𝐱𝐢𝐢𝐢.
𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 messages
──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

For the duration of a week, Derek and I have been spending more time together.

At first, it was only for publicity.

Being seen out and about throughout Los Angeles grabbing coffee, or out for walks downtown. His favorite restaurants as well as my own. We even made regular visits to Hillside, where we first 'met'. It's been... nice.

No inconvenient paparazzi traps or swarms of fans—only a few on occasion. I've even been to his house in Beverly Hills. The fucking Hills.

Since the teaser for his music video was released, my follower count has almost tripled.

He'd invited me over to his place the night before to preview the semi-finished product with the director, his manager, Katherine, and a few higher-up crew members of Derek's choosing. All of us viewed in an impressively massive movie in his Beverly Hills mansion, that has practically anything you can think of within its walls, and impressively large acreage.

As I watched, our chemistry on screen was obvious. How we melt into each other. Lose ourselves in the throws of a passionate relationship on the brink of collapse, so drawn to one another, so torn, hurt over the inevitable split.

Our second kiss rolled—and I found myself tracing my lips with reminiscent fingertips as if trying to decipher the past actions of his lips against mine. The memory of it, as well as the moment. I tasted mint and nicotine on my tongue, followed by metallic-y copper as my teeth bit into flesh.

Gooseflesh followed, and my skin prickled with awareness. I didn't have to look to know who was eliciting my body's reaction, but I did anyway. And when his molten gaze met mine, I could tell where his thoughts had been. I'm sure my eyes told him no different than what his told me.

Neither of us have spoken since. Granted, it's only been about twenty-four hours since then, but I couldn't stop the knot from forming in my stomach since I left.

I cut our silence short, giving in to the dreadful anticipation of our little waiting game like a dam breaking way due to an influx of water.

𝗗𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗸 𝗖𝗿𝗶𝗺𝘀𝗼𝗻 ✔︎
𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘬𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘰𝘯
99𝖬 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗌 • 191 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗌

Hey. Are you doing anything
tomorrow night?

After forcing my thumb to press end against its will, I place my phone face-down on the table and turn my attention back to Julia, who's none the wiser.

She finishes sipping from her wine glass and then continues our current conversation.

"I mean, I wouldn't know what to do if your mother popped up unexpectedly at my place. I'm surprised Cady didn't rip them out," She raises a skeptical brow, "you're sure she let her in? Willingly?"

"Yes, I'm sure," I confirm with a laugh.

She shakes her head, her golden earrings swaying in tandem, black hair pulled into a slicked-back ponytail. "That woman has guts."

"I think I have feelings for Derek."

Both of Julia's brows raise, eyes wide. She takes a moment to digest my words. Blinks once, twice, then pulls her brows together. "What happened to drowning?"

I tilt my head, confused. "Huh?"

"You said you'd rather drown than get into a relationship right now. So, what changed?"

Drown? That conversation was almost a month ago now. How does she remember that?

"I don't know... I don't know how to describe it. But when I'm with him it's like, everything and everyone around me... vanishes."

"Even Ryan?"

Ryan.

The reason we're in this situation to begin with. I'm supposed to be getting back at him, exacting revenge—not... whatever the fuck I'm doing right now.

And yet, now that I'm thinking about Ryan, I don't feel that same surge of vengeance I did weeks ago. If he had texted, called, or made an effort like I thought he would, I'd be in a different position. The thought of having Ryan back has a different feel than it once did. Not when Derek is so... Derek.

When I'm around him I'm alive again. I look forward to doing things with him, whether it's something mundane—like taking a walk down Sunset during the early morning hours or quick coffee trips to my favorite café near my apartment—or extravagant. Dinners to keep 'appearances' or shopping on Rodeo Drive. Which I was opposed to at first until Derek insisted on taking me jewelry shopping. I can never say no to a good vintage Cartier. Or vintage anything, for that matter, especially jewelry.

"Even Ryan," I confirm, surprising myself as those two words slip from my mouth.

