The front door slammed behind her as she burst out into the night. The sky had opened its wounds too as rain poured in cold, harsh sheets. She didn’t care.

She stumbled barefoot down the curb, arms hugging herself, hair plastered to her face, and tears flowing as freely as the rain.

A yellow cab passed. She threw out her arm as it skidded to a stop. She climbed in, her soaked clothes sticking to the seat.

“Where to, miss?”The driver gave her a quick glance.

She wiped her face roughly, catching her breath. “A club. Just… any club.”

He nodded.

As the car moved, the city lights blurred behind her tear-filled eyes. She pressed her forehead to the cold glass.

Her lips quivered. Three years. Three years with a man who told her she was his forever. Three years of promises, of firsts, of friendship turned to love and he threw it away for Cassidy. Her best friend.

"Why does my life always seem to suck? Am I really that pathetic? Don't I deserve happiness? How could they do that to me?!"

The sob ripped from her chest before she could stop it. Then another, and another.

She covered her mouth, trying to keep the sound in, but it hurt too much. Her whole body ached.

She had never felt so stupid. So used and so alone.

The cab rolled to a stop. Neon lights painted the puddles outside in reds and purples. Music vibrated to the sidewalk.

She paid the driver with shaky fingers and stepped out into the storm.

The bass was pounding deep, heavy, vibrating through the floor and up her spine.

The air inside the club was thick with sweat, perfume, and artificial euphoria. Strobe lights sliced through the darkness like blades. Bodies moved against each other in a hypnotic haze.

Liora sat alone in the corner, slouched in the velvet booth, her makeup smeared, her curls limp and soaked. A small table in front of her was littered with empty shot glasses and open bottles.

She was on her sixth bottle now as something cheap and vicious that clawed down her throat like liquid regret. Each swallow burned hotter than the last, but the fire wasn’t enough. It never was.

Her head throbbed with a relentless, cracked-bell ache, yet she welcomed the pain. Anything to drown out his voice. Anything to silence the screaming loop in her mind, her youth wasted on lies, on a man who had smiled at her every morning while fucking someone else behind her back.

A broken, bitter laugh slipped from her lips as she stared at the spinning ceiling. The club lights fractured into cruel rainbows through her tears.

“Three fucking years,” she slurred to no one, voice thick and ragged. “Who knew that bastard was just using me?”

She shoved herself upright, swaying like a storm-tossed ship, and snatched the nearly empty bottle from the sticky table. Her boots clicked unsteadily across the floor as she pushed through the writhing crowd, clutching the bottle like a dying torch.

She was looking for oblivion. For anything that might make the knife in her chest stop twisting.

She stumbled into the heart of the dance floor, neon lights painting her tear-streaked face in sickly pinks and electric blues.

Someone grabbed her waist from behind. She whirled and shoved them hard, eyes wild.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” She spat, voice cracking.

She lurched forward again, lost in the heated press of bodies. Then...bam...

She collided with a solid wall of muscle.

“Sorry.” She mumbled, trying to step aside, but her knees buckled. Strong arms caught her before she could fall, steady and unyielding.

The bottle was gently but firmly pried from her white-knuckled grip.

“Haven’t you had enough? What are you doing here, looking like that? You don’t belong in a place like this.” A low, deep voice rumbled near her ear, cutting through the chaos.

She looked up slowly. Her glassy eyes, red-rimmed, swollen with pain, met his dark gaze. Her lips trembled uncontrollably. Mascara ran in black rivers down her flushed cheeks.

“Just… let me be,” She whispered, the words fracturing.

She tried to pull away, but her body betrayed her. She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt instead, clinging to him like a lifeline as fresh tears spilled over. Her forehead dropped heavily against his chest, and a broken sob tore from her throat.

“I just want to forget,” She whispered, voice raw and shattered. “The pain… the betrayal… it hurts so much. He laughed at me. He looked at her like I never existed. Three years. I gave him everything and he—”

The words dissolved into quiet, wrenching sobs that shook her entire frame. All the memories crashed over her at once. Her shoulders crumpled.

Before he could answer, desperation overtook her. She surged upward on unsteady tiptoes and crushed her lips to his in a messy, tear-soaked kiss.

It was wild, hungry, and devastatingly sad like a drowning woman gasping for air. Her fingers twisted tighter in his shirt as hot tears slipped between their joined mouths.

He stiffened for half a second, then his grip tightened around her waist. One large hand slid down to grip her ass, firm, possessive, grounding. When he finally broke the kiss, his breathing was ragged, eyes burning with something dark and feral.

