Stuck with the enemy

Chapter 8: Fight

The weight of his gaze lingered long after I left, like a searing brand on my skin, an itch I couldn't scratch, urging me to run as far away as possible. I wanted peace, distance-a chance to breathe without feeling his eyes pinning me in place, as if I were something he could cage and keep. But as I rounded the corner to the back of the house, the night air thick with the sounds of muffled music and laughter, I realized I wouldn't get the solitude I'd come for.

I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes to steady my breathing. The cool brick pressed against my back, grounding me, though my pulse still thudded wildly in my chest. I'd come for Alya, and that was the only reason I needed to stay. I tried to remind myself of this, to block out the mixture of anger and confusion that Derek's presence stirred in me. I didn't need to feel anything-at least, that's what I kept telling myself.

But then, an unmistakable scent floated in the air-a warm smell, like vanilla and something deeper. It tugged at a part of me I'd tried to ignore, drawing me back to that strange, magnetic pull that Derek managed to stir in me, even when I wanted nothing more than to forget he existed.

When I opened my eyes, I wasn't alone anymore. He was standing inches away, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over me as his dark eyes bored into mine, his face drawn tight with barely contained frustration. His presence was like a silent storm, one that seemed ready to break.

"What do you want?" I snapped, somehow managing to keep my voice steady, though my pulse hammered in my ears. I wanted to convey indifference, but I knew I was failing.

"To talk," he said, his voice low, every word heavy with tension. "You come here, you flirt with Mason... what game are you playing?"

A spark of anger flared in me. Flirting? Was that what he thought this was? The sheer audacity of his accusation left me reeling. I took a step closer, squaring my shoulders to him, refusing to let him tower over me.

"I'm not playing any game," I retorted, barely able to keep the anger from spilling over as I held his gaze. "I came here for Alya, and if I'd known you'd be here, I wouldn't have bothered. And for the record, talking to Mason isn't flirting."

He was too close now, closer than I'd realized, and I felt hemmed in, trapped between the cool wall behind me and the heat of his gaze in front. His scent filled my senses, clouding my thoughts. I wanted to shove him away, to make it clear he had no right to stake any claim on my life, especially after he'd pushed me away. His jaw tightened, eyes flickering with something dark and unreadable, and for a moment, I could have sworn I saw hurt there-something vulnerable. But then, it was gone, replaced by the cold, unyielding expression I'd come to expect.

With a scoff, I pushed past him, breaking the charged silence that hung between us. I didn't look back as I made my way through the garden, toward the distant sounds of the party, but I could feel his gaze burning into my back, a heat that felt almost physical. My heart pounded, each beat a reminder that this whole night needed to be over, that I needed to leave and not look back.

Pulling out my phone, I texted Alya as I headed toward the street, crafting a vague excuse about a call from my brother, Aras. She replied with a quick "okay," and I sighed, relieved that she wouldn't ask questions tonight.

Alone, I walked down the dimly lit sidewalk toward the bus stop. The familiar rhythm of my footsteps echoed in the empty night, a comforting sound as I tried to shake off the tension clinging to me. I reached the station and checked the schedule on my phone: forty-five minutes until the next bus. I sighed, pulling my bag close as I sat on the bench, the chill of the night settling over me. The quiet should have been peaceful, but instead, it felt unsettling, as if the shadows were pressing in, lingering just at the edge of the streetlamp's reach.

Minutes passed, and then the sound of footsteps reached me-heavy, unsteady. Two men stumbled out of the darkness, laughing under their breaths. The stench of alcohol reached me before they did, and every instinct screamed at me to get up, to keep walking. But it was already too late. One of them had spotted me.

"Well, well," he slurred, his eyes roaming over me with a slimy, unsettling gleam. "What's a pretty little thing like you doin' here all alone?"

Not tonight, I thought, clenching my fists. This was the last thing I needed. I pushed to my feet, hoping they'd take the hint and back off. But as I moved to leave, the second man stepped closer, reaching out toward my face with a sloppy grin. I didn't hesitate. My hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and twisting it just enough to make him wince.

"Not in the mood," I warned, shoving him back.

But before I could get past them, his friend lunged, a glint of metal flashing in his hand. I managed to dodge, but his momentum threw me off balance. The next thing I knew, cold metal was pressed against my neck, sharp and unyielding. My breath caught as adrenaline flooded my veins. I cursed under my breath, furious at myself for not seeing him coming.

Then, out of nowhere, a powerful force intervened.

One of the men was thrown to the ground in a blur of movement, landing with a heavy thud. Before I could process what was happening, the second man was yanked back, landing beside the bench. A dark figure loomed over them, fists striking with brutal precision, his movements a blend of fury and control. Whoever he was, he moved with the precision of someone who had done this before-calculated, unrelenting, each punch deliberate.

I found myself frozen, caught between awe and fear, unable to look away from the raw strength emanating from him. His fists flew, each strike landing with deadly force until both men lay motionless, groaning in pain.

"Stop!" I shouted, my voice breaking through the silence. "You're going to kill them!"

He stilled, fists clenching and unclenching as if fighting some inner urge. For a moment, he stayed in place, breathing heavily. Then, slowly, he straightened, stepping away from the sprawled bodies, his form cast in shadow, just outside the reach of the streetlamp. I stared, my heart still racing, unable to look away. There was something familiar in the way he moved, something that tugged at a memory just out of reach.

I took a hesitant step forward, desperate to see his face, to understand who had saved me. But before I could close the distance, he turned, disappearing into the night with the ease of someone who belonged to it.

I stood there, my mind reeling, a million questions swirling. Whoever he was, he'd saved me-yet I couldn't shake the feeling that his presence was hauntingly familiar.