Dark Places

45 | aim for pussy in your own league, cabrón

❝building castles of cans and bottles,
drinking like they do in novels,
know they'll catch me by and by,
but tonight, you are my alibi.❞

☽

I'M SEVENTEEN AGAIN, sitting in a shitty Volvo, sputtering between the lukewarm haze of each hard hit and cold, cold, cold coughs as I pass a pipe to him. It's a stormy silence, ensnaring us, and I'm tethered to Drake Medina, fingertips brushing, tangling, lingering, stringing us together, thick as thieves, in a haze of smoky sighs.

I feel like I'm pregaming for a Bulldogs game on a Friday night in October.

The windows are cracked, letting in a silvery sliver of spitting raindrops.

His heater is broken. His radio is broken.

Somehow, it feels like home.

"¿Estás segura de que quieres ir?" he asks, peering at me. His foggy gaze, buried in darkness, rakes down my body, and I let my fingertips flirt at the hem of my dress, gauging his hesitation. "I still really like the idea of us getting faded in my bedroom, and I don't know, like, fucking." Drake Medina. Charming, as always. "Piénsalo, you could be as loud as you want, Melo."

"I'm swooning, Medina."

It's tempting. It is. Because ahora mismo, I feel slow and soft and mellow, and I can remember, ankles on his shoulders, fingers digging into my throat, lips crushing against my lips, being driven into, quick and harsh and wild, dizzied by a dangerously dark sensation.

The trace of a smile, touching his lips. "I can tell."

It's too hot.

Drake Medina can make a cold October night feel like a late June night.

"Vamos," I murmur, before flicking the lighter into a corner of the newly packed bowl, inhaling deeply, and releasing a slew of smoke to cloud his front seat. If I'm hot, I want Drake to burn. "It could be fun, ¿verdad?"

"Mm. Tal vez you and I will find Nikki's body in the garage, ¿sí?"

I sputter, breaking into a fit of extremely inappropriate giggles. "¡No digas eso!" It just sounds so absurd. "No, it's going to be a normal night, Medina." I set his pipe down between us, and Drake grimaces. "What?"

"Eh, you might want to hit it again."

"Huh?" Blink. Blink. Blink. "Why?"

"It's at Tyler's," he says, quirking a brow knowingly.

Ah, fuck, I have to dodge Tyler.

Begrudgingly, I pick it up and hit it again, softening into the seat. "Tyler," I mutter, but Drake merely hums, looking over my shoulder to pull off the curb smoothly. His wipers fly across his foggy windshield. I pout, debating whether I should take him up on his first idea. "I hate Tyler."

"Well, Melo, you did seem to have a habit of fucking cabrones that you... hated?"

Sure, I had fucked Tyler Ouellette. His sharp smile. His tiny dick. His shitty existence. I'd barely fucked him before Tyler Ouellette fucked me over.

"I guess so," I mutter darkly. "I fucked you, didn't I?"

"Oh, no digas eso, mami," he coos, pressing his palm to my bare knee. I stir, gnawing on my bottom lip as I lift my chin to meet his teasing look, fleeting, yet infinite, an expression I could find in the darkest places. "I know deep, deep, deep down..." His breathing is soft and slow. "...that you loved me."