She stared up at him, lips swollen, face a portrait of raw anguish.

“Make me forget,” she begged, her voice hoarse and breaking. “Please. Put me out of my misery. Just for tonight… make it stop hurting.”

A muscle ticked in his cheek.

Then, without another word, he bent down and scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing. Her legs wrapped weakly around him, her arms circling his neck like she was afraid he’d vanish. The world spun again, but this time she wasn’t falling alone.

“As you wish, princess,” he murmured, voice low and dangerously soft against her ear.

The front door slammed behind her with a finality that rang in her ears. Rain hammered down in cold, merciless sheets, soaking her scrubs instantly. A yellow cab slowed. She flung out her hand.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“Anywhere at all, just drive to a club."she rasped.

The city blurred past the rain-streaked window. Three years. Three fucking years of loyalty, of late shifts covered so he could rest, of learning his mother’s recipes and swallowing her own dreams.

All of it reduced to Troy’s mocking laugh and Cassidy’s naked smirk. The sob tore out of her before she could stop it. She pressed her forehead to the cold glass and let the tears fall.

The cab stopped outside a pulsing neon sign. She shoved damp bills at the driver and stepped into the downpour.

Inside, the bass slammed into her chest like a second heartbeat. She made straight for the bar, water dripping from her curls onto the sticky floor.

“Six shots of tequila,” she told the bartender. “Line them up.”

He raised an eyebrow but poured. She downed the first two before he finished the rest. The burn felt good. It was something other than the knife in her chest.

By the sixth shot, she was floating in a numb, angry haze. She slammed the empty glass down and pushed into the crowd.

Bodies pressed against her, sweat and perfume and heat. She moved with them, hips swaying, head thrown back. The music swallowed her screams.

Every beat reminded her of Troy’s groan, Cassidy’s laugh. She grabbed a half-empty bottle from a table and drank straight from it, liquid fire sliding down her throat.

“Three years,” she slurred to no one, laughing bitterly. “Three years and I was just the boring girlfriend with the fucking cake.”

She spun, nearly falling, and collided hard with a solid chest.

Strong hands caught her elbows before she could hit the floor. The bottle was gently but firmly taken from her grip.

“Easy there,” A deep voice said, low and smooth over the music. “You’re about to drown yourself in that thing.”

Liora blinked up. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair damp from the rain, sharp jaw shadowed by stubble. Expensive shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

Eyes like midnight watching her with a mix of amusement and something darker.

She swayed into him, gripping his shirt to stay upright. “Didn’t ask for a knight in shining armor.”

“I have no armor,” He replied, steadying her with one hand at her waist. “Just trying to keep you from cracking your skull on my boots. What’s got a pretty thing like you trying to drink the whole bar?”

She laughed, bitter and broken. “Pretty? That’s funny. My boyfriend, nah, ex-boyfriend said I was boring. A boring pathetic girlfriend.” Her voice cracked. “He even fucked my best friend in our bed on his birthday. While I was bringing him cake.”

“Damn. That’s cold.”The stranger’s grip tightened.

“Cold is too soft to define what they said to me." She pressed closer, drunk courage flooding her. Her hands slid up his chest. “They laughed about how I fuck. Said I was too uptight and too predictable.” She rose on her toes, lips brushing his ear. “Maybe they were right. Maybe I need someone to teach me properly.”

His breath hitched. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

“I’m done playing safe.” She nipped his earlobe, bold and sloppy. “I want to forget his hands, I want to forget her voice. Make me forget, stranger. Fuck the memory of him out of me.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her. His thumb traced her bottom lip, smearing what was left of her lipstick. “You’re drunk, princess. Tomorrow you might regret this.”

“I regret three years,” she whispered fiercely. “I regret trusting them. I don’t regret wanting your hands on me right now.” She rolled her hips against him, feeling him harden. “Look at me. I’m soaked, ruined, and still begging. Doesn’t that turn you on?”

His eyes darkened.

“More than you know.” One hand slid down to grip her ass, pulling her flush against him. “You want dirty? You want rough? Say it clearly.”

She shivered, heat pooling low in her belly.

“I want you to bend me over somewhere dark. I want your cock so deep I can’t think about anything else. I want marks, I want to scream your name until mine doesn’t matter.” Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging. “Please. Make me feel something besides this pain and emptiness.”

He groaned softly, forehead resting against hers.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be a big trouble.” His free hand cupped her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek. “What’s your name, princess?”

“Liora,” she breathed. “And I don’t care what yours is.”

