Dark Places

15 | no mentía, mami

❝you look at me
as if you know what it's like...
in the shadows of the streetlight.❞

☽

I'M FUCKING LATE. I crashed early in the morning, after a restless, sleepless night, and missed my afternoon class. Light & Space. I'd wanted to catch Ozlenen, talk to her, try to understand the secret whispers about Sophany, but by the time I woke up, tangled in my sheets with the haunting echo of my own voice, lingering in my ear, it was already too fucking late.

Room 311. Portland Walking Trails. 6:30 p.m.

I blink through the thin mist, sparing a quick glance at my phone. 18:33.

Fuck.

Frantically, I shove into MECA, through a throng of chattering students, and trip slightly, zeroing in on the elevator doors that are... closing. "Hey, hey, wait!" I flash my ID clumsily, drop it, scrape it off the floor, skid through the lobby, squeaking shoes, wet cheeks, and knotted hair. Those gilded elevator doors, scratched deep and raw with years and years of use and damage, slowly, slowly, slowly closing. "Fuck, no, ¡espera!"

The tip of a Timberland, nudging into the space between to stop the rickety motion.

I heave a ragged sigh, gratitude spilling off the tip of my tongue as I stop and wait, the doors shaking and skittering open, only to reveal a single person, dressed down into darkness.

My throat runs dry.

Somehow, Drake Medina is the embodiment of darkness, tattered black fabric clinging to his body, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, ink twisting to his wrists. His lingering gaze. His dusky complexion. The trace of a secret smile on his lips.

For a split second, I think about taking the stairs and being ten more minutes late. No. I think about skipping, just trashing the entire day and starting fresh tomorrow, but I... I can't fuck this up.

Okay, yeah.

Drake and I can be civil to each other for a short elevator ride.

I slip inside breathlessly, avoiding his gaze. "Uh, gracias."

"Ah, Melo," he snickers. "Te ves hermosa."

"Cállate."

The doors shut, lock, trap us together, and I draw a ragged breath. Everything hazes over, drenched in a thick tension. It's too fucking hot.

His clothes are wet. His breathing is soft. His body is... too close to me. His gaze is stealthy, smoky, and sultry, burning, burning... burning...

His hand brushes against mine.

I jerk away, peering up at him in irritation. I've seen ten people cram into this elevator, but fuck, it's two tight between the two of us. Suffocating. Sticky. Tempting. I could twist, an inch, and I'd be against his chest, tugging his hood off, dragging my nails through his hair, digging deep, drawing blood, yanking at the damp sweatshirt separating us, prying it from his skin, an—

Ping!

The doors crank open.

Drake passes by me carelessly, clearly unaffected, but I take a long, long, long moment to catch my breath, frustrated by the flush in my cheeks. Why am I so breathless? Why is it so hot?

No. No. No.

Fuck no.

Luz, get your shit together, Jess would chide, her eyes flashing with a warning. It's only going to hurt.