Claustrophobic spaces. 

Abience 
(n.) the strong urge to avoid someone or something 

Monday — September 4, 2023 

My heart pounds like a rabid animal in my chest, snarling for blood. 

It threatens to tear a gaping hole through my chest cavity, the shattered shards yearning for a breath of freedom. But it abides by the laws of biology and remains trapped inside me. Suffocating me and suffocating itself. 

I bring my hands up to my chest, bunching the material of my top in my fists and leaning away from the scene as a phantom touch of Marcus' hands still lingers on my skin. I might have been willing to let him go down on me before, but I recoil in horror at the memory of the last minute. 

I wasn't so sure I was entirely repulsed by Chance, but the second Marcus' hands landed on me, I was done. I would die before I'd let him anywhere near my panties. 

My elbow pulses in discomfort from the force of my attack but it pales in comparison to the sight before me. 

No one had helped me. I was sure they were content with just watching, getting their weekly dose of drama, hiding behind poorly masked amusement, as Chance toyed with me. 

So seeing Drake, with whom I'd conversed for what, a grand total of three hours, standing up for me? I'm sure that's a rogue butterfly pushing through the crevices of my insides somewhere. 

"The fuck are you high on?" Marcus spits as he looks at Drake with an expression of surprise and mild annoyance. 

"Nothing, — and the only one so, apparently — seeing as you all are clearly out of your mind." He moves a step back, now beside me. Not quite touching me but making sure the implication of the action is clear. 

"Valentino," Chance starts, eyes swiveling between the pair of us as he tries to conclude why the pair of us would be in league. 

The set of his jaw a few moments later tells me he said fuck it. 

"Mind sharing why you're playing white knight?" 

Shoving one of Chance's balls down his throat wouldn't exactly be a crime, would it?  

Drake smiles at Chance, no humor touching his expression. Well fuck, I lowkey want the golden retriever back. "Nah, I don't think so." 

Marcus pushes back to his feet and runs a hand through his hair, looking from Drake to me with a flash in his eyes that suggests he is anything but pissed. Curious would be the right word. 

I look toward Marcus, crossing my arms in a show of confidence. "Done eye-fucking me?" 

"Not even close, babe." He says, lazily running the tip of his tongue along the edge of his lips. 

He might have a pretty face but he'd pretty much proved himself to be a douchebag so that babe shit was an adorable silver envelope with a satin bow on it spelling out a calligraphic Hell No. 

Gods, to think I was happily rubbing myself against him only a short while ago. 

I cast a look of disinterest at him before Chance snares my attention. 

As I have his. 

The force of his gaze washes over me like a river of ice, chilling my bones straight to the marrow. 

The features my eyes trace fill me with a sense of familiarity, but the softness in his eyes, the boyish light that I remember, is no longer there. In its stead is a closed-off hardness that makes the contours of his face so much deadlier. 

Chance advances, a casual grace in his swagger that I don't recognize. There's nothing of the fourteen-year-old boy in his stride. 

Drake crosses his arms, too, just as I had. Looks him up and down. Head to toe. Clear skin glinting under the LEDs. Pink lips twitching slightly as he takes in Chance's uncompromising posture. Tongue trifling with the insides of his cheek. 

Unwarranted warmth spreads across my skin.  

"Callista and I were in the middle of something," Chance says and presses his lips together like he's disappointed we'd been interrupted, and then offers, "Marcus has already booked her next, so you can have her after if you wanna score." 

"What the—" 

I am blatantly horrified.  

And raging like a bull with a spiked dildo up its ass because Chance Ambrose did not just reduce me to the level of a sex slave. 

For the second time in the span of a fourth of a day. 

"And am I allowed a say in any of this?" I ask, just enough bite in my tone to sound what I feel about this and not have me sprawled on the ground with a cracked skull. 

"No." Chance says with a tone like he is only stating that the sky is blue and the grass green. Gaze still assessing Drake. 

I open my mouth only to find no words. Fist my palms in ire. 

This piece of utter shit. 

Chance turns his gaze to me, the Devil in him radiating an aura of lust that swaths his grey eyes in a blanket of black. I nearly balk under the intensity of his gaze, momentarily forgetting that the darkness in his eyes might have something to do with his want to watch me burn. 

Well, he has me right where he wants if that is it. His gaze has me on raging fire. 

Marcus leans his shoulder against Chance's, and they tower before me and Drake — or maybe it's just me — with predatory intent. 

Gods, this is Chance making true to the promise to destroy me, isn't it? 

But if he thinks I'm going to pack up like a good little girl and scurry out of his territory with my tail tucked between my plush ass cheeks, he is sorely mistaken. 

How has it been only forty hours? 

"Well if going against you is something that's going to get your pretty pink panties in a twist, I'm all in." 