"Ela, when I told you that you can try to get into an actual relationship with him, I wasn't being serious," She pauses. "He's not—good for you. He's a player, Ela baby."

I shake my head. "He isn't. Well, not anymore?"

"Are you sure?" Julia gives me a skeptical look.

My right-hand starts to rub my temple as my thoughts threaten to burst free from my brain all at once. "The media says one thing, painting him like he's some—evil, superhuman playboy on a pedestal, completely void of emotion, always up to something heinous. But in person, he's nothing like how they say he is. I've been spending all of this time with him, getting to know him, seeing him for who he is and not what he is. And I don't see that man they mention in those articles, far from it. He's different now."

"I'm just, I care about you, Ela. I love you so damn much. I want nothing more than for you to be happy," Julia pushes her warmth aside. Her smile vanishes and is replaced with concern. "But if he hurts you in any way I fucking swear..."

Derek and I aren't real—yet. Deep down, though, I want us to be. Is that bad?

I reach across the table to take her hands in mine. "I'll be fine, Jules."

"It's just that after Ryan," another pause, "I don't want to see you hurt again."

Her eyes gleam with worry as her eyes search mine. "I know," I respond lowly.

We both sit in silence momentarily until a thought crosses my mind. I swallow a sip of my wine before saying, "Come with me next time I see him."

"I—what?"

"You heard me."

"Ela,"

I narrow my eyes and point an accusatory finger at her. "No ifs, and's, or buts. I'll let you know when," her face scrunches, color faintly draining from her face, "All that talk the night we went to meet him at the club." I click my tongue.

"Yeah, but I had liquid courage that night, and meeting Derek Crimson in a public setting versus at his own house are two very different things." The realization that I have been in said man's house flickers in her eyes as they widen a fraction, and her face pales further. "Oh, you're so down fucking bad for this man."

When I don't reply, she shakes her head, eyes closed, brows furrowed, perplexed.

"Let's backtrack a little. You've been spending how much time with him, exactly?"

I bite my lip. "A lot."

"Define a lot," Julia studies me, tilting her head as if the action will reveal the exact truth behind my words. "Is he the reason why you blew off our D.D. party the other night?"

"Maybe," Is all I say before quickly changing the topic. "Before I forget, you're my plus one to the music video release party."

This time, Julia points a finger, nails freshly manicured. "Don't play with me Ela."

I place a hand over my heart and gasp. "I'd never."

"What should I wear? God, I need to leave now so I can search through my closet," Her gaze becomes glossy as she mentally walks through her closet, filled to the brim with an unimaginable amount of clothing. "No, I think this calls for a shopping spree." Julia grabs her bag.

A laugh slips from me as I watch her rise to her feet. Another follows when she looks at me expectantly. "Jules, it's ten o'clock. Nothing's open right now."

Her brows pull. "Then I guess I'll have to shop through your closet instead. The best store in L.A that's open twenty-four seven."

Julia places more than enough fifty-dollar bills on the table to cover our meal as I follow her lead.

"Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I have the perfect dress for you to wear."

She squeals, grabbing the attention of a bristling older couple sitting at a table to our right. "That's the spirit!"

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Upon arriving at my apartment, we spend the next hour tearing apart my wardrobe. We search through the racks, storage bins above and below hanging clothes, as well as the totes underneath my bed.

After finding the dress I had in mind, Julia and I decided to have an impromptu fashion show of our own in my living room.

We may have also overindulged on the freshly cultivated stash of wine I had in my wine fridge.

Three bottles deep, not including the one we had at the restaurant, I stumble into the living room wearing a lace see-through top with sleeves that flow past my fingers, and a matching lace skirt.

Julia cackles as I twirl my wrists and arms through the air, imitating fairy-like grace, not caring if I look insane.

When she realizes I'm not wearing a top underneath the sheer fabric, and a thin strappy thong under the skirt, she instantly cups her hands around her mouth and hoots before clapping continuously.

Both of us break into a fit of unstoppable laughter. I somehow end up crashing into her, and we fall to the couch, a mess of limbs and aching ribs.

