3

Elisia•

I shoot up and out of my sleep in a hurry, thinking I was somewhere completely unsafe.

And I fucking am.

I pick my phone up to check the time and realise it's 8:00 p.m. I took a nap for three hours?

I've been here for two days now. Everything seems to be fine, but my gut feeling is telling me otherwise.

My phone buzzes, and I look down at my phone to see a message from Matt. He and I are not that serious; we met at a college fraternity party, which says a lot about our relationship in the first place.

Matt

Come to the Infinite club in an hour.

Me

You're here?

Matt

Yes, now come. I miss you.

I jump out of bed and open my suitcase to grab some clothes. I still haven't unpacked, because I genuinely don't think I'll be staying here for more than a week. I physically and mentally can't.

I try finding an outfit that would look good at a club and end up wearing a matte black, leather skirt paired with an off-the-shoulder crop top.

I throw on some gold jewellery, layering the necklaces and bracelets. Deciding to leave my hair natural, I run my fingers through it to get rid of any knots. To finish off the look, I put on some light makeup and casual heels.

To finish off the look, I put on some light makeup and casual heels

I stand in front of my full-length mirror to look at myself.

Woah.

I snap a quick picture to post on Instagram later since I haven't posted in a while and decide to head downstairs.

I grab my keys, and just as I reach the front door to head out, Mama stops me. "Y a dónde vas?" (And, where are you going?)

I sigh and reply, "Salir con un amigo." My tone had definitely sounded rude and uncalled for, but I am not a child anymore. She does not need to know where I go anytime I leave the house. (Out with a friend.)

"Vestida como una zorra?" She snorts, almost identical to a pig. I knew it was coming – I almost smelt it from a mile away but didn't want to ruin my mood. (Dressed like a slut?)

"Tengo más de dieciocho años y soy capaz de hacer lo que quiero. Así que sí, vestida como una zorra. Ahora, si me disculpas, mi amigo está esperando." I snap, all in one breath before slamming the door shut as I head out. (I'm over eighteen and capable of doing what I want. So yes, dressed like a slut it is. Now, if you'll excuse me, my friend is waiting.)

Where the fuck did I get that courage from? It's going to be one hell of a night when I get home.

***

After about fifteen minutes, I arrive at the club and walk inside – after showing them my identification card. I immediately find Matt's dark, ocean blue eyes, and he rushes over to me as he wraps his arms around my waist, more like my ass. He tries kissing me, but I lean back.

Fucking hell, why did I have to make this so awkward?

"Oh, sorry," I mumble, laughing awkwardly and trying to wave it off. As I'm about to pull away from his arms, he does the unexpected.

He nods at first, making me think he understood I didn't want a kiss right now. Instead, he leans in to kiss me again.

Did you not get the hint? I'm not in the mood, dipshit.

I give in and kiss him back. A short, quick one. He clutches onto my wrist and leads us over to the bar, where he had saved us two seats.

"Two tequila shots!" He yells over the loud music, almost making me cringe at the sudden voice.

Matt is a handsome man. He has fluffy, curly blonde hair with the brightest blue eyes ever. He's a nice guy, he has a cute smile, and he is respectful. Sometimes.

When we first started dating, he begged me to have sex with him. It's been five months, and I still haven't let him in my pants yet. It might be safe to say that he's only with me for my body.

Which is why Sandra is telling me to cut him off, and honestly, I want to break up as well...

The bartender gives us our drink, and we both take our shots.

"You look amazing, Sia." Matt compliments me, and for a second, I thought he was being sweet. That was before I followed his gaze straight down to my tits.

Men.

"Thank you..." I smile, suddenly feeling awkward. It's not that I didn't like him; otherwise, I wouldn't be dating him. But that's the thing: I used to like him; I don't anymore. The small actions of his have made me lose feelings over the last few weeks. Actions such as this, where he only gawks at my body.

I decide to break the awkwardness and start a conversation: "Were you the one who told Sandra I was leaving?"

He nods, running his hand through his hair to add volume. "Was I not supposed to?" He raises a brow in confusion, not knowing if he had done something wrong.

"Just wondering." I smile awkwardly once again. Is he not understanding that I'm just trying to start some icebreaker shit?

