In The Backseat

Chapter 9: Close Encounters

Let me tell you, there's no feeling quite like waking up with your heart in your throat, tangled in your own sheets, and realizing you're not alone.

So, picture this: it's early morning, the sun is streaming through the curtains, and I'm slowly blinking my way out of sleep, trying to shake off the last remnants of some weird dream about being chased by a giant croissant (don't ask). I stretch, yawning, and turn over to get more comfortable, when-

There she is.

Calitrope.

Sleeping. In my bed.

For a second, I think I'm still dreaming. Because how else do I explain the fact that Calitrope-the girl who thrives on chaos and apparently, now, on invading my personal space-is lying there, completely relaxed, one arm casually draped across my pillow like she belongs there?

Her hair's all messed up, her lips slightly parted, and she's breathing slowly, peacefully, like she's in no rush to leave.

What the hell happened last night?

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember how we ended up here. I mean, the last thing I clearly remember was dancing at the party-and, okay, yeah, maybe there was a kiss. Or a sort-of kiss. (We're still not talking about that, okay?) But then... things get fuzzy.

I glance at Calitrope, half expecting her to open her eyes and throw me a smirk like she's about to crack a joke about me drooling in my sleep or something. But she stays still, completely oblivious to the absolute panic happening on my side of the bed.

Alright, Venici, focus. Think.

Flashback time.

So, we were dancing. That much is clear. The music was loud, the air was thick with sweat and heat, and Calitrope and I were... close. Like, really close. Her hands were on my waist, and I don't even remember how it happened, but we were just moving together, our bodies practically glued to each other. And then there was that stupid little almost-kiss. Which, by the way, still has me questioning every life choice I've ever made.

But after that? Drinks. I remember drinks. Too many drinks, apparently.

Then, things start to get a little... steamy.

Oh God. The car.

That's right. At some point during the night, we left the party. I don't even know whose car it was-one of Calitrope's friends, maybe?-but I remember the feel of the leather seats sticking to my legs, the low hum of the engine as it idled, and Calitrope sitting way too close next to me in the backseat.

The windows were fogged up-like, actual steamy windows, straight out of some cliché romantic drama. And there was this weird, electric tension between us, the kind that made my heart race and my head spin, not just from the alcohol but from the way Calitrope was looking at me.

And here's the thing: I wasn't mad anymore. Not really. I mean, I had been mad at her for weeks, sure. But in that moment, with her sitting so close, her hand resting on my thigh, her eyes locked on mine with that stupid, infuriating smirk... I wasn't angry.

I was just... confused. And maybe a little into it.

There was this moment-this tiny, perfect moment-where everything just clicked. We were laughing about something, probably something stupid, but then she leaned in, and I didn't pull away. I didn't even want to. Her lips were on mine before I could overthink it, and yeah, maybe I kissed her back.

Maybe I wanted to.

Back to reality.

I blink, staring at the ceiling, my heart racing as I try to piece together the rest of the night. Did we stay in the car? Did we come back here together? Did we do anything more than kiss? I risk a quick glance at Calitrope again-still asleep, still oblivious to my internal meltdown-and nope, no answers from her.