Chance swipes a hand across his face as a fresh trail of blood trickles down his nose — holy shit I actually did that, but why does he still look hot — and I see him holding back a glare. 

Drake's arm finds my waist and wraps around it naturally like he's done this a hundred times and tugs me closer toward him. I smirk at the fury that lights Chance's eyes as they drop to the movement. 

A wild, unhinged emotion surfaces in his eyes the next moment. I vaguely see Marcus wrap a hand around his arm as if to hold him back. 

"The next time you cross paths with me without your shining little knight, Willow, know that you're fucked." A sadistic grin pulls at his lips and my chilled blood turns to ice. "Literally, if I'm in the mood." 

I can't find any words to toss back at him as I stare at his raging metallic eyes with my own wide open. 

Drake stiffens beside me. 

"Dude, I respect that you're an asshole and shit but you need to chill the fuck out." 

Fuck everything and everyone. My respect for Drake Valentino just surged by a fifty. 

The shock on Chance's face might have been much more apparent than if it had been scrawled across with a fat black marker in bold letters. 

I couldn't say I wasn't enjoying it. 

I also couldn't say that Marcus wasn't enjoying it as well. 

Still riding the high of the moment, I press my fist to my mouth to smother to smirk that tugs at my lips. Chance notes my amusement. 

Yep, I've done it. 

Drake pulls me away from the pair as he senses the calamity that is seconds away from taking place, swerving me through the crowd of stumbling bodies. 

Chance's hands catch my wrist but I jerk myself out of his hold, terror fueling the glare that lights my eyes as I flip him off. 

I don't look back as we weave through the deathly silent compound, the sound of my heartbeat filling my ears as Drake pulls me along. It almost felt like he knew staying in Chance's presence a second more would result in a glorious massacre. 

I am so going to regret my actions tomorrow but okay. 

●⁍●⁍●⁍● 

"Is... something wrong?" 

"No, yeah, no, just uh, give me a second," Drake replies, throwing his head back and threading his hands behind them. 

He stares straight ahead into the night and then exhales audibly before dropping his head onto the steering wheel with a dull thump that results in his Maserati honking a flatlining beep. 

"Uhm," Is there something particular I am supposed to do in a situation like this? 

"She's going to kill me." He breathes and a crease mars my brow. 

"Who?" 

A long expulsion of air is the only reply I receive. 

In an attempt to lighten the air, I blurt out, "How could anyone want to kill you?" 

And slap a hand over my mouth as heat crawls across my skin. 

Forehead still resting on the wheel, he turns his head sideways and reveals a crooked smile on his lips. 

"Quite a question, isn't it?" He says, pushing himself upright, gaze not straying from mine. "But I think a better one would go something like what in everything cursed and perplexing did I just witness?" 

I let out a crumpled sigh and grind my teeth, the scorn that raven-haired male harbored for me weighing down on me like lead. 

"Trust me, I'm trying to figure it out myself." I mumble, sinking into the seat, hissing as the warmth of my skin meets cold leather. 

He grunts a scoff and shifts the gear. I shift uncomfortably as the hum of the engine fails to penetrate the soundproof walls of the car. 

"What did you even do to make him hate you so much?" 

"Exist, apparently." 

Drake snorts. 

"Seriously though," He says, "Whatever went down between the two of you, it looked bad." He sends me a look sideways. 

I bite down on my molars. Blink back the frustration. 

"That's the fucking thing!" I start, throwing my hands up as emotions catch up to me. "I haven't done shit to him. Like, we ended shit on good terms; I was sad I had to leave, he was sad I had to leave; shit like that, and now his demeanor does a total one-eighty, he transforms into a complete asshole who's high on meth, and starts being a fucking bitch to me!" I exclaim. "I mean, like, you'd think he had a solid reason to hate someone who's literally stuck by him since like for. Ever." 

I expel a puff of air and cross my arms with a murderous frown as I stare out on the road and mutter, "What an asshole." 

Tears prick my eyes as that damned self-centered smile of his flashes across my mind, plastered on an unmissable red flag. I curl my fingers into my palms and tell myself that the chill crawling across my skin has everything to do with the air conditioner. 

"Uh-huh," I feel his eyes on me only for a second before they dart back to the road. "So, moved back would be a more accurate phrase?" 

"What?" I say in confusion. His eyes don't stray from the road but I know the arch in his eyebrows is meant for me. 

I recall the conversation we had earlier in the day and my lips break into an apologetic smile. "Right." 

But like did that have to be his only takeaway from my inadvertent speech? 

"Not like it's my business or anything." He adds, sending a reassuring look. "And sorry I didn't butt in a little sooner. I was having way too much fun watching you kick his ass." 

He chuckles to himself and my lips part. Having fun? 

Well if I'm going to be pissed at anyone for that, it would be every damned attendee this evening. And I haven't got the patience for that. I'd rather spend that time on something more productive. 

