CHANCE | ✔

10| Callista

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.