Meet Isabella.
Writer's POV:
Seth's question hangs in the air, but I choose to sidestep it. As I unveil the provocative surprise beneath my coat, his usual confidence falters, replaced by a rare motionlessness. This isn't the reaction I anticipated.
"I'm in the mood, baby. Get your hands on me," I purr, expecting his usual enthusiastic response. However, he seems strangely distant, sweat beading on his forehead. Confused, I inquire about his well-being, and his response catches me off guard.
"Is everything alright?"
"Uhm, yeah, Bella. I'm just busy with work. Can we do this some other time?" His words hang heavy in the air, leaving me perplexed. I'm already here, ready for whatever was supposed to unfold.
Before I can formulate a response, a girl, unmistakably pregnant, emerges, draped in the same blue shirt I gifted Seth on his birthday. Panic sets in as I quickly cover myself, the reality of the situation crashing down around me. The birthday gift shirt now worn by another, a silent revelation of a part of Seth's life I was oblivious to.
The girl greets me with a casual "Hi," effortlessly pretending that my state of undress is a non-issue. She pours herself some juice, disappearing back into the bedroom, leaving me with a lump in my throat, and a silent acknowledgment of the complexities surrounding me.
Seth's confession, however, pierces through the air, cutting through the tension. "I've been meaning to tell you, Isabella. Aria is my girlfriend, and I think we should stop with the hooking up. I now need to focus on her and the baby. I hope you understand."
Disappointment wells up from the pits of my stomach. "No, it's cool, Seth. I get it. See you around, buddy," I respond with a low voice, my disappointment masked by a forced calmness. He gives me a tight hug, an embrace that threatens to unravel my composure, but I refuse to break down in front of him.
As he lets go, I turn away, swallowing the lump in my throat, and exit, leaving behind a chapter of my life that now feels like a hasty scribble in a messy diary. "But babe, I'm out with the gents, you should have spoken earlier." I curse under my breath, feeling the weight of my impulsive decisions tonight.
That was Owen over the phone. I was letting him know that I'm on my way. But I guess I have to head for a different direction. What a night. I briefly thought about that new dude at my workplace who I was interviewing. His English accent turned me on , no need to tell me it's wrong, I already know. He got the job because of that. I immediately put him under the list of experienced people to get trained. And no , the boy has zero call centre experience but his voice is worth it.
With Leon not being an appealing option, I decide to take matters into my own hands.
Leon is into slow, normal sex and that isn't what I need right now. The bar becomes my refuge, a place to drown the sorrows that have accumulated throughout the evening.
As I step into the dimly lit establishment, the scent of alcohol and the distant hum of conversations envelop me. I find solace in the anonymity of the bar, hoping that a few drinks will help me forget the string of unexpected events that have unfolded. Tonight, the bar is not just a place to drink; it's a sanctuary where I can temporarily escape the complexities of my personal life.
I can't believe my best dick belongs to someone else now. The thought simmers within me, a mix of anger, betrayal, and an unsettling feeling of loss. The urge to slam the glass against the walls and shatter the disorienting reality around me is almost overwhelming.
Instead, I head to the bar area, my refuge in this moment of chaos. I order two more shots of tequila, needing the burn to distract from the ache within. Returning to my seat, I notice two girls already occupying the space. A heavy sigh escapes me; I'm not in the mood for idle chatter or the company of strangers.
I take my seat and open another bottle of cider, seeking solace in the numbness that alcohol promises. The bar becomes my silent confidant, witnessing the unraveling of a night that started with anticipation and ended with shattered expectations.
The liquid courage offers a temporary escape from the reality that my best connection has slipped away, leaving behind an empty space that even the crowded bar can't fill.: It must be my lucky day. A fine, masculine guy catches my eye, and after a series of exchanged glances, it becomes clear that I'm the one he's checking out. The tension between us is palpable, and I find myself starting to enjoy the electric atmosphere.
This guy is F.L.A.M.E.S! We can't keep our eyes off each other, and as the tequila continues to whisper naughty things in my ear, the anticipation builds. Suddenly, he's standing in front of me, his breath carrying the scent of whisky. "I'm Caleb, let's get out of here."
