"I really should be glad
But I'm bluer than blue
Sadder than sad."
Bluer than blue by Barry Manilow.

Chapter Fourteen:

I instinctively suck in a shallow breath, and it feels like it brings our bodies even closer, my soft flesh against his hard chest. I stay anchored in my place, neither pushing him away nor kissing him back. He grabs the nape of my neck with his other hand, urgently pushing his daintily soft lips forcefully against mine, and that’s all it takes before I set the remainder of my sanity free, and kiss him back. The friction of my mouth against his nearly drives me mad, and my mouth becomes feverish, clamping onto his over and over again.

I feel his tongue skimming my bottom lip and teeth, seeking entry, and I defenselessly open for him. The moment my mouth parts, his tongue clashes against mine, burning strokes igniting my body on fire and causing my eyes to fall shut in pleasure and need. He tastes of lemon and sugar, a fusion on his bipolar character. His fingertips dig into the soft flesh of my nape, as if there was room for more closeness, and I snap, throwing my arms around his neck. He responds by moving the hand on my west south, until he is cupping my backside, and in one swift move, he brings me full-body against him. I nearly pass out in my place, fully sentient of every hard part of him pressing against my delicate flesh. He makes a sound deep in his throat, and it's like a symphony to my ears, vibrating through my body. My hands move to bury themselves into his hair, tugging on its silkiness, and it triggers him, causing him to push me back, instantly leading my body with his until my back hits a hard wall, and he pushes his body flat against mine, allowing me to feel every part of him.

I distantly hear a few murmurers passing by, and it's like icy water washing all over me. I open my eyes, only to find his closed, frown lines marring the space between his eyebrows, but it doesn't last for long. He notices my lack of response and opens his eyes, and the world stops. We just stare at each other with no shame, our eyes sealed. I don't move, and neither does he, our lips touching but not moving a fraction.

His gaze abruptly alters, and he hisses, looking around as bothered lines start to form between his eyebrows. He shakes his head, before he slaps his hands against the wall above my head, using them to push away from me. He spies people piling in and out of the hallway, before he looks back at me, his face hard.

“That was–” he starts, but I interrupt him.

“–a mistake.” I finish the sentence, beseeching the ground to split and swallow me whole. My mouth parts to accommodate my bashing breaths, and I notice that his chest is in the same panting state.

How could I do that? How could I let my guard down and let him bait me and mold me in his hand like a piece of dough? I'm sure in that moment, when his lips were on me, I was ready to do cross seas for him.

He was like a drug. A dose of heroin forcing its way into my system, and I was like a pathetic junkie, disarmed and unable to resist it.

He nods repeatedly, dragging a hand down his face, his shirt-clad chest elevating and dropping in long, laborious breaths. He opens and closes his mouth several times, struggling for the right words just like me, before he just mutters, “That didn't happen.” And just like that, he spins and walks off, discarding me behind, my jaw dangerously close to hitting the ground.

I slap my palm against my forehead in lividity. The asshole did it and humiliated me again, and I'm left here like a piece of bone thrown to the dogs. How dare he? No. How dare I? I brought this on myself. I’ve always been a reticent person, reprobating the idea of telling people any details about me. How could I react like an airhead and blurt out one of my bluest secrets, letting him kiss me and then leave me behind like I'm nothing but one of the sluts he sleeps with and then paints? I did this to myself and here I am bearing the consequences. It's not like I wanted to be with him. I'm too swamped by burdens and goals to even consider such imbecility, not to mention that diversion is something that I don't have on my to-do list. However, what he did was like a slap across my ego, which is now pendulously bleeding.

I freshen up in the restroom, before I head back to the table. I made sure to scheme out a couple of scenarios in my head to act out in front of him, but they all plummet down to my feet the moment I arrive and find him gone. He must've left immediately, because I'm sure I didn't last more than five minutes in the restroom.

Dylan: 2

Candice: 0

“Is he still fixing his clothes?” Trent queries, and it takes me a while to realise that he's talking to me.

“Who?” I ask with a frown.

“Dylan of course. It must've been one hell of a good restroom quickie.” He says, doing a rubbish job at muzzling his amused smirk. Alexa spits her drink back into her glass, unleashing a fit of laughter mixed with shallow coughs. She looks up at me, and I'm sure my face gives away my horror because she laughs even harder. I perceive that they're the only two who are delighting in that silly joke.

“God Trent, you're awful.” Alexa squeaks, wiping away tears from his eyes, before she looks at me. “He's just joking.” She explains.

I finally close my opened mouth, laughing once. “I don't know where he is. He must've left.” I respond to the original question.

“That's weird. He never leaves like that without telling us.” Claire insinuates in a venomous tone, her resting bitch face holding an accusing look.

I nonchalantly shrug, before standing, pulling my satchel over my shoulder. “I don't know. Isn't he your bestie or something? Ask him.” I lash back in an unaffected tone. I notice her fingers tightening around the glass in her hand, but she doesn't say anything. “I should leave too.” I say, pulling my hair from under the strap of my bag.

“Why? It's not been long since we've arrived.” Logan questions, tilting his head to the side in inquiry.

“I have a night shift tomorrow, and I want to have enough sleep.” I explain, moving my hand to obscure a fake yawn.

“I'll drive you then.” He stands, his hand reaching for his car keys.

“No.” I hasten to say. “I want to go alone.”

His eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn't say anything. I don't want to lead him on. Besides, he's not my target right now, and I want to manifest my effort in a different case.

