❝love is not the answer;
i'm in love with this stuff.❞

❘❘

NO NIEVA.

Stuck in some daydream of snowfall, we wait and wait and wait and wait. Every night is una eternidad, railing lines of coke and inhaling cigarette smoke, tethered to some longing for the start of invierno.

We crack the window; we wrap ourselves into sheets and blankets, bare and breathless, and we chase away the chill in the air with bruising, burning kisses. Slick skin against skin, a sheen of sweat separating us, we move sleepily through the sultry heat, bracing wintry wishes with a non-stop reel of sex.

Seized by snow, lost in some lustful lullaby, twisting through sheets, just memorizing sensations of togetherness. Warm breath melting, fingertips tracing lines of fire, tongues tasting, hips meeting, and lips... lips catching every inch of skin exposed to the cold.

Julian and I keep each other warm.

"Podemos hacer esto para siempre," I tell him one late night... and I mean every slurring syllable. Quiero esto para siempre. "Tú y yo."

It takes tres días, holed up and huddled into each other, complimenting companionship of silence, before Julian cuts us off.

Humming lazily, he caresses my cheek... like I'm porcelana, like I'm vidrio, like I'm hielo, seconds away from shattering his entire world.

Julian caresses my cheek como me ama more than fucking breathing.

My eyes flutter closed. "Jules..."

"We're blowing through this, Neva," he drawls, capturing my lips in a chaste kiss. "Lo siento, princesita, but we have to stop."

I don't think I can stop.

"I don't want to stop."

Julian snickers. I catch his wrist and press my lips to his palm, caressing those inked knuckles up until I taste his fingertips on my tongue. "Neva..."

"Por favor, papi." I blink up at him innocently. "Don't you love me?"

Hazy and heartbreaking, the shade of brown in his eyes darkens. "No me lo recuerdes."

That raspy threat strikes me hot. I tug my lower lip between my teeth teasingly, and when he groans, a grin breaks free. Julian is too easy, and that fucked up part of me loves having this over his head.

I can do anything.

"Sí, sí, sí, you and me, papi," I breathe, yanking him down for a hard kiss. "¿Te recuerdas?"

It's three days of pushing and pulling, molding his own words for my gain, yanking hair and carving skin, moaning, sighing, indulging in everything Julian Rivera can give me.

I feel like a fucking Queen in his bed.

There's something about the high that gives us royalty, like Kings and Queens of a broken kingdom, reigning over a lonely city. A sensual secret in each fiery breath, each fierce kiss, each frantic word. Our actions.

Like we're the only ones who can find it, the only people in the world who can feel this fucking free.

I only wanted to stay high enough to feel that. Forever.

It's almost a lovesick feeling, a forbidden admiration, memorizing empty patterns and hollow heartbeats, knowing it's destroying you, but still wanting it. Needing it. There's no way to love without it.

There's no way to live without it.

A binge, Julian lo llamaba, when I asked if this was real. A fucking binge.

Riding out a three day binge is almost like gripping a steering wheel too tight, white knuckles and locked fingers, bones breaking skin, frantic and fucked, heartbroken, watching the pavement in front of you split, fracture, and crumble; it's a wild panic, swerving, skidding, speeding out of control, unable to brake, unsure of where you're going, or where it ends, but knowing, just fucking knowing, that the crash is inevitable.

So you close your eyes and wait for the impact. You let the world fucking unravel around you and you pray for a painless death, a destruction so swift and so violent that it only takes a fraction of a second to kill you.

Instead, it moves in slow motion within you, grinding bones into charred metal, twisted and totaled, until there's nothing but a scorched skeleton. It drags every single heartbeat into infinity, pounding between ears, pulsating, palpitating, piercing a wild nightmare into this endlessly vivid torture of shaking and sobbing and screaming and feeling like hell.

...wishing it would stop.

"I hate you," I sob into his chest when he tries to leave me. My fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, nails twisting into fabric and clawing skin, desperate to undress him and find us again. "I hate you so much."

Julian laughs, tangling his fingers into my hair and tugging gently. As my neck cranes, I blink through watery lashes to meet those dark, dark, dark eyes.

De pronto, I hate myself more than I hate him.

"Oh princesita, you don't hate me," he rasps, a smile toying at his lips.

Tears spill over my cheeks. "I do. I hate you."

Odio sentirme así.

Julian dips down to kiss me softly—tan pinche dulcemente that I want to die. "You love cocaine too much to really hate me, Neva."

And en ese momento, caught mid-chaos, mid-kiss, mid-crash, I think I do love it. I think I love cocaine, I think I love Julian, I think I love everything but this fucking feeling.

Dazed, I try to shake my head, but I'm wading through murky waters, fighting a riptide of emotions, a fatal flaw in his words, in the sensations, in the air between us.

My lips part in disbelief. "I... I think I love you."

"No, no, no, no me amas." Julian gives me a tender look, a hazy apology lurking somewhere beneath the affection. "Amas la nieve."

No. I love how I feel when I'm with him, when we're high and heartless and hungry for something else.

