chapter 1
1169 Words
The rain hammered against the grimy windows of Murphy's Dive like bullets, and I wished one would just put me out of my misery.
"Another whiskey," I slurred to the bartender, who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Join the club, buddy.
My phone buzzed with another text from my ex. *Elena, please. Let's talk. I didn't mean—*
I turned it face down. Too late for that, Marcus. Three years together, and his parting gift was telling me I was "too much." Too emotional. Too needy. Too... everything.
The thunder cracked overhead, and I jumped, nearly spilling my drink. The whole bar shook. Perfect. Even the weather was having a breakdown.
"Rough night?"
I looked up to find a stranger sliding onto the stool next to me. Dark hair, stubble that looked intentional, and eyes that seemed to hold their own storm. He was beautiful in that dangerous way that usually sent me running.
Tonight, I didn't run.
"You could say that." I knocked back the whiskey, feeling it burn. "You?"
He signaled the bartender. "Whiskey. Make it a double." His voice was rough, like he'd been screaming. Or crying. "Just found out my girlfriend's been cheating. For months."
"Ouch." I studied his profile. Strong jaw, but something broken in the way he held his shoulders. "With who?"
"My business partner." He laughed, but it wasn't funny. "Guess I'm too... what did she call it? Emotionally unavailable."
"And I'm too much." I raised my glass in a mock toast. "Here's to being exactly what they don't want."
He clinked his glass against mine. "What's your name?"
For a second, I hesitated. Giving him my name felt like crossing a line. But what lines did I have left?
"Elena."
"Damien." He drained his glass in one go. "Nice to meet you, Elena. Even if the world's ending."
Lightning flashed outside, illuminating his face for a split second. There was something about his eyes—like looking into a mirror of my own pain.
"Are you drunk?" I asked.
"Getting there. You?"
"Way ahead of you."
We sat in silence, watching the storm rage. The bar was nearly empty except for a few die-hard locals who probably lived here.
"Want to know something funny?" I said, surprised by my own voice. "I actually thought he was going to propose tonight. Had it all planned out in my head."
Damien turned to look at me fully. "What happened?"
"He told me he'd been thinking, and I was... suffocating him. That he needed space. That I loved too hard." The words tasted bitter. "Three years, and apparently I was just too much woman for him to handle."
"Sounds like his loss."
"Does it?" I laughed, but tears pricked my eyes. "Because right now, I feel like maybe he was right. Maybe I am too much."
Damien's hand found mine on the bar. His skin was warm, calloused. Real.
"Hey," he said softly. "Look at me."
I did. Big mistake. His eyes were dark brown, almost black in the dim light, and they looked at me like I was the only person in the world.
"You're not too much," he said. "You're just... enough. For the right person."
Thunder crashed again, closer this time. The lights flickered.
"I should go," I whispered, but I didn't move.
"So should I."
Neither of us moved.
His thumb traced across my knuckles, and I shivered. When was the last time someone touched me like I was precious?
"Elena..." His voice was rough with something that made my stomach flip.
"I know." I leaned closer, smelling his cologne mixed with whiskey and rain. "This is crazy."
"Completely insane."
"We're drunk."
"Very drunk."
"We don't know each other."
"Not at all."
But when his lips found mine, nothing else mattered. The kiss was desperate, hungry, like we were both drowning and this was air. His hands tangled in my hair, and I pressed closer, tasting whiskey and storm and something that felt like salvation.
The lights went out.
"Come on," he said against my lips. "Let's get out of here."
I should have said no. Should have gone home, nursed my hangover, and pretended this night never happened.
Instead, I grabbed his hand and ran.
The rain soaked us instantly, but we didn't care. We stumbled through the storm, laughing like maniacs, until we found a little motel with a flickering neon sign.
"One room," Damien told the clerk, throwing cash on the counter.
The room was small, cheap, with faded carpet and thin walls. None of it mattered. The storm raged outside, and inside, we were creating our own hurricane.
His mouth found mine again, and this time there was no hesitation. No thinking. Just feeling. His hands mapped my body like he was memorizing it, and I did the same, trailing my fingers over his chest, his shoulders...
There. A scar on his shoulder blade, raised and jagged. I traced it with my fingertip, and he shuddered.
"Car accident," he murmured against my throat. "When I was seventeen."
I kissed it, tasting salt and stories I'd never know.
We moved together in the darkness, two broken people finding something whole in each other's arms. It was desperate and beautiful and everything my heart needed.
When it was over, I curled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. His arm tightened around me, and for the first time in days, I felt safe.
"Elena?" His voice was drowsy.
"Mmm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being exactly enough."
I smiled against his skin and let the sound of the storm lull me to sleep.
When I woke up, the sun was streaming through the thin curtains, and I was alone.
The bed was cold. His scent lingered on the pillow—cologne and something uniquely him—but that was all. No note. No number. No trace he'd ever been there except the ache in my chest and the taste of regret in my mouth.
I sat up, pulling the sheet around me, and looked at the empty space where he'd been.
"Damien?" I called, but I already knew.
He was gone.
I dressed quickly, shame crawling up my throat. What had I been thinking? This was exactly the kind of thing Marcus said I did—threw myself at anyone who showed me attention.
Maybe he was right. Maybe I was too much.
I grabbed my purse and headed for the door, but stopped at the mirror. My reflection looked back—mascara smudged, hair wild, lips swollen. The girl who'd walked into that bar last night was gone.
I had no idea who I was now.
The storm had passed, leaving only puddles and the wreckage of whatever I'd thought I was building with my life.
I walked out into the bright morning sun and promised myself I'd never be that desperate again.
I'd never think about him again.
I'd forget this night ever happened.
Some promises are harder to keep than others.
- Writer
