(Mapi Leon and Ingrid Engen)
The neon lights of Barcelona blurred into streaks of color as Mapi León sped down the highway, the night air cool against her skin. The city, alive and throbbing with energy, lay behind her as she drove at breakneck speed, her whole foot pressed down hard on the gas pedal. Beside her, Ingrid Engen lounged in the passenger seat, her blonde hair whipping in the wind, her eyes bright and wild with adrenaline. She seemed utterly fearless, almost indifferent to the recklessness of their pace.
Earlier that evening, Mapi had left a crowded party, a scene too loud and chaotic for her mood. She was known to be a bit of a loner, preferring solitude or the company of a select few. But Ingrid, with her carefree spirit and effortless charm, had caught her attention. There was something about Ingrid that was magnetic, something that drew Mapi in, even though she knew better.
As the two of them had slipped out of the party, Ingrid's hand casually brushing Mapi's arm, there was an unspoken understanding between them. They were both escaping something, searching for something else, something undefined. Mapi had insisted she was better off alone, but Ingrid had just laughed, her voice light and teasing. She liked Mapi's watch, her droptop, and especially her persona—the cool, detached demeanor that was a perfect contrast to Ingrid's fiery intensity.
Now, on the open road, with the roar of the engine and the rain starting to spatter against the windshield, Mapi felt a familiar tension rising. Ingrid was in her ear, talking about nothing and everything all at once, her voice full of excitement and danger. She didn't seem to care if they crashed, if the night ended in a burst of chaos and destruction. Mapi was tempted to let go, to just enjoy the ride, but something held her back.
She had been here before, in this place of raw emotions and high stakes, and it had never ended well. Her heart, already bruised and scarred, couldn't take another hit. She glanced at Ingrid, who was now looking out the window, lost in her thoughts, and Mapi knew that this could only lead to more pain. The thrill of the chase, the excitement of the unknown—it was all too fleeting, too hollow.
On her radar, there were red flags, warnings that this was a game she shouldn't play. But Ingrid had a way of making her forget, of pulling her into the moment with a daring smile and a reckless laugh. Mapi had waited for a chance at something real, something more than just a fleeting connection, but she knew that playboys like her didn't dance in the rain, didn't fall in love on a whim. It was a game of speed and danger, and it always ended the same way—with heartbreak.
As the car sped on, Mapi could feel the rain starting to pour, the drops heavier now, drumming against the roof and the hood. The speedometer inched closer to ninety, and she could see the road ahead becoming slick and treacherous. But Ingrid, far from being afraid, seemed even more exhilarated. She turned to Mapi, her eyes gleaming, and said something that was lost in the roar of the engine and the pounding rain. It didn't matter; the meaning was clear enough. Ingrid was living in the moment, uncaring of the consequences.
Mapi's heart was pounding, not just from the speed, but from the tension of the night. She knew this couldn't last. She knew that by morning, the magic of the night would be gone, leaving only the cold light of day and the emptiness that always followed. The beat in her chest wasn't for romance; it was a warning, a reminder that she had been here before, and it had always ended the same way.
Ingrid reached over, her fingers brushing against Mapi's hand on the gear shift. For a moment, Mapi considered pulling over, stopping the car, and ending this before it could go any further. But she couldn't. She wasn't ready to let go of the thrill, the excitement, even though she knew it would only bring pain.
The road twisted and turned, the rain now a steady downpour. Mapi's grip tightened on the wheel as the car skidded slightly on a sharp curve. Ingrid laughed, a sound full of life and abandon, but Mapi's thoughts were darker. She had lost her heart before, speeding through nights like this, and it had always ended with nothing but pain. She knew better than to dance this dance again.
The afterparty was in some rundown place on Wilson and 73rd, a place that sounded like trouble even before they got there. But Ingrid was insistent, her energy infectious, pulling Mapi along like a force of nature. Mapi could sense the tension, the suspicion that someone else was involved, someone else had been in the picture before. It was all too complicated, too messy, and Mapi wasn't in the mood for games. But on her radar, Ingrid was impossible to ignore.
As they pulled up to the party, Mapi knew she had lost her chance. Ingrid had taken her heart, or what was left of it, and filled it with nothing but confusion and pain. The music thumped from inside the building, a beat that was not for romance, but for something darker, something that wouldn't last.
Mapi wanted to stay, to see if there was something more, but she knew better. Playboys like her didn't dance, didn't fall in love, didn't stay. So she wouldn't dance again. She would let this night end, let it fade into memory, and keep moving. It was better that way.
As she watched Ingrid disappear into the crowd, Mapi felt a pang of regret, but she pushed it down. This was who she was, who she had to be. No dancing, no falling, just the speed, the thrill, and the inevitable crash.
She wouldn't dance again. Not tonight, not ever. But for a moment, just for a moment, she wished she could.