"Want to dance?" He tilts his head, extending his hand forwards for me to grab. A small smile plays on his mouth as he awaits my response.

"Why not?" I nod with a small smile of my own. At least this way, I won't have to deal with more fucking silent awkwardness.

After talking and dancing for a while, he tells me he wants to go to one of the back rooms. Matt was being a bit too touchy with me on the dance floor. I know he's my boyfriend, but I'm not really in the mood to do anything sexual.

I follow him to the back with a heavy sigh, and before I know it, he pulls me into one of the rooms. Matt pushes me against the wall and starts kissing me roughly as his hands roam my entire body, sensing each crevice.

He moves his lips down to my neck and starts sucking, biting, and nibbling. That's definitely going to leave marks.

Jesus, how do I stop him?

I don't want him to get mad, like last time...

It's not that we have no sexual interactions. He's seen me naked, and the same goes for him. I might be a virgin, but I'm certainly not a saint. I have made Matt come with my hands, and he's touched me too. I just never let his dick get inside of me or in my mouth.

Before I can process it, Matt pushes his hand under my skirt and starts rubbing my clit messily. He's really not even hitting the right spot, so it doesn't feel good either.

I can't take this anymore.

I press my hands against his chest and nudge him back a little. But he doesn't stop. His heavy breaths fan my ears, and I shiver slightly at the irking sensation.

"Matt, stop," I mutter out, pushing against his chest once again in desperation.

He doesn't stop.

"Matt, stop!" I speak, a little louder than I had intended to be. Though, my voice still does not get through his thick fucking skull.

I use all of my strength and push him off of me at once. He almost loses his balance and lands on his ass before he catches his breath, looking at me with pure rage.

"Are you fucking serious?" Matt scoffs, fixing himself up as he glares down at me.

"I'm sorry, I just don't want to—" I try explaining my side of the story before getting abruptly cut off.

"Fuck you and your stupid apologies." He slightly raises his voice at me, scoffing and shaking his head in anger.

I internally flinch at his harsh tone. I fucking hate when people talk to me like this.

Fuck, I'm going to cry.

Instead of snapping back like I usually would, I stay silent. He has the right to be angry with me. I feel like I'm leading him on. But I wish he would understand that I'm just not ready to lose my virginity yet.

Especially to him, no offence.

He glances at me again and nudges his head after realising I don't have anything to say. A few moments pass by, and he walks out of the door.

Fucking great.

I walk out after a minute too. I sit back down at the same barstool and ask the bartender for another shot.

Why are men like this?

Just because I said no, he has to get all pissed off. I won't let him inside of me without barely even knowing him.

This is not the relationship I want. I always find myself settling for less, and I'm realising that's exactly what's happening right now.

I want chocolates, flowers, and sex. Good, rough, and hot sex. Matt knows nothing about my desires and what I like, yet he still insists on sleeping with me.

It's fucking tiring. That's what made me realise he's only here for my body. Not once has he ever complimented the way I look. It doesn't even have to be with words; he's never even shown me he likes the way my face is or my heart is.

I'm completely and utterly a hopeless romantic. I want someone to look at me, adore me, compliment me, and worship me the way men do in books and movies.

And Matt cannot give me that. Hell, he can't even stop when I tell him to. I internally groan and scold myself for agreeing to come here.

While waiting for my drink – that's taking fucking forever – I look around the dance floor, and my eyes unwillingly lock with a man's pitch-dark brown eyes.

His hair is messy and black with slight waves. It looks so soft and fluffy, making me want to run my hands through each and every strand.

The mystery man is seated on a couch, leaning back, with his legs spread wide open. His muscles bulge through his shirt, to the point where it looks like it could be torn with one singular move.

He slightly tilts his head as if he's checking me out, not breaking eye contact once. My eyes run over his jaw and cheekbones. They're so sharp and defined; I want to touch them.

"Ma'am? "Here's your drink." The bartender speaks, and I turn around, apologising.

I take the shot, and when I look back, the man is gone.

Was I dreaming or something?

I decide to just head back to the house since someone left me here.

I reach the hellhole, and when I walk inside, I see both of my parents. They stand there, throwing daggers at me with their hardcore glares.

Well, shit?