When our laughter settles, Julia sits upright.

"I'm shitfaced right now."

I gasp, and shoot to her side, leaning in as I say, "You know what that means, right?"

"Sleepover?"

I nod. She smiles, full of love and admiration. "What would I do without you?"

"We'll never know, Julia baby," Her smile widens, eyes bright as they meet mine. How I love this woman. My soulmate, my other half. "What I do know, though, is that we should definitely have a movie night."

Not even thirty minutes into the 2000s romcom we'd picked out, both of us were knocked out cold.

In what felt like only a handful of dark, empty seconds, void of images of any kind, sunlight greets me—as well as a pounding headache.

"Fuck," I curse, eyes closed, trying to control the burst of flames incinerating the flesh inside my skull.

Then, something solid hits me in the chest. I jolt in place, hands automatically searching for the item thrown at me. Upon tracing the bottle and giving it a shake, I realize it's a bottle of painkillers.

"Fuck is right."

Cool air hits my skin when removing the throw blanket. I look down and see that I've slept in my modeling clothes from the night before. "No wonder why I'm so cold." I mutter, teeth chattering.

"I was just about to get us some breakfast. Want anything in particular?" I see a freshly showered Julia leaning on the kitchen island in a pair of my sweats and a baby tee.

"No. Just tea, please. Hot tea."

Julia nods.

I vaguely remember the events leading up to the end of our night. We went out to eat as planned; I texted Derek at some point, we went back to my place to look for that chiffon dress—,

Texted Derek... twice?

No. Just once.

My gut slithers inside my stomach.

Wrong.

I'm not wrong, am I?

I instantly grab my phone and pull up my message thread with Derek.

Hey. Are you doing anything
tomorrow?

It depends.
Does tomorrow have anything
to do with you?

It could if you want.

I want.

You can have.
(Image Attached)

The picture instantly makes my jaw drop.

Shock, as well as humiliation, washes over me at the sight, and my hands fly to cover my face. My phone clatters to the hardwood floor below.

I sent him an image of me that I had taken in the outfit I slept in. I must've taken it before we watched that movie. Jesus, Elara.

I'm never drinking again.

Drunk me cannot be trusted, and neither can red wine.

I peek through my fingers down to where my phone lies face up.

He responded.

With abnormal, inhuman speed, I snatch the device and read his message.

Can I touch?

Can he... what?

I have to reread it a second time, a third, then a fourth, until the words finally register. He wants to touch me.

That's where the thread ends.

Touch me where, though.

Fuck.

Why did I have to fall asleep?

If Derek was here, in person, saying those things to me last night, I would have thrown away all knowledge of him not being ready for something more, and let him do whatever he wanted to me. Who am I kidding? I'd do it now. Sober.

What's wrong with me?

A lot. Definitely a lot.

Determined to distract myself from my most recent epiphany, I walk to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. Then pop two painkillers into my mouth and wash it down. Too bad I can't wash the conversation with Derek down with it.

Our texts stain my vision. No matter where I fixate my gaze, those three words follow.

But when I pick up my phone for the third time this morning to scroll through my other notifications, they're replaced with three others.

𝗥𝘆𝗮𝗻 𝗣𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗹 ✔︎
𝘳𝘬𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭
862.7𝖪 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗌 • 72 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗌

Can we talk?

a/n
hey my cutesy, beautiful readers!!

new banners!!! WOOP WOOP
i made them originally for tempting ares & liked the aesthetic so much that i had to make some for sr!

thoughts?
predictions?
prayers? 🤭😮‍💨

also: SO SORRY THIS UPDATE TOOK ME SO LONG.
i've been in a funk for this book for what feels like a millennia frfr, it's been so aggravating (i've also been writing for tempting ares & looking for a new job bc everyone at my place of work is being let go 🥲 sooo ive been unmotivated lately, to say the least). but IM BACKKK (hopefully lmao)
and on top of all that i got a new puppy, so i've had my hands FULL.

til next time!! <333