Daren's POV
The rhythmic creak of the bed matched the shallow tempo of my breaths. Her nails raked down my back, a forced crescendo in a symphony I didn't want to hear. Her moans filled the room—desperate and hollow. The air stank of stale beer and cheap perfume, a heady cocktail that made my stomach churn. Somewhere in the background, tinny music leaked from the shitty speaker on the dresser, its uneven bass rattling like a broken heartbeat.
"God, Daren," she gasped, clinging to me like I was something worth holding onto.
But I wasn't. And neither was she.
I closed my eyes, wishing she'd shut the fuck up. I wasn't here for her words—or her, for that matter.
Her name? Didn't know it. Didn't care.
All I saw was Aris.
Her laugh hit me first, uninvited, unrelenting. That crooked smile that once made the whole world pause. The way her eyes used to shine, like I was something more than the wreck I've always been. I hated it. Hated that even with this woman beneath me, clawing at my skin, Aris lingered, haunting me like a ghost I couldn't shake.
Her fingers dug into my shoulders, trying to pull me closer, but I wasn't there. Not really.
The dim bedroom felt like a tomb—silent, lifeless, and suffocating. Two empty bottles sat on the nightstand, their contents long gone. The weak bulb in the lamp cast flickering shadows, making the cracks in the wall look deeper than they were.
I clenched my jaw, staring at the ceiling as she whispered something—sweet, maybe even sincere—but I couldn't hear her over the pounding in my skull.
Every woman I touched was a blur. Blank faces. Moving bodies.
But with each one, there'd always be a moment—fleeting and cruel—when I'd see her. In the curve of a lip, the tilt of a head, the shadow of a smile. For a second, I'd catch a glimpse of Aris.
And then it'd vanish, leaving nothing but the cold, sharp ache in my chest.
---
I rolled off her without a word, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. The scratch of a match cut through the silence as I lit one, the ember glowing faintly in the dim room.
"That was..." she started, but I cut her off with a look.
"Don't," I said flatly, blowing smoke toward the ceiling.
Her brows furrowed, but she didn't push it. Good.
I turned my back to her, dragging on the cigarette as the taste of cheap whiskey and regret lingered on my tongue.
The relentless pounding on the door snapped me back to the present. My temples throbbed in time with the sound, and I groaned, dragging myself off the bed. The room tilted slightly as I stood, the cheap beer from earlier sloshing uneasily in my stomach. The air felt thick, the scent of smoke and unwashed sheets hanging heavy.
"Who the fuck is knocking at this hour?" I muttered.
Behind me, the girl stirred, her voice slurred and lazy. "Come back to bed. They'll go away."
She giggled, her bare shoulder peeking out from under the sheet, and I resisted the urge to snap at her.
Instead, I grabbed my jeans, lit another cigarette, the sharp bite of tobacco filling my lungs, and headed for the door.
The hallway light spilled into the room as I yanked the door open, cigarette dangling from my lips.
And there she was.
Aris.
Her curly hair framed her face, wild and untamed, just like the storm brewing in her eyes. She stood there, clutching the edges of her coat like it was the only thing holding her together.
"Daren." Her voice wavered, soft and raw.
I leaned against the doorframe, exhaling a long plume of smoke. "What do you want, Aris?"
Her lip trembled, but she straightened her spine, trying to hold onto whatever dignity she had left. "I just... I need to talk to you."
Of course, she did. She always wanted to talk, to fix, to save something I didn't want saving.
"It's late," I said, my tone as cold as the night air. "Go home."
Her eyes glistened, but she held her ground. "Why? Why did you leave me? Was I not enough? Was I ever enough?"
For a second—a brief, agonizing second—her words pierced through the numbness. But I shoved it down, burying it under layers of anger and apathy.
"Aris, I don't have time for this shit," I said, crossing my arms. "I've got better things to do."
Better things.
I knew the words would sting, knew they'd cut deep, and a part of me hated myself for it. But another part— the broken, bitter part—wanted her to feel it. To know that I wasn't the perfect boyfriend she thought I was.
Behind me, the woman's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Daren? What's taking so long?"
I didn't look back. I didn't need to. The damage was already done.
Aris froze, her face crumpling as realization hit her. "I should go," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Yeah, you should," I said, flicking ash onto the ground. The smirk on my lips wasn't real—it was armor. "You're embarrassing us both."
Her breath hitched, and before I could stop myself, I slammed the door in her face.
---
Back inside, I leaned against the door, the weight of what just happened pressing down on me like a fucking anvil.
"Who was that?" the woman on the bed asked, stretching lazily.
"No one," I said, lighting another cigarette.
She laughed, the sound grating on my nerves. I couldn't stand her—couldn't stand me.
"Where are you going?" she asked as I grabbed my jacket.
"Out," I said, pulling on my boots.
"It's late," she protested, her voice tinged with confusion.
I didn't even look at her. "Yeah, and you should get out too."
Her voice shifted, hurt and angry. "Are you serious? Where the hell am I supposed to go?"
"Not my problem," I muttered, slamming the door behind me.
---
The women were all the same. They smelled of vanilla and cigarettes, their laughter forced and hollow.
Their touches were mechanical, their words meaningless. They'd let me kiss them, touch them, even fuck them, but none of it filled the emptiness. They weren't Aris.
Aris smelled like summer—fresh, warm, alive. Her laughter wasn't practiced or polite; it was wild and unrestrained, echoing in my chest long after she was gone.
When she touched me, it wasn't just skin against skin. It was an anchor, a promise, a reminder that maybe I wasn't as fucked up as I thought.
The women in my bed now? They didn't matter. They never would.
---
The week that followed was a blur of booze, cigarettes, and strangers. Each night, I stumbled from bars to beds, chasing a high that never came.
I thought I was numbing the pain, but I was only making it worse.
And then, it happened.
Blocked.
Aris had blocked me.
I stared at my phone, the automated voice echoing in my ears like a death sentence.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I muttered, pacing the room.
She'd never blocked me before. I was always the one who ended things. Who needed space. Who pushed her away.
How fucking dare she?
But as the anger faded, something colder settled in its place.
She wasn't coming back.
And for the first time, I wasn't sure I'd survive it.