He smirked, then he leaned in against her ear. “I’m going to take you somewhere private. Strip you slow. Taste every inch of this pretty body they called boring. By the time I’m done, you’ll be shaking, dripping, and forgetting every other person but me.”

Liora moaned softly, the words hitting harder than the alcohol. She kissed him again, messy, desperate. He kissed back like he’d been starving for it, tongue sliding against hers, hand squeezing her ass possessively.

When they broke apart, she was panting. “I want you now. Before I change my mind and go cry in the bathroom.”

He didn’t hesitate. He scooped her up effortlessly, one arm under her thighs, the other around her back. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her through the crowd like she weighed nothing.

(Word count: 1097)

The door clicked shut behind them. The stranger carried her straight to the king-sized bed in the private suite of the club and set her down on the sheets. A single amber lamp glowed in the corner. The bass from the club below vibrated faintly through the floor.

He stood back for a second and looked at her. Wet scrubs, smeared makeup, messy curls.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Makes me want to fuck you until you forget your own name.”

"You’re the first person to say that to me.”

Liora’s breath caught.

He stepped closer. His fingers touched her cheek, then her jaw. “I’m not here to fix anything for you, but I can make you forget for a while at least.”

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him down. Their mouths met hard. He kissed her like he meant it, deep and rough. Her hands moved fast, tugging at his buttons.

He ripped her soaked top open and the fabric tore. He yanked her scrubs down her legs and tossed them aside. Her bra came off next, then her panties.

Naked, she reached for him. He shoved his pants down as his cock sprang free, thick and hard. He climbed over her, pushed her legs apart, and slid two fingers straight into her pussy. She gasped loud. He pumped them fast, curling them, drawing out wet sounds.

“Fuck,” she moaned, her hips lifting.

He pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his cock in one thrust. She cried out, her back arching. He was big. It stung, but she wanted it.

He flipped them so she was on top. She tried to ride him, but he gripped her ass with both hands and slammed up into her, hard and fast.

Skin slapped against skin. She fell forward onto his chest. He didn’t slow down. He fucked her like he was punishing her, deep strokes that made her whimper every time he bottomed out.

“I’m gonna cum,” He growled.

He thrust up harder and spilled inside her. Hot pulses filled her. She shook on top of him, moaning through her own orgasm.

They didn’t stop. He rolled her onto her back again, hooked her legs over his shoulders, and fucked her a second time. Then a third. Each round rougher than the last. She lost count of how many times she came before she finally passed out.

.....

Morning light stabbed through the gaps in the curtains. Liora woke with a pounding headache as she sat up slowly.Her body ached everywhere. Thighs sore, back scratched, neck bitten.

She looked down. She had no clothes on. The sheets stuck to her skin.

“Oh shit,” she whispered.

She tried to stand. Her knees buckled. She caught herself on the edge of the bed and stayed there until the dizziness passed. Flashes came back. The stranger's hands, his cock stretching her. The way he kept going even when she was shaking.

She scanned the floor. Her scrubs lay in pieces. Top ripped down the front. Pants torn at the waist. Bra and panties missing.

“Jesus Christ.”

A sleek black box sat on the stool near the bed. She wrapped the sheet around herself and opened it. Inside was a new dress, he seems thoughtful.

She looked under the stool and picked up a small red card from the floor. One side said “Skyhigh Suites” in silver. The other side had a single letter: J.

No phone number or name. Just J.

She carried the card and the dress into the bathroom. The mirror showed the damage. Bite marks on her breasts, bruises on her hips, fingerprints on her thighs. She turned on the shower and stepped under the hot water. It stung the marks but she scrubbed anyway, washing away the sweat and come.

After she dried off, she pulled the new dress over her head. It fit perfectly, hugging her body. She looked at herself again. She looked different from yesterday. Not better, just different.

She stuffed the torn clothes into a plastic bag she found under the sink, grabbed her purse, and slipped the red card inside it. Then she left the suite.

The club downstairs was quiet now, cleaners moving between tables. Morning sun hit her face when she stepped outside.

Liora stood on the sidewalk for a moment. Her head still throbbed. Her pussy was sore with every step.

She raised her hand for a cab. One stopped. She gave the driver her address, the old apartment she wouldn’t be returning to. She would pick up her things later.

As the cab drove, she turned the red card over in her fingers. J. She didn’t know if she would ever see him again. Part of her hoped she wouldn’t. Another part wondered what would happen if she did.

She slipped the card back into her bag and leaned her head against the window. The rain from last night had stopped. The streets were wet and shining.

For the first time since she walked in on Troy and Cassidy, Liora took a full breath. But she wouldn't lie to herself, it still hurt.