"You love how cocaine makes you feel, Neva, not me."

"That's..." Sniffling, I blink past hot tears. "Eso no es verdad."

"No llores, princesita," he lulls, sweeping a thumb across my cheek. "La nieve will never love you back, but it's okay. I'll love you enough for both of us."

Something thick and ugly escapes. As I collapse into him, clinging desperately, I choke on a million fucking words. I can't stop crying.

I want to tell him to stop. I want to scream at him until he storms out of the apartment, or until he leaves me alone, or until he realizes how fucked up we are.

But I don't want to be alone.

Julian doesn't move. Julian Rivera is still and solid and so fucking strong—tucking me under his arm, holding me close, stroking my hair gently, soothing me down from some self-loathing anxiety with soft Spanglish.

"Why are you leaving?" I finally breathe, sounding miserable and weak and just hurt. As his fingers still on my bare shoulders, I peer up at him timidly. "I don't understand, Jules."

Something in his expression softens with the nickname. A loose, apologetic smile captures his lips. "I'm sorry, mami, but I have to take care of some things. Business."

"Can I—"

"No."

My bottom lip wobbles. "No quiero estar sola."

Julian hesitates. Worry flashes in his eyes, but it's fleeting, gone with the first glimpse. "Neva, you'll be okay without me."

Trembling, I press my cheek to his chest and close my eyes. "Jules, I'm scared," I admit quietly. "I'm scared. What if... what if they find me again? What if the—"

"No one is going to hurt you, Neva." That faint promise strings his words together, and as his fingers lace through mine, I know Julian means it. "You'll be okay."

Somewhere in the pit of my heart, defeat and exhaustion anchor me into silence. Estaré bien.

"Besides, I love you enough to remember that you have that party tonight." He squeezes my hand. "I know you want to go."

I nod numbly. "Yeah."

"I can drop you off before I leave," he soothes, detaching and detangling, forcing millimeters and inches and miles between us.

As I sit up and sway, my head spins. "Wait, you're taking my car again?"

"Yeah." Julian nods without looking at me. "I'll be back in a few days though."

A few fucking days.

I know I should be angry, or jealous, or just aggravated, but there's... nothing. Not an inkling of rage, not a sliver of frustration. Only this hollow disappointment, this black hole of heartache, this empty feeling.

Numb.

A million meaningless motions waste the morning away; instead of touching and fucking and snorting, I swim through a haze of mundane memories—showering, eating, brushing my hair, perfecting my makeup, shimmying into some slutty fucking dress.

All I want to do is curl up into bed and cry.

Or peel away the makeup, the glitter, the mascara, the solemn sobriety and just... exist.

Delayed and detached, every misstep trips, every hitched breath lags, every skipped heartbeat drags. With a heavy heart, I let Julian guide me through the hectic blur—drifting through Ridgewood behind newly tinted windows, one last breathless kiss goodbye, and then... watching him leave me on the sidewalk in front of that bar.

Alone and cold.

It's fucking cold.

I can't tell if it's the chill in the November night or the loss of contact, severing the connection, breaking the nights of empty promises.

Separation.

I muster up a weak smile. Estoy bien. Estaré bien.

When I step in, the sensations send me spiraling. It's a direct hit, an assault of hazy red light, flashing and flickering, exposing the trace of smoke and sweat beneath a heavy bass, beating, beating, beating...

I blink rapidly, but the lights cascade around me, cutting through my vision, skewing the entire world into something wild.

Suddenly, I'm drowning.

"Neva!"

Parting the crowds like the red sea, wrapped into a sensual lie of soft eyes and a sweet smile, Emmy flings herself at me. We tumble together, colliding in a heartbreaking embrace, crashing into each other with a million fucking mistakes.

For half a heartbeat, the last moments of that sleepless summer catch up to me, and the impact is fucking destructive.

It knocks my heart into overdrive.

I missed her. So much.

And now, ensnared in the fleeting affection of her drunken forgetfulness, I hope she missed me too. Maybe Emmy isn't mad at me anymore.

Or maybe she's drunk enough to forgive me.

"Emmy."

I pull back with a breathless smile, indulging in her. Beneath the pounding music and the erratic lights and the flutter of laughter trapping us together... perfectly put together with red lipstick, bouncy curls, and smoky eyes, Emmy is beautiful.

Emmy is staring at me with glassy fucking eyes.

"Happy Birthday," I finally breathe nervously. "I missed you."

A mischievous grin flirts at her lips. "Mmm. Happy Birthday to me. You look muy caliente, mami." Fingertips toy at the hem of my dress. "Is this my present?"

This bitch is so fucking drunk. Already. I roll my eyes playfully. "How could you get this fucked up without me?"

As her fingers move up, inching beneath the dress teasingly, heat pools in the pit of my stomach. Warm breath caresses my throat, teeth nipping at skin, lips stilling at my ear. "When can I unwrap my present?"

Jesus Christ. Emmy didn't even hear me.

A little flustered, I laugh.