My mind races, processing the unexpected proposition. "Where to?" I manage to ask in shock. Caleb, with a hint of a smirk, replies, "Firstly, you need to tell me your name. You seem like you could use a drive through the city. I have a cooler box in my car." He extends his hand, and without hesitation, I grab my handbag as our hands meet.
We walk over to the bar, grabbing shots, and when I glance back at overly made-up Sophie and Eve, they look thoroughly pissed off. Suppressing the urge to laugh, I follow Caleb into the night, leaving behind the remnants of the tumultuous evening and embracing the unexpected adventure that awaits. Poor Sophie and Eve, horny little girls. "I'm Isabella. My friends call me Bella," I respond to Caleb, breaking the uncomfortable silence that hangs in the air as we speed down the highway to an unknown destination.
"Good thing that I'm not your friend. I'll call you Isa. No one is allowed to call you that, you hear me?" Caleb's eyes are intense, his demeanor serious. A shiver runs down my spine. What is he doing to me?
"Do you get me, Isa?" he demands, his hand firmly squeezing mine. I can only nod in response, his presence overwhelming and authoritative. "And that nod is something you could only use in the bedroom, only if your mouth is gagged."
I choose to swallow my discomfort and reach for my cider, trying to wrap my head around the unexpected turn of events. What the hell have I gotten myself into? The night takes on a whole new level of unpredictability as Caleb and I continue on this mysterious journey, the highway stretching out before us, shrouded in the darkness of the unknown. I've never been one to let any man dictate my actions, but there's something about Caleb that rattles me.
A dark aura surrounds him, making me weak at the knees. His presence turns me on to the point where defying him feels like a dangerous game. I can't help but sense that pushing his boundaries could lead to consequences beyond my control.
"Where are you from?" I inquire, attempting to inject a sense of normalcy into the palpable intensity that has enveloped us.
"I'll show you instead," he replies cryptically, his words leaving me with a sinking feeling. As the highway stretches on, it becomes clear—we're heading to his place.
Oh great, I think to myself, a mix of anticipation and apprehension swirling within me.
He lives in town, in a bachelor flat that exudes a distinct manly vibe from the moment you step through the door. The color scheme is dominated by deep, earthy tones—charcoal grays, rich browns, and hints of black, creating a sense of rugged sophistication. The walls are adorned with framed artwork, perhaps abstract pieces or bold photographs, adding a touch of urban flair.
The furniture is sturdy and practical, reflecting a preference for functionality over excess. A large leather sofa sits in the center of the living space, a focal point that invites relaxation. The coffee table is robust, maybe crafted from reclaimed wood or metal, bearing the scars of a well-lived life.
A flat-screen TV mounted on the wall commands attention, surrounded by an array of gaming consoles and entertainment systems. A collection of action-packed DVDs and a few well-worn novels are scattered nearby, giving insight into Caleb's leisure pursuits.
The kitchen area is minimalist yet efficient, equipped with modern appliances in stainless steel. A collection of high-quality whiskey glasses and a well-stocked bar cart showcase a taste for refined indulgences. The aroma of a strong, dark roast coffee lingers in the air, indicating a penchant for robust flavors.
In the bedroom, the bed is adorned with crisp, clean linens and a simple yet stylish duvet cover. The bedside tables feature a mix of intriguing trinkets, perhaps souvenirs from Caleb's travels or objects with sentimental value. The lighting is subtle but sufficient, with industrial-style lamps casting warm glows.
The overall ambiance of Caleb's flat is a blend of rugged masculinity and contemporary urban living. It's a space that reflects his personality—confident, no-frills, and focused on what matters most to him.
"So what were you doing in a bar alone?" He asks as we settle down with our drinks on the couch. "I was drowning my sorrows. One of my best fuck buddies bailed out because he got some chick pregnant." I state , without a care in the world and he shoots me a judgemental look , I quickly compose myself and clear my throat.
"Did you just say , one of them? How many others are there?" I hope he's asking because he wants to know , otherwise , we are going to have serious problems.
"Two more." I say in between my gulpy sips , he gets up without saying a word and comes back with a black bag, he puts it down and pours himself a big glass of whisky.