5 years ago
Elara leaned against the cool railing of the balcony, the thrum of the bass vibrating through the drywall and into her spine. Inside, the air was a thick, suffocating haze of expensive perfume, spilled beer, and the frantic heat of too many bodies packed into one house.
Out here, the air was lighter. The sky had bruised into a deep, heavy dark—a clear warning of the coming rain. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the sharp chill and the scent of damp earth.
He was late. Again.
For the last few days, her boyfriend had been a ghost. He was physically there, but his eyes were always tracking something over her shoulder, his mind drifting miles away even in the middle of a conversation. It was typical of him; he moved to his own rhythm, unbothered by schedules or the frantic social climbing of their peers. Usually, she loved that about him—his quiet confidence in a room full of people trying too hard.
But as the party roared inside, his absence felt like a loud, empty pace. He was probably at a post-game dinner, she told herself, shifting her weight to as a group of freshmen stumbled past the balcony. The excuse felt thin, as flimsy as the plastic cup in her hand.
Still, she couldn't shake the nagging weight in her chest. Maybe she'd done something wrong, or maybe the pressure of colleg and being the basketball captain while scouts hovered in the bleachers at every game was finally starting to crush him.
Maybe. . . .
Her spiralling thoughts was cut short when a pair of strong arms looped around her waist from behind, pulling her back into a solid chest. He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, his skin still radiating the heat of the night. The scent of him—something clean and faintly sweet, filled her nostrils and she felt herself relaxing against him.
"Guess who?" His voice vibrated against her, a teasing whisper that managed to drown out the music.
Elara twisted in his arms to look at him properly, the tension in her shoulders vanished the moment their eyes locked. There he was: Seth Morris.
The captain of the basketball team looked every bit the part, even in the dim, flickering party lights. His dark curls were artfully disheveled, a few damp strands sticking to his forehead, and his whiskey-colored eyes crinkled at the corners. He flashed that lopsided, devastating smile—the one that made her heart hammer against her ribs until it finally, inevitably, softened.
"You're late," Elara said, her voice losing its bite. Her gaze traced his features with a quiet helpless adoration, her earlier anxiety flickering out like a spent candle.
"I know, baby," Seth murmured against her skin. "The guys wouldn't leave me—insisted on one more round of drinks at the post-game dinner." He pressed a kiss to her cheeks, his lips sliding down the line of her jaw toward her neck. The scent of stale beer hung heavy on his breath, invading her space.
Most girls would have melted under the affection, but Elara felt a sudden, sharp instinct to recoil. Her shoulders went rigid. She forced a small, flickering smile, trying to mask the discomfort as she pressed her palms against his chest, creating an inch of much-needed space.
"Seth, we're outside," she said softly, her voice wavering.
The warmth in his eyes vanished instantly. A sudden, biting coldness took its place, and he took his away from her as if touching her burned him. He stepped away abruptly, the "Golden boy" charm replaced by sharp, jagged edge. "Right, yes. I forgot," he said, his tone flat and hollow.
Seeing the flicker of doubt on her face, Seth's expression shifted instantly, smoothing back into practiced tenderness.
"I'm sorry, baby," he added, his voice dropping into that low, melodic tone that usually worked on her. "I just....I lose myself when I'm around you. I forget where we are."
Elara gave a small, tight-lipped nod, leaning her cheek into his palm in a desperate attempt to feel the warmth that used to be there. "Do you want to dance?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper over the muffled roar of the party.
Seth didn't even seem to hear her. His head snapped toward the glass doors the moment a muffled shout from inside called his name. A sudden, urgent smile broke across his face—one that reached his eyes much faster than it had for her.
"Hold that thought, okay? I'll be right back," he said, already pivoting away. He didn't wait for her to agree. "Why don't you grab us some drinks?"
