Snow

24 | can i just stay with you?

❝i'm drifting in the deep, tryna find a way home. driving through the streets,
nowhere i wanna go.❞

❘❘

IT TAKES TWO DAYS. Two fucking days.

I hit something raw—blowing the last of the snow in the stolen purse and coming up empty.

I'm not sure how I even did it. There were no momentos de euforia, no trembling thoughts or striking sensations. It was a steady blur, drifting, drifting, drifting... slow, like a burnout, like I was burning out in the backseat of my car, alone, and yet... never alone. Every thought is hazy; every sensation is soft. It doesn't ever feel the way I want it to. When it sinks into my skin and thrums the vibrations through my veins, I never feel the way I want to.

I realize it slowly—so fucking slowly that it hurts. Like a harsh blow to my chest, a sharp lash at my heart, a cold bite in my cheeks. A bitter, brutal, breathless reminder that nothing lasts para siempre.

It takes dos días for me to knock on his door.

Surprise flashes in his eyes and then fades into something warm. A heartbreakingly soft smile toys at his lips. "Neva."

No digo nada. I wait and watch—as his dark gaze drops to the two bags sitting at my feet. Todo lo que tengo.

His expression falls. "What happened, mami?"

The trace of worry in his voice almost paralyzes me. Does Julian actually care about me?

"Rachel kicked me out," I say quietly, a little too sober to waste my breath on a lie. "I didn't pay rent."

Julian blinks, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Because that hijo de puta didn't pay you? I thought that... Rio said that—"

"Jules," I cut him off, frustrated tears pricking at my eyes. It wasn't just because I blew the money Rio and I had stolen; it was because I'd stopped going to work altogether. "It's... everything is a fucking mess."

Guilt simmers silently in his eyes. I know it; he knows it. En ese momento, we both know what is really wrong, but I don't think either of us care.

"Can I just..." I hold his gaze hesitantly. "Can I just stay with you?"

"Por supuesto," Julian drawls, another wave of worry tilting his lips into a frown. "Yeah, come on in, mamita."

I smile weakly. "Gracias, papi."

Julian opens the door wider, closes it behind me, and then graces me with an apologetic look. "¿Estás bien?"

It's a simple sentiment, soft and so fucking suffocating that I suddenly feel trapped—caged in the lion's den, a mere breath away from a sensual surrender.

All it takes is a smile, loose and lazy, like he's been waiting for me his whole life.

Maybe I am easy.

"Estoy bien," I finally say, dropping my bags to close the gap between us. "Just feeling a little down."

"Mmm." Our lips meet in a soft, promising kiss. "You know I can always help you with that, Neva."

But Julian Rivera is just as easy.

One look, one breath, one kiss, and he's already hitching me up on his hips, tangling fingers into my hair, and leading us to the back of the apartment.

To our bedroom.

Through lines of coke and cigarette smoke, a million moans and murmurs, all the intimacy of sex and drugs burns us into something tangible and infinite. With Julian Rivera, in a room that becomes ours, in the veins of city that never slows, in a life that never stills, things do last forever.