Amy's Pov
The next morning, I slipped out of the apartment before the sun had fully risen, my heart heavy with the weight of last night. Facing Lucas felt impossible—too raw, too unbearable. What could we even say? The air would choke on awkwardness if our eyes met. I hurried down the hallway, my sneakers silent on the floor, questions swirling in my mind like a storm I couldn't outrun. Why? Why had we crossed that line? Neither of us had been drunk; we knew exactly what we were doing. So why had Lucas kissed me? Why had I let him touch me, taste me, unravel me like that?
My cheeks burned, a flush creeping up my neck as memories flooded back—his lips on my skin, his tongue claiming me, the way he made me feel so damn good. I pressed my hands to my face, embarrassed, ashamed, but unable to shake the heat that lingered in my veins.
Was he testing me? The thought sent a shiver of anxiety down my spine. Had he sensed the feelings I'd buried deep, the ones I swore I'd never act on? Was he playing with my heart, knowing I'd crumble under his touch? The truth stung sharper than I wanted to admit: Lucas loved Anne. Not me. Last night was a mistake, a fleeting escape from the mess of our lives, nothing more.
The elevator dinged, snapping me out of my spiral. The doors slid open, and there she was—Anne. My breath caught, my forced smile thin and brittle as our eyes met.
"Anne?" I said, my voice too bright, masking the turmoil churning inside. It was barely 6 a.m. Was she just getting home?
She froze, her eyes widening, a flicker of something—guilt?—crossing her face before she smoothed it into a smile. "Hey… Amy…" she stammered, her fingers nervously twisting a strand of her messy hair. The sharp scent of alcohol clung to her, her clothes rumpled, screaming of a wild night. I assumed she'd been out with Sasha, dancing, losing herself in the music.
"You're heading to class early," she said, her voice uneven, like she was grasping for normalcy. "Isn't it at 9?"
"Yeah, I just… wanted to get up early. Grab some coffee." I tilted my head, curiosity sharpening my tone. "Why are you home so late? Lucas was waiting for you all night, you know." The words slipped out, deliberate, a subtle jab. I wanted to see her flinch, to gauge her reaction. Part of me felt possessive, territorial, after what Lucas and I had shared. But guilt twisted in my gut, too, knowing I was hiding my own secrets.
Anne's smile faltered, her eyes darting away for a split second. "I know. He texted me at, like, 3 a.m., saying he was waiting," she said, her voice too quick, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "But I told him I was at Sasha's, dancing. We just… lost track of time."
I blink, trying to believe her. Dancing at Sasha's sounded innocent enough, and I wanted to trust her. Still, the knot in my stomach twisted tighter. I plaster on a brighter smile. "Sounds like fun! I figured Lucas would be waiting up. Must've been a blast!"
"Yeah… it was fun," she replied, too fast, her voice tight, like a string pulled taut. Her eyes didn't meet mine, lingering somewhere over my shoulder. The air between us thickened, heavy with unspoken truths, a tightrope we were both tiptoeing across, painted with lies neither of us dared acknowledge.
"Well, I'll grab my coffee then," I say, voice lighter than I feel, stepping into the elevator.
As the doors close, I glance back. Anne's smile is still there, but behind it lingers a shadow-uncertainty, guilt, or maybe something worse. I wonder how long before the facade crumbles.
Anne's POV
I pushed open the door to my room, the early morning light spilling in, soft and warm. Lucas was still asleep, sprawled across the bed, his handsome face relaxed, almost boyish in its peacefulness. My chest tightened, a swell of tenderness mixing with the guilt gnawing at my edges. I stepped closer, quiet, my eyes tracing the familiar lines of his jaw, the way his hair fell messily over his forehead.
Unable to resist, I reached out, my fingers brushing his cheek, but the moment my skin met his, my mind betrayed me. John's face flashed in my thoughts—his dark eyes, his lips on mine, the way our bodies had moved together, raw and reckless, igniting a fire I hadn't known I craved. My breath hitched, a flush creeping up my cheeks as I remembered his hands, his voice, the way he'd claimed me in that private room. I bit my lip, the memory thrilling and dangerous, a secret that sparked something electric in my veins.
I didn't regret it. Not even a little. John's number was saved in my phone, a quiet rebellion tucked away, a promise of more that made my pulse race even now.
Lucas stirs, his eyes fluttering open. Confusion melts into recognition when he sees me.
"Babe, you just got back?" he asks, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
I lean in, kissing his cheek, but the scent of alcohol on me pulls him from his haze.
"Yes, dear. Too bad you didn't come with me. I danced all night with Sasha," I say, trying to keep things light.
His hand found my hair, fingers threading through it, but there was a stiffness in his touch, a subtle tension that hadn't been there before. "That's nice…" he said, his voice careful, measured. "But Anne, you should freshen up. We've got morning class today."
I rolled my eyes, exhaustion settling over me like a heavy cloak. "Hmmm… I might just go to the afternoon one. I'm wiped, babe." I wrapped my arms around him, pressing soft kisses to his neck, hoping to distract him, to smooth over the cracks I could feel forming. My lips lingered, teasing, but my heart wasn't fully in it—John's touch still ghosted across my skin, a phantom I couldn't shake.
Lucas's jaw tightened, his hands gently but firmly pushing me away. "No, Anne," he said, his voice edged with frustration. "You skipped morning class yesterday. You can't just blow it off again."
I groaned, dragging a hand across my face, irritation flaring. "Babe! I'm tired. Can you just understand for once?" The words came out sharper than I meant, but the weight of everything—John, Lucas, the lies—was pressing down, fraying my patience.
He sits up, irritation clear. "I do try, but it's always partying and skipping. I'm tired too, but I still get my responsibilities done. Maybe you should try that."
My face darkens, anger and hurt swirling inside. "So now I'm irresponsible?"
He says nothing, just gets up and walks away, leaving me on the bed, fuming.
The air felt thick, suffocating, wrapping around me like a shroud. I muttered to myself, "Irresponsible, huh?" My fingers dug into the sheets, my lip caught between my teeth as I fought the wave of conflicting emotions crashing over me. John's kisses, his hands, the way he'd made me feel alive—they danced at the edges of my mind, a thrilling contrast to the suffocating routine of Lucas's expectations. Every moment with John had been a spark, a rebellion against the heaviness of this life, this relationship.
I wanted Lucas to understand, to see why I needed that escape, but the words felt trapped, tangled in the lies I'd woven. My smile in the elevator with Amy, my playful tone with Lucas—they were masks, fragile and cracking. The truth simmered beneath, threatening to spill: I wasn't just dancing with Sasha. I was chasing something else, something dangerous, something that made my heart race in a way Lucas hadn't in a long time.
Torn between the wild, intoxicating pull of John and the familiar, fraying comfort of Lucas, I felt like I was splitting in two. My fingers brushed my phone, John's number a quiet temptation, a reminder of the fire waiting for me. I didn't know how much longer I could keep pretending everything was fine, but for now, I'd hold the facade together—even if it meant lying to everyone, including myself.