit explanation just a week ago, right before their final kiss.
Classic "It's not you; it's me" speech.
He scoffed, picturing Subhadra's face disappearing into thin air, piece by piece taking his heart with her. Was being loved by him so unbearable that she had to walk away? Was his love so suffocating?
He threw his head back, swaying to the slow tune playing in the background, his vision blurring as the alcohol and smoke clouded his mind. He knew he was drugged, but did he care? Hell no.
He took one last drink. "Goodbye, Subhadra," he muttered, bitterness coating each word. "Hope you find a terrible lover—'cause that's exactly what you fucking deserve." He chuckled at the venom in his own thoughts.
As he stumbled back into the crowd, his body collided with someone else's. He groaned. The floor was packed, and bumping into people was normal.
He raised his left hand to apologize, "Sorry." His voice sounded alien to him. As he tried to move on, a pair of small hands pressed against his chest. He smirked—yeah, he knew he was hot stuff. He kept himself in top shape, and he knew the effect he had on women. Over the years, plenty had flirted with him, even tried to seduce him. But he wasn't a cheat. His loyalty had always belonged to one woman, and she'd been enough to satisfy every part of him.
But now? Now there was nothing. No woman. No loyalty to her.
He was alone.
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Do tell me what you feel about this and the upcoming chapters, always open to positive criticism.
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