God of Wreck

Chapter 2

~Allison~

I drag my feet out of my business class, the lethargy in my steps mirroring the heaviness in my heart. Mason stands at the threshold, holding two cups of coffee. His eyes meet mine, and a slow smile spreads across his lips—a smile that once made me feel like the most beautiful, special person alive. Now, it's just a hollow gesture from a stranger.

I return the smile mechanically and approach him. Ever since that night I asked him to fuck me right, things have been different between us there's been a shift in his demeanor. Not only he does he fucks me rough, but there's still a hint of suspicion, but it's overshadowed by an awestruck gaze. Our interactions have been smooth, always were, except for the nights he vanished into the darkness, leaving me alone and unattended for days. Mason extends a cup towards me. I take a sip, suppressing the urge to recoil. "What flavor is this?" I inquire, my tone laced with forced politeness.

"Mocha?" He responds, sipping from his own cup.

"I don't drink mocha, you know that," I remind him, and he merely shrugs. "You should try other flavors too, like you try other positions, Allie," he retorts. I inhale deeply, quelling the storm of intrusive thoughts threatening to surface.

"What's yours?" I ask, hoping his choice is more palatable.

"Cappuccino, and no, I'm not giving it to you," he declares. Not that I would accept it. Yet, I simply nod and turn towards my next class.

Mason's grip tightens around my arm, halting me. "Allie, let's go on a date," he proposes.

"Now?" I question, incredulous.

"I have a class," I protest, extricating my arm from his grasp.

"It's fine, you can miss it just this once. I've made all the arrangements," he insists, oblivious to the irritation simmering beneath my skin.

Lately, I've been suppressing many urges. The relationship has lost its luster; what once felt effortless now feels like an obligation.

'You're disloyal, Allison. A slut for fantasizing other men while your boyfriend lies beside you, of course it's going to lose the luster.' a voice whispers, sowing seeds of guilt.

I press my lips together, stifling a sigh, and instead, I capitulate to Mason's insistence. That's the issue with him—he demands. What was initially alluring has become grating. His persistence in offering me different coffee flavors, despite knowing my preference for caramel latte, his habit of planning dates without considering my schedule.

"Lead the way," I say, mustering a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.

As we settle into the car, my phone chimes from within my purse. It's Vivian. "Hi, Viv, how are you?" I greet her, while Mason revs the engine impatiently.

"Where are you, Allie? Ari and I are at the apartment," Vivian informs me. Panic sets in—I had forgotten her visit from New York was today.

"I'm at the uni, I'll be right there," I assure her, ending the call swiftly. Deep down relieved, for the date that's not going to happen. Am I ungrateful? I have a boyfriend who makes efforts for me and all I do is push him away?

"Mason, I need to go home. Vivian and Ariella are waiting," I tell him, my voice firm.

"Can't they wait?" he asks, annoyance creeping into his tone.

"No, they can't. They're my best friends, and we haven't seen each other in nearly a month," I reply, my resolve clear. Maybe its the sternness in my voice, or maybe Mason is actually considerate of my relations because surprisingly, Mason relents, making a U-turn towards my apartment.

We arrive in mere minutes, and I hastily exit the car, muttering a thank you before shutting the door.

"Allie?" Mason calls after me, his voice stern. "This is the last time this happens," he declares, then drives away.

I stand there, rooted to the spot, not because of his ultimatum, but because of the face staring back at me—the same face that haunts every dream I've had.

The face that has branded me a traitor in my own heart.

The face that's the reason of my self-loathing, and the irony is, I don't even mind. I don't mind that I'm mentally cheating on my boyfriend with a man I've only met once. Now, as he stands before me for the second time, every fiber of my being yearns to abandon my friends and lose myself in the company of this enigma. To make all those fantasies come to life.

He's only a few feet away, his brown hair shorter than I remember, falling carelessly over his forehead. He's changed—more muscular, taller, as if he wasn't imposing enough before. His jawline is more defined, his hair a shade darker. Yet, those eyes remain unchanged—the stormy green with flecks of gray, like a tempest in an ancient forest.

His rugged masculinity stirs a primal longing within me. As Roma approaches, I steel myself to greet him, to ask for his number—anything. But as he comes within reach, and I extend my hand, Roma doesn't acknowledge me. Instead, he greets a girl behind me.

No, not just a greeting—he kisses her. Consumes her, devours her with a passion that he's only ever shown me in the sanctuary of my dreams.

A tear betrays me, stinging the corner of my eye. He doesn't remember me. To him, I'm just another face in the crowd, someone he once bought popcorn.

And here I am, consumed by thoughts of him, while in a relationship. Because of him, I've sabotaged something that once sailed so smoothly. Because of him.

Shame engulfs me, so intense that I fear I might vanish into the void. I wish for the earth to open up and swallow me whole.

I hastily wipe away the tear. I despise him. I loathe this man who has haunted my dreams. I detest this man who... who what?

Seriously, Allie, you're pathetic, the voice in my head sneers, reveling in my shame and misery.

I hate Roma. I hate him with every fiber of my being.

With a resolute breath, I pivot on my heels, directing my steps toward the sanctuary of my apartment. The sensation of being watched clings to me, an invisible weight that itches at the back of my neck. I fight the urge to reach back and scratch, to acknowledge the discomfort. To do so feels like it would unravel the delicate threads of my resolve. I must remain strong until I enter the threshold of my home, where walls can guard against prying eyes and the vulnerability they invoke.