3. Manoela Ferraz
1069 Words
I follow the GPS through London's traffic, hands firm on the wheel, trying not to think about how strange it is to be taking a stranger — an attractive one, though — home in the middle of the night.
Finally, the device announces: "You have arrived at your destination."
I pull the car up in front of a tall building — the kind you see in movies and think only exist in distant dreams. Automatic glass doors, a dark glass façade, and the name engraved in metallic letters: The Meridian.
He lets out a deep sigh and glances at me from the corner of his eye.
"You live here?" I ask, trying to sound casual.
He nods, a little awkwardly, as if the weight of the world is still pressing down on his back.
"Yeah. I'll try to open the parking gate." He pulls his phone out of his pocket and, with visible effort, types in the code. His hand trembles, but he manages.
I maneuver the car into the reserved spot, and he gets out carefully, leaning on me for a moment before walking toward the building's entrance.
We go in, and he types the code into the elevator panel. The electronic beep is brief, and the doors close slowly, taking us to the top floor.
When the duplex penthouse door opens, the view knocks the wind out of me.
Floor-to-ceiling glass walls display the city in all its magnitude. The glow of the buildings reflects off the dark wooden floor that stretches across an open-concept space, where furniture in black, gray, and rustic wood contrasts with the flickering light of a crackling fireplace.
The space is vast, luxurious, and makes me feel like I've walked into a magazine spread.
He coughs — a dry, harsh cough that seems to drain whatever little air he has left.
Before I can ask if he's okay, he vomits on the floor.
My heart races.
"Do you want me to help you to the bathroom?" I ask, already crouching down to grab a paper towel.
He gestures toward a dark hallway, and we make our way to the master suite.
When I step inside, I almost hold my breath.
The massive bed sits directly in front of the panoramic windows, as if it were the center of the universe in here.
And the bathroom... the bathroom is a private spa.
A huge jacuzzi tub, lined in light marble, and a shower with glass doors that seem to invite you in for a healing soak.
He, however, drags himself toward the shower.
I can't leave him alone.
While he turns on the hot water, I go to the cabinets looking for something — medicine, a painkiller — anything that might help.
I come back to the bathroom and see Ravi wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist, his sculpted body glistening with water droplets that trickle down slowly.
He looks... better.
I offer him the medicine, and he accepts with a nod, his voice still weak:
"Thank you."
He leans his body against the bathroom wall, still with the towel around his waist, his gaze distant but fixed on me.
"I went..." he murmurs, his voice hoarse and barely a whisper. "I went to the bar because I just wanted to forget. Forget all the pain she... that she left behind."
For a moment, I don't know what to say. The pain in his eyes is real, deep. I understand what that's like. But he doesn't say her name, and I don't know that this pain is for someone he loved, someone he lost forever.
"I..." I begin, trying to find the right words. "I just got out of a relationship too... All I wanted was to forget."
The tension between us grows in the air, like a flame beginning to spread. He steps closer slowly, with a sad smile, but one full of desire.
Ravi touches my chin with the tips of his fingers, as if he wants to memorize every detail of my face.
"You're too beautiful to be forgotten," he says, his golden eyes gleaming in the bathroom light. "How could anyone do that?"
Before I can react, he presses me against the cold countertop, his warm body closing in around mine.
I feel the intense heat of his body against me, his firm grip on my back, holding me with a delicate strength, almost protective.
He whispers, almost hoarsely:
"I wanted to kiss you from the moment I saw you."
"You're drunk," I reply, trying to push away the weight of that growing attraction.
He smiles — the kind of smile that disarms any defense.
"I'm sober enough to kiss a beautiful girl."
And then, his lips meet mine.
It's a shock — an explosion of sensations that completely overtakes me.
His mouth is soft and warm, with a faint hint of mint — maybe from the soap he used — and his touch is firm, yet careful, as if he wants to memorize every curve of my lips.
My hands come up, feeling the size and strength of his arms, which move from my waist to my thighs, pulling me gently.
Before I realize it, he sits me on the bathroom counter, the cold marble contrasting with the heat spreading through my body.
He kisses me hungrily, as if he wants to devour me, as if it's the only way to forget the pain he carries.
I feel my heart race, my breath catch, as our mouths meet and lose themselves in a rhythm that leaves me dizzy.
It's frightening and exhilarating at the same time.
He slides his lips from mine, trailing down my chin to my neck, where he leaves a path of soft kisses that make my skin tingle. The heat of his touch floods my body, a mix of desire and vulnerability that leaves me breathless.
He whispers near my ear, his voice thick with pain and longing:
"Please... let me use you. Just for one night. Just to forget all of this... just one night."
I feel the raw sincerity in that plea — the pain he carries, the desperate need to find some relief.
And somehow, I feel my own pain seeking comfort too — a refuge for the loneliness that consumes me.
I take a deep breath, and without overthinking it, I answer:
"Okay... just for one night."
- Writer
