Moonshine

I Keep Returning To You, Cocaine.

He is a part of her, forever embedded in her mind—a part that will never truly be hers. He was the embodiment of her darkest, most indulgent desires, her freakiest and saddest self brought to life. He gifted her a tenderness that was both beautiful and devastating, a memory that is the loveliest but also the loneliest, the kind of aching beauty only he could leave behind. And with that gift came the inevitable end.

Like the map they loved so much, there were invisible lines drawn between them—boundaries they crossed, boundaries they could never erase. Each touch blurred the lines of reason, their hands tracing secret paths over each other's skin, leaving marks only they could feel. They were tied by the hours they spent tangled in the sheets, bodies intertwined, tongues teasing, exploring each other in ways that words couldn't capture. Time both spent and wasted. But was it truly wasted? She doesn't think so.

She craves him still—the heat of his breath on her neck, the way his fingers gripped her as if he would never let go. The time they shared weren't just passing; they were a surrender, a raw hunger fed by whispered promises. Promises of next times and more, more things they would do, more boundaries they would break should they found themselves together. They knew they would go further next time, deeper, darker. The hunger still simmered beneath her skin.

Now, she will be haunted by echoes, by the sound of that promise whispered in the still of the night—a promise meant to linger in the space between their bodies, a promise never meant to be kept, but one she knows will be, eventually. She isn't broken, but she feels irreparably changed. Damn her and her flawless memory. And damn him for unlocking a Pandora's box she can never close again. That box was full of things that she hadn't yet tasted, things they hadn't yet done. But they will.

The city lights watched them, just as the rain poured outside. In that 21st century building, they had found a brief sanctuary—a haven that only existed for hours. But next time, she knows, hours won't be enough. They will need more time to finish what they started, to satisfy the promises their bodies made when words weren't enough.

"I'll lock you in there for seventy-two hours."