The dim lighting in the bar blurred the lines between reality and the distorted version of it that existed in Luna's head. Music pulsed through the air, mingling with laughter, clinking glasses, and the murmur of idle chitchat. Her fingers curled around a half-empty glass of whiskey, her third, fifth, sixth of the night? She wasn't counting.
Her eyes settled on a middle-aged guy leaning against the bar, reeking of that particular brand of crazy she hunted. He looked grimy, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, his shirt wrinkled like it had spent more time on the floor than on his body. The kind of guy who wouldn't bother asking her name.
Who wouldn't ask permission.
Who wouldn't give a damn about her pleasure or her pain.
The kind of guy who made Nico seem romantic by comparison.
"You're not seriously thinking about going home with that guy, are you?" Anna's voice cut through Luna's thoughts.
Luna didn't bother looking at her friend. "Why not?" she said, sipping her drink.
"Because he looks like he just crawled out of a dumpster." Anna's tone was sharp with frustration, but there was a hint of genuine concern beneath it. "Come on, Luna. You're stunning. Smart. You could do so much better." She trailed off, shaking her head. "That guy over there? He's trash. He's bad for you."
Exactly. That was the whole point.
"You don't get it."
"Then make me get it," Anna said, her voice soft now. "Because watching you do this every weekend, it's like you're trying to prove something. But to who? Him? That guy who broke your heart? The one you won't tell me about?" Anna sighed. "Luna, he's not here. He's not coming back."
Luna swirled the amber liquid in her glass, watching it catch the light. She didn't answer right away. What was wrong with her? She didn't know. She only knew that something inside her had shattered when Nico had pressed that rag to her face and vanished into the void. Or maybe she had been breaking long before that, and he had simply delivered the final, merciless blow.
Fourteen months.
Fourteen months and not a single word from him. Not a single text, or call.
Nico wasn't coming back. She knew it with the cold certainty of someone who had waited too long. But knowing wasn't the same as accepting. Accepting felt like tearing out her own heart.
Maybe he was dead. A sick part of her hoped he was. At least that would be easier to live with than the thought of him out there, living his life with some other woman.
"Luna?"
She looked at Anna. "Exactly. He's not here."
"So why not find someone decent? Why not--"
"Because that's what he wanted," Luna snapped, anger flaring suddenly, though it wasn't aimed at Anna. It was aimed at Nico. "He told me to find a good guy. And he doesn't get to decide who I date."
Her gaze drifted back to the guy across the room. He caught her staring and shot her a lazy, smug grin. That was all it took. She downed the rest of her drink and stood up.
"Luna, don't," Anna said, her voice tight with alarm. "You're better than this."
But Luna didn't stop. Anna's protests faded into the background as she moved across the room, straight toward the guy who promised nothing but a way to spite the ghost of the man who had left her.
The guy reeked of smoke and cheap cologne, his clothes stained, his face unshaven and tired-looking. Up close, he was even filthier, eyes sunken and bloodshot.
"You lost or somethin'?" he asked, his voice rough and slurred like he hadn't sobered up in days. His eyes dragged over her body, slow and shameless.
"Nah," she said, offering a playful smile. "I'm exactly where I want to be."
His brow furrowed, lips twisting into something caught between a sneer and a grin.
"Yeah? You slummin' it for kicks, huh? What's a pretty cunt like you doin' eyein' me?"
His tone was thick with disbelief, almost mocking, like he thought she was some kind of joke.
She grabbed his filthy hand and pressed it against her chest, locking eyes with him. "Does it look like I'm messing around?"
His wariness faltered. His hand stayed where she put it, squeezing hard. He let out a low, throaty chuckle, eyes narrowing with a hungry gleam. "Shit... guess you're one of those, huh? Lookin' for someone to treat you rough." His other hand came up, brushing over her ass with a painful grip. "Lucky night for me."
***
His apartment was exactly what she expected. Small, cramped, and filthy. The place reeked of stale weed and old beer cans left to rot. Dirty clothes and food wrappers littered the floor, and the sink overflowed with dishes caked in dried grime. An ashtray sat on the edge of a coffee table cluttered with old magazines and crumpled receipts, spilling ash onto the floor.
"Home sweet fuckin' home," he said, kicking a pizza box out of the way as he shut the door behind them. He yanked off his shirt, tossing it onto a chair already piled with clothes. His body was broad and soft, like a guy who might've once hit the gym but had long since given up on that. He didn't care how he looked, didn't care about the state of his place. And he assumed she didn't either.
He was right.
Her gaze swept over the room, landing on a low shelf near the mattress on the floor. He had turned away, rummaging through a cabinet. She pulled her phone from her pocket, thumbed over to the camera, and hit record. Quickly, she propped it up against a stack of old DVDs, angling it toward the stained mattress.
"So," he said, straightening up with a half-empty whiskey bottle clutched in his hand. He took a swig, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and gave her a lazy grin. "What's your deal? What kinda bitch goes home with a guy like me?"
Luna didn't answer. Instead, she dug a condom from her bag and tossed it at him. "Put it on. I want to watch you put it on. Other than that, do whatever the hell you want with me."
"Damn, you're somethin' else," he said, catching the condom. He turned it over in his fingers like he was still not sure if she was messing with him.
She pulled her top over her head, letting it drop over her purse. No bra. Just bare skin, daring him to keep questioning her.
"Shit," he breathed, his hand going to his crotch, gripping his junk roughly as he watched her.
"Come on," she said flatly. "Put it on. Or are you just gonna stand there and cum in your pants?"
The grin slipped from his face, replaced by a flash of annoyance. "Fuckin' mouth on you," he muttered, tearing open the condom wrapper. His jeans dropped to his knees, revealing a thick but short cock, already rock-hard. He worked the condom on with clumsy hands, his eyes never leaving her body as he did.
Once he was ready, he gave her a crude once-over. "Gonna make you shut up real quick."
"Can't wait," she muttered.
