..Out of the Blue ..💙

36.House is cold without her

"Shut up and drink this." I handed her a glass of water.

She sipped half and handed it back. "Monica."

"What?"

"Will you stay?"

I looked at her — really looked at her. Her eyes were glassy, her body loose with alcohol, but she wasn't flirting now. She was scared, or maybe just lonely.

I sat next to her and brushed the hair from her forehead. "You scared me tonight."

"I didn't mean to," she mumbled.

"I know."

She curled up under the blanket. I got up to leave, but she reached out and grabbed my wrist.

"Please?"

I sighed, turned off the light, and slid under the blanket on the other side of the bed.

We didn't speak. But sometime during the night, she rolled over and tucked herself into my side again. Her hand slid over my stomach, head buried under my chin.

And this time, I didn't push her away.

Instead, I held her.

Just a little.

Just enough.

Morning light seeped through the curtains, golden and gentle, but it was the warmth pressing into my side that stirred me first.

I opened my eyes slowly.

Her leg was over mine. Her arm wrapped around my torso. Her face... buried softly against the curve of my neck. And her breath? Still slow and steady.

Zoya.

My head throbbed with memories from last night — the panic, the party, that dress, her drunken teasing, the way she looked when she said "Please". I exhaled.

This girl is going to kill me.

I shifted slightly, trying to free myself from her grasp without waking her. But her hand tightened.

"Don't," she whispered, voice raspy with sleep.

I froze.

"I wasn't asleep," she added, pulling herself closer.

"Zoya," I said sternly, "you're not sober. This isn't the time for—"

"I just don't want to wake up alone." Her voice cracked slightly at the end, and that... shut me up.

So I stayed.

For a few more minutes, I let her lay there, clinging to me like I was her anchor.

Eventually, I sat up and slid out from under the blanket.

Her eyes followed me, quiet and unreadable now.

"You should shower. Your makeup is smudged and your dress from last night is—" I paused, glancing at it lying on the chair like it carried sins I wasn't ready to admit to.

"Ugly?" she asked.

"Dangerous," I muttered before catching myself.

She smirked. "So you were looking."

I turned my back to her. "I wasn't blind, Zoya. But that's not the point."

"What is the point then?" she said, voice now sharper. "You show up like a storm, carry me like I'm yours, undress me, tuck me in, and then act like nothing happened?"

I turned to her — she was sitting up now, the blanket pulled to her chest, eyes blazing despite her hangover. "You were drunk, Zoya. What did you expect me to do? Leave you half-conscious in some stranger's house? Let someone else undress you?"