"Lucas," a soft, sultry voice interrupted my thoughts, and I looked up to see Kara sliding onto the barstool next to me.
Her eyes flicking over me with an appraisal that made my skin crawl. She was dressed to kill, a slinky black dress clinging to her every curve, her lips painted a deep red that matched the fire in her eyes. But I didn't feel the usual revulsion or irritation I normally would when she tried to get close. Instead, I felt… nothing. Just a numbness that had spread from my heart to every corner of my being.
"Lucas," she purred, leaning in so close that I could smell her perfume, a sickly sweet scent that made me want to gag. "You look like you could use some company."
I stared into my glass, swirling the amber liquid around, watching the light catch the edges of the ice. Company. Is that what I needed? Or was this just another way to drown out the noise in my head, to forget about Peyton and the way she had shattered my world?
"Kara," I said, my voice rough and laced with exhaustion, "I'm not in the mood for your games tonight."
She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she was trying to figure out what was going on in my head. "Who says it has to be a game?" she replied, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I've seen the way you look at me, Lucas. You can't deny there's something here between us."
I almost laughed at that. Something between us? The only thing between us was her relentless pursuit and my steadfast refusal. But tonight… tonight I didn't have the strength to argue, to push her away. What was the point? Peyton had betrayed me, torn my heart out and stomped on it. Why shouldn't I do the same? Why shouldn't I let Kara have what she wanted?
I looked up at her, really looked at her for the first time in months. She was beautiful, I couldn't deny that. But where Peyton's beauty was warm and soft, Kara's was sharp and cold, like a polished blade. I knew this was wrong, knew I was only doing this to hurt Peyton, to get back at her for what she'd done to me. But the truth was, I didn't care anymore. If Peyton could betray me, then I could do the same.
"Fine," I said, downing the rest of my whiskey in one gulp and setting the glass down with a hard thud. "Let's go."
Kara's eyes lit up with a victorious gleam, and she slid off the stool with a graceful motion, extending her hand to me. I took it, her skin warm and soft against mine, and let her lead me out of the club. The music pounded in my ears, a relentless beat that matched the pounding of my heart. But it wasn't excitement or anticipation that I felt—it was anger, a simmering rage that had been building inside me all night.
Kara looked at me expectantly, and after a moment's hesitation, I gave the driver her address. It was like I was on autopilot, my body moving, my mouth speaking, but my mind was somewhere else, lost in the fog of anger and hurt.
The ride to her apartment was silent, the tension in the car thick enough to cut with a knife. Kara kept her hand on my thigh, her fingers tracing small circles that sent jolts of electricity through me. I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, trying to ignore the growing sense of dread in the pit of my stomach.
When we arrived, Kara led me upstairs, her hand still on me, guiding me like a puppet on a string. As soon as we were inside, she turned to face me, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"Lucas," she whispered, her hands sliding up my chest, "I've wanted this for so long…"
I should have stopped her. I should have walked away. But the pain, the anger, it was all too much. I let her kiss me, let her pull me toward the bedroom, each step a betrayal, not just of Peyton, but of myself. The taste of her lips, the feel of her skin, it was all wrong, but I couldn't stop. The need to hurt Peyton, to make her feel what I was feeling, drove me on.
She pushed me onto the bed, her body pressing against mine, and I let myself drown in it. Drown in the need to forget, to escape, even if just for a moment. As she peeled away my clothes, I closed my eyes, trying to block out the reality of what I was doing, but it was impossible. The guilt, the anger, the pain—they were all there, tearing me apart from the inside out.
When it was over, I lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling more empty and hollow than I ever had. Kara curled up beside me, her head resting on my chest, but her presence only made the guilt worse. I had done it. I had betrayed Peyton, just like she had betrayed me. But instead of feeling satisfied, instead of feeling like I had gotten some sort of revenge, all I felt was disgust—at myself, at what I had become.
Kara was already drifting off to sleep, her breathing soft and even, but I couldn't stay. I slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake her, and quietly dressed. My mind was spinning, the anger and hurt still there, but now overshadowed by a deep sense of regret.
I left the apartment without a word, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway as I made my way back to the car. The night air was cool against my skin, but it did nothing to calm the turmoil inside me.
As I got into the car, my driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror, but I couldn't meet his eyes. "Where to, sir?" he asked quietly.
"Home," I muttered, sinking back into the seat.
The ride home was silent, the city lights flashing by, but I barely noticed. All I could think about was Peyton—how much I had loved her, how much I still did, despite everything. I had crossed a line tonight, one I could never uncross. And as I sat there, staring out at the darkened streets, I realized that no amount of revenge, no amount of anger, could ever make this right.