Daren's POV
The room reeked of stale beer, sweat, and the cloying sweetness of cheap perfume. Bottles littered every available surface—some standing, others toppled like soldiers defeated in a war I couldn't even remember fighting. The air was thick with smoke, the haze settling over the dim light like a suffocating blanket.
I leaned back against the headboard, a cigarette dangling from my lips, and stared at the ceiling as the latest nameless, faceless body stirred beside me. Her hair was a mess of blonde tangles, her makeup smudged from whatever half-hearted effort we'd made to pretend we gave a damn. Her fingers reached for me, grazing my arm, but I shrugged her off without a word.
"Daren…" she murmured, her voice soft and cloying.
"Leave," My tone was flat, cold, detached.
Her brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her face before she gathered the sheet around her. "You're an asshole, you know that?"
"Yeah," I muttered, dragging on the cigarette. "I know."
She stormed out, slamming the door behind her, and for a moment, the silence that followed was deafening. But it didn't last. The pounding in my skull, the ache in my chest—they came roaring back, louder than ever.
Every night was the same. A parade of bodies that smelled like desperation, that moved like they were auditioning for a role they'd never get. They let me touch them, let me lose myself in them, but none of it mattered. None of it filled the emptiness that Aris left behind.
---
By the time Damien showed up, I was already a few drinks deep. Was it morning? Afternoon? I didn't know. Time had become a blur.
He walked into the room, his face twisted in disgust as he surveyed the mess.
"Jesus Christ, man," he said, kicking an empty bottle out of his way. "You living like this on purpose, or did you just give up entirely?"
I snorted. "What's the difference?"
He grabbed a chair, flipping it backward before sitting. "You're a fucking wreck. When's the last time you left this shithole?"
"I leave," I said, taking another swig. "Bars count."
"Barely." He shook his head, leaning back. "What the hell happened to Aris? Haven't seen her around in a while."
Her name hit me like a goddamn freight train. I froze for a second, the bottle halfway to my lips.
"What the fuck do you care?" I muttered, masking the flare of pain with indifference.
For a second, I considered telling the truth—that she blocked me, that she was done with my shit, that I'd pushed her so far away there was no coming back.
"Just curious. She seemed good for you," Damien said, shrugging. "But hey, if she ditched your sorry ass, I'm not surprised."
I laughed bitterly. "I got rid of her. She was always fucking nagging—couldn't take it anymore."
Damien raised an eyebrow, his smirk skeptical. "Sure, man. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"Fuck off," I snapped, my grip tightening around the bottle.
He chuckled. "Alright, alright. Let's find you someone else, then. Someone who won't bitch, yeah?"
I didn't answer, just downed the rest of my drink and stood. "I need another drink."
---
The bar was loud, the kind of place where the music vibrated through your bones and the smell of alcohol clung to your skin like a second layer. I nursed a beer at the counter, my gaze fixed on nothing, just letting the chaos around me blur into the background.
And then I saw her.
At first, I thought I was hallucinating. I blinked, shaking my head like I could dislodge the image. But when I looked again, she was still there.
Aris.
She was on the dance floor, her curls wild and untamed, her body moving to the beat like she owned the room. Her laugh echoed above the music, sharp and free, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe.
But then I saw him.
Some idiot with his hands on her waist, pulling her closer as she smiled up at him. Her head tilted back, her lips parting as she laughed again.
My blood boiled.
How dare she?!
How long has it been?! I'm over here losing my mind, and she's just dancing! LAUGHING! HAPPY!!
She blocked me, pushed me away, and now here she is—dancing with some random loser like she never belonged to me.
I slammed my bottle on the counter, the sound cutting through the haze of my rage. My feet moved before I could stop myself, weaving through the crowd, every step charged with purpose.
I reached the edge of the dance floor, my fists clenched at my sides as I watched him spin her around. She stumbled slightly, laughing again, and it hit me like a punch to the gut.
She was happy.
Without me.
Does she not know she belongs to me?
I slammed my beer on the counter, the sound sharp enough to draw a few
glances. My fists clenched, knuckles white as I tried to control the storm inside me.
But I couldn't.
I couldn't fucking sit there and watch her.
Before I knew it, I was moving, weaving through the crowd with my jaw clenched and my vision tunneled.
She didn't see me at first, too caught up in the moment, too busy laughing with him.
But she sure as hell felt it when I grabbed her shoulder, my grip firm, my anger radiating.