The sliding glass door clicked shut, sealing the humid noise of the party away from her. Elara stood frozen, her arms hanging uselessly at her sides as the chill of the balcony air rushed back in to fill the space where he had been. Through the glass, she watched him weave through the crowd toward a group of girls who drifted toward him like magnets. They were laughing, eyes bright with anticipation, and Deth was already center stage, never once looking back.
Seth didn't spare a single glance back as he cut through the crowd toward the dance floor. He was already leaning into the space of a girl who met him halfway—a striking brunette with hazel eyes and deep, dimpled smile that seemed to pull him in like a riptide.
Elara watched through the glass, her heart tightening until it felt like a knot in her chest. Seth was grinning at the girl—a genuine, radiant expression he hadn't shown Elara in weeks, let alone tonight. They had been dating for eight months, yet here he was, pulling a stranger into his orbit within seconds.
His hand slid familiarly around the girl's waist, drawing her close as the music shifted. They hadn't been on the floor for even five minutes, yet he looked more "present" with her than he had with her ever. Thirty minutes, Elara had spent waiting for him on the balcony, he couldn't give her a full minute of his time, but he had plenty to give to the rest of the room.
Elara wrenched the balcony door open and stepped back into the suffocating pulse of the living room. She couldn't stay—not while her chest felt like it was being hollowed out. She began to shoulder through the sweltering crowd, her eyes fixed on the exit, when a hand clamped onto her shoulder.
She spun around, expecting Seth, but found Jacob instead. One of Seth's teammates, he was already swaying slightly with a half empty cup in his hand.
"Yo Elara!" Jacob shouted over the bass, thrusting a sleek, black device into her palm. "Seth left his phone at the dinner. Keep it safe yeah?" Before she could even respond, he had already disappeared back into the sea of dancing bodies.
Elara's finger tightened around the cold glass of the phone. She didn't look at it; she just gripped it like a lifeline—or a lead weight—and fought her way to the door.
The silence of the hallway was a physical shock. She reached the elevator and pressed the button for the junior dorms. As the doors slid shut, the number of the senior floors flickered and faded, cutting off the distant, thumping heartbeat of the party.
He hadn't noticed I was gone. He probably wouldn't until he reached for a screen that wasn't there.
In her palm, the phone buzzed— a short, sharp vibration that made her skin prickle. She ignored it, staring at her own reflection in the brushed metal of the elevator doors.
The elevator chimed, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the sudden silence of the tenth floor. Here, the air was still and smelled faintly of floor wax—a stark contrast to the beer-soaked chaos of the party. Elara walked down the long, flourescent-lit hallway, her footsteps sounding hollow against the linoleum.
She stopped short five feet from her door.
The wood was no longer plain; it had been transformed into a grotesque gallery. Dozen of glossy photos were plastered across the surface—selfies, mostly. There was Seth, his "devastating" smile directed at the brunette with the hazel eyes. In some, they were tangled together in bed, skin against skin; in others, their mouths were locked in a heat Elara hadn't felt from in months.
Pinned to the center of the mess was a jagged scrap of notebook paper. The handwriting was sharp, the ink bleeding into the page:
" Break up with Seth. He doesn't like girls like you. He deserves better. "
Elara stood frozen, her vision fracturing as hot, stinging tears finally blurred the gallery of her own humiliation. The silence of the hallway was gone, replaced by the roar of blood in her eyes.
With a choked sob, she lunged at the door. Her hands, trembling and clumsy, clawed at the tape and paper, ripping the glossy photos from the wood. She didn't care if they tore; she just needed them gone. She gathered the mess of Seth's smiling face and the jagged note into a crushed pile, shoved her way into the room, and kicked the door shut.
The slam echoed through the small space, final and and violent. In a blur of white-hot rage, she hurled Seth's phone across the room. It struck the far wall with a sickening metalli crack before skittering across the floor.
Then, finally, she let out a scream—a jagged, breathless sound that tore through the quiet of the tenth floor.
Rule#2: Innocence is a shell that must be broken.