Like algebra. Or painting my nails. 

"At least I managed to kick ass," I say with resignation. "I was half sure he'd drag me away to make me pick a casket for my funeral before incinerating me." 

"If it's any consolation, that kick to the spine was crazy. Did not see that coming." 

"I swear to shit, I don't even know what came over me." 

"Oh, I do," He says with a teasing lilt, "Your inner beast came out for blood. And fuck, it put on a show." 

The urge to bury my face in my palms and claw it off just so that I wouldn't have to face anyone ever again was carving a hole in my veil of sanity. 

Drake's charisma eases my inner turmoil and I'm no longer thinking of Chance. Even if only for a brief moment. 

"Will I see you tomorrow?" I ask. 

"Excuse you?" Drake looks at me with a quizzical smile. 

"I mean, you kinda mentioned a she who was going to kill you so I need to know if your fate is set in stone or not." 

"Oh, that. Nah, it's nothing, just my Mother. She and Marcus' mom are like besties so she's not gonna be happy about me busting her godson." 

The fuck? 

Drake catches my expression and breaks a laugh. "I'm joking about the godson part." 

I snort and move my gaze back to the landscape. 

"Wait, wait," I grab his arm and pull it back as if that particular body part was controlling the accelerator. "Stop here, I don't know if my dad's home so—" I cut myself off, not knowing how to end the sentence. 

"Alright." He doesn't ask questions and obediently does as I ask. And then adds, "Someone's daddy issues are showing." Then coughs to cover it up. 

This asshole. 

"Wanna fix that?" I ask as I pull down the vanity mirror and fluff up my hair, biting back a smirk. 

For a second he says nothing. 

I glance at him. He glances at me. The heat in his eyes suggests that he wouldn't mind. My throat runs dry. 

His hand lands on my thigh. Tracing figures I can't decipher, not with only a micrometer of fabric separating skin from skin. 

I place my palm against his, winding my fingers through his and detaching them from my thigh and placing our threading fingers courteously on his own and away from my increasingly expressive core. 

"You're a fucking tease, Callista." Drake says, retracting his hand and running it through his blonde curls. 

I flick back the vanity mirror with a broad smile. 

"Come on, I'll walk you to your door." He offers. I cast him a sideway glance, a grin still plastered on my lips. 

 "You are playing white knight today." 

He shrugs innocently.  

●⁍●⁍●⁍● 

Drake drops more than a few not-so-subtle hints about wanting to warm my bed for the night and although I was inclined to say yes, I didn't think I'd have the energy to ride him longer than a couple of minutes. 

So no D for me tonight. 

I sigh. 

"You can't just leave like that, Miss Huxley!" The housekeeper, Lillian, files into my path the second I step past the front door with her lips pressed in a line. "You must inform me if you're going somewhere!" 

I raise my eyebrows in bemusement. "Am I supposed to live like a prisoner now?" 

I can't believe it. My asshole father seriously decided he suddenly owns my life now that I'm living under his roof. 

She shakes her head. "It's a precautionary measure." She states and offers no more. 

Right, because I was totally going to end up in a ditch with my throat slit open just because I wouldn't tell Daddy dearest I was going to a rager to hook up with some unsuspecting guy. 

"Yeah, whatever." I mutter and make past her toward the fleet of walnut cantilever stairs that lead to my room upstairs. 

I turn to her as a thought occurs to me. "For the record, I prefer Willow, Not Huxley. And you can call me Callista." 

Never had I ever been a Huxley, not even before the divorce. My birth certificate had the name Willow on it and who was he to disrespect that? I was not inclined to pick up the name Huxley like things were alright. 

She takes in my words but doesn't indicate any acceptance of the statement. 

"Dinner's laid out in the dining area. Your father's been waiting for you for the past hour." 

Now that I did not see coming. 

●⁍●⁍●⁍● 

If the Devil ascended from the depths of the underworld to drag me down there for a night of eternal torture as an alternative to spending a minute in my sperm donor's company, I'd surrender my soul in a heartbeat. 

Totally should have gone for Drake. At his place. 

Would I, practically speaking, sell my soul to the Devil? Probably not. But fuck was it tempting. 

"Will he believe me if I say I'm not feeling well?" 

She shoots me an unimpressed look and meanders out of the room, leaving me hanging and conflicted. 

"Guess that's no." I mutter. 

I suppose I don't have a choice. Cons of being a dependent little shit. 

I mean, what's the worst he can do? 

Ground me? 

Take my phone away? 

Make me do the dishes? 

I scoff. 

I'm hilarious. 

But as I enter the dining area and feel the icy blue eyes of Marcel Huxley fixate on my soul unforgivingly, I begin to wonder if a deal with the Devil really is a better alternative.