Emmy sways away from me, dazed, those big, bright eyes glinting with a dark promise. "None of these other boricuas, Nevaaaaa. I'm the birthday girl." She twists a lock of hair around her finger, biting into her bottom lip with a dizzy giggle. "You have to come home with me."

Oh, she's never going to hear the end of this. A genuine smile tugs at my lips. "Of course. I'll be the one holding your hair back when you're dry heaving later. Recuérdalo."

Another faint laugh falls from her lips, lost beneath the bass. A challenge gleams in her eyes. "Well, it's payback for when I had to clean up all that glass from the other night."

Fuck. I still. "Oh yeah, I..."

"I heard you were throwing shit," she snickers. "Jesse estaba cabreado."

My heart stutters weakly. "¿Está aquí?"

"I think so." Emmy stumbles slightly, but grabs my shoulder, standing on her tiptoes to scan the entire bar. "I don't know. I think he's around here somewhere, but just... avoid him, and... don't break anything."

I force a laugh. "No promises."

As she drops back down, draping an arm around my neck, her gaze finds mine again. Dark and alluring, it reels me in closer and closer and closer—until we're only centimeters apart. "Thank you. Really," she murmurs. "It means a lot that you came. I... I'm so worried about you."

My breathing hitches. "I'm— I'm sorry."

"I just..." So fucking softly, Emmy kisses me. "I love you, Neva. I love you so much."

"I love you too."

When we part, everything around us fades. Despite the distant noise, I can only hear her ragged breathing. "Neva..."

"We're okay," I say, wincing when my voice cracks. Nails scrape along my bare shoulders, eliciting an icy-hot shiver. Sparks erupt beneath my skin. "We're okay, right?"

"Are you high, mamacita?"

"Unfortunately not."

Emmy snickers. "On the one night you should be."

I blink in surprise. What? For a second, I feel the words in the back of my throat, and then it's a desperate plea, rolling off the tip of my tongue: "Do you have anything?"

Another bubbly giggle breaks free. "Anto has a bit of weed, babe, but he's probably still pissed."

Weed. Right.

I reign in some irrational urge to cry. No. I came here to be with Emmy. I can't fuck this up.

Nodding numbly, I avert my gaze. "Yeah, I think I'm going to try to talk to him."

"Yes!" Emmy squeals, roping her arms around my neck tightly. Every inch of my skin lights, and when she pulls away, I'm still dazed by the contact, too dizzy to realize that she's... she's...

"Anto!"

And then my heart is boomeranging, and I'm being tugged into a warm chest from behind, an arm draping over my shoulder, booming laughter in my ear.

"Neva! My girl! I missed you so much!"

Bloodshot eyes. A loose smile.

High.

Everyone is drunk; everyone is high. Everyone but me.

Fuck it.

When I peer up at him, I smile. "Can you make me a drink?"

"Anything, babe," he snickers, squeezing us through the crowd, whisking us away from Emmy. Anto detaches and circles the bar casually. "What do you want?"

"Um... a gin and tonic, please?"

A shot glass slides across the bar. "A shot of vodka for you. Always."

My brows raise. "Okay."

And suddenly, time warps. Suddenly, I'm three shots in, two gin and tonics down, laughing breathlessly, unraveling into another dead end of dizziness.

Suddenly, I'm in the bathroom, leaning against the wall, taking a bump off of some girl's key.

"Thanks." I sniff; give her a diamond smile. "I needed that."

Only two hits, but with the buzz I'm riding, it feels good. It's a subtle high—a thrum of energy sizzling in my veins, pulsing to my fingertips with each faint heartbeat. Undressing the sensual film of colors, stripping away the hazy light, the rush is raw; it leaves me in this violent ocean of bodies, cast from the shore of sobriety, breathlessly begging for skin.

"Neva," she breathes into me, our bodies flush, our lips melting together. I surrender, caught in a riptide of contagious contact, deliriously desperate for más, más, más. "Neva, Neva, Neva..."

I sigh dreamily, closing my eyes to inhale the smoke in her hair, buried beneath a trace of coconut and vanilla. I want to kiss her or fuck her or just breathe with her.

"Emmy, I... I want you. I—"

"Neva!"

Frustration digs into me, those razor-sharp nails clawing through the mesmerizing moment. Pressing my lips to Emmy's neck, tasting sweat, memorizing the heat, I exhale. "What does Anto want?"

"Uh... I..." Emmy fumbles for words breathlessly. "I think he's waving at the door?"

"The door?"

"Oh, shit. Neva..."

A sleepy sensation of slow motion seizes me. As I reel away, stumbling off balance to spin, the world comes crumbling down so fucking slowly.

I blink and blink and blink, but nothing shakes it. Trembling hands and fluttering lashes, I gasp in surprise or panic or pain. Icy fingers clench around my heart, ensnaring my veins into an arctic chokehold.

Everything freezes over.

Those hazy brown eyes flash with something affectionate.

And then he fucking smiles, and he looks so much like papá that I can't even fucking breathe.

"Hermanita."

❘❘

**MY BABY. I've been waiting so LONG for this. 💔