I leave after saying goodbye, and the moment I step out of the club, the cool air collides with me, bringing consolation to my body and tears to my eyes, but I try to hold my tears in check. It's not the right time.

I immediately hail a cab, wanting to go home as soon as possible, and throughout the long ride, I try to keep my unshed tears intact. I won't just succumb to my emotions and melt down again. I have another way, and the moment I arrive at my apartment, I start the operation of my plan. I change out of my clothes and into my running clothes, gearing up to blow off some steam.

I don't care if it's past twelve in the morning, and soon enough, my feet hit the concrete, not bothering to warm up or even start slow. I sprint into a blistering pace, my arms moving like angry whips against the air and my body dashing like a deer into the night.

The feeling of being asphyxiated slowly alleviates, and the hurt and insecurities that I felt before gradually morph into outrage, causing me to run faster. I keep increasing my pace until my legs buckle, causing me to halt and brace my hands against the dusty pavement to catch my breath.

Alright Dylan Evans. She who laughs last.

… … …

I knock on Dylan's door three times, in a bit of a fluster, trying to keep my demeanor neutral and apathetic. I feel my right leg shaking, the tempo accelerating by every second, and I place my hand on my thigh to still it. The door opens, and this time when I look up, I don't find him shirtless. A flash of disappointment gnaws at me, but I refuse to admit it.

“You're late.” He states, not even acknowledging me, before disappearing inside once more. It ruffles me even more. Is it just me or does he like to spite people all the time like a needle dick?

I waltz in after him, kicking the door closed, before throwing my bag on a chair, already antagonized. “I beg your pardon.” I sarcastically spout.

“Meh.” He responds just as snarkily. “I didn't expect you to come anyway.” He admits, finally facing me with a raised eyebrow.

I assumed something would change about the way he acts toward me. Hell, I thought he'd just inform me that he no longer wants to mentor me so I can just hassle him, but he's acting normally as if nothing happened last night.

Alright. Two can play this game.

“Why not? Because you accidentally had your tongue shoved down my throat last night?” I insouciantly ask, crossing my arms. His two eyebrows are raised now, and he parts his mouth to say something, but I break in. “I know I know. It didn't happen. Let's just start.” I lamely say, waving my hand dismissively.

His face contorts in a weirded out look, before he shakes his head, parading toward the refrigerator. He grabs a beer and a Coke for me, at which I shake my head, seizing his beer instead. I unscrew the cab of the bottle, before taking a swig. I do my best to keep a straight face, suppressing my gag reflex. I descry his mouth twitching, before he confidently saunters toward refrigerator once more, bending down a bit to replace the Coke with a beer, and I can't help but study his backside in the sweatpants he's wearing, unable to overlook the way his shirt rides up, exposing a scant amount of flesh in the small gap between his pants and tee.

What the hell is wrong with me?

We walk into his painting room, and the familiar, intense smell of paint wafts through the air. It's confounding how tranquilizing it makes me feel. He follows through the same course of the last time, setting up a blank new canvas. He then selects a piano track, brimming the room with exquisite, peaceful sounds. However, I pull my phone out of my pocket, before linking it to his music digital device, and in a moment, “Throne” by “Bring Me The Horizon” fills the rooms with it's thundering beats, and the serene atmosphere fluctuates into a vigorous one.

His mouth forms an O, looking horrified. “You can't listen to that while painting.” He exclaims.

“I can and I will. Your music is soothing, sure, but my music will work better with me.” I reason.

He gapes at me for a second, looking freaked-out, before muttering, “Just no birds this time please.” He moves to sit on a chair by the wall in front of me, as if challenging me, but I don't complain. I can do it under his scrutinising gaze.

I shrug. “Yessir.” I sardonically say, mimicking a child's voice.

My mouth spreads into a sinister smile when I begin, barely containing my smile throughout the whole procedure and using every shade of blue to paint that insufferable creature. He sits there, clearly oblivious to the disaster I'm doing to his beautiful face. Loud, uproarious songs keep playing and I notice him cringing a couple of times, making my smirk magnify. When I finish and inspect my work, a pang of pity hits, but a laugh bubbles up my throat nonetheless.

Before notifying him that I'm done, my phone chimes in, and I have to unlink it to answer. I hear Dylan muttering “Thank God” when the music stops, making my chest convulse in silent laughter.

I exit the room to answer my phone when I discover that Brenda, my coworker at NIGHTS, is the caller. I pick up, hastening to assure her that I'm not going to be late. “Hey Brenda. I'll be there in thirteen minutes.”

She clears her throat. “Err.. Actually you shouldn't.”

My eyebrows knit together. “Why not?”

She clears her throat again, sounding really nervous. “Boss said that you're fired.” She drops the bomb, begetting my heart to skip a beat, my face turning red from the shock.

“What? Why?” Is all I manage to say.

“Um.. well Lola said that she saw that guy who threw that tray at you once talking to the boss, and when he left, boss told Lola to tell you that-” I see red, not even letting her finish, before ending the call.

The air blisteringly rushes in and out of my lungs, the fury in my blood ardent, and I find myself striding into the room, wrath controlling me. I find him standing in front of the canvas, scanning it. He looks around when I barge, a frown marring his forehead. “You drew me with horns?” He exclaims.

In response, I raise my hand in the air and –THWACK–it collides with his cheek.

___________

I hope you guys liked the chapter and that slap ;)✋

For those eager, impatient readers, two more chapters are available for free on Radish. Find my username "Raghdanezzat".

Have a great day/night.

All the love x.

Raghda​.