A surprise was waiting for me exactly at 7 p.m.
I pulled into a city drowning in lights, not expecting anything except cheap jokes and even cheaper alcohol. Wrecked, furious, my pulse hammering in my temples, I’d practically run away from home—and the darkness claimed me at once. On the empty country road I pulled out something that resembled whiskey and took a long sip.
Some guy knocked on my window.
I raised a finger—the indecent one—and kept breathing, trying to hold myself together.
Luna was sleeping quietly in the back, nose buried in the blanket.
The fight with Nate had thrown me completely off balance.
God, how this man knows exactly how to knock me out of my center.
How dare he not appreciate me.
How dare he push me this far.
The music was blaring in the car like a mad wave. I drove on.
Then—some crap with the car.
And of course, damn it all, it would NOT start.
Cursing under my breath and sipping whiskey, I pushed it to the nearest gas station.
“Hi, do you have someone like a mechanic here?”
“Yes, miss, of course, one moment,” the girl said, flustered.
I rolled my eyes so hard I practically saw my own despair.
“Should’ve taken the Porsche. Now I’m stuck here for eternity.”
My phone was ringing like crazy.
“Go to hell,” I muttered and switched on airplane mode.
Finally—silence.
“More whiskey?” Ares asked.
“Pour,” I said, not looking at him.
I was trying to be at least vaguely polite, but the anger was in everything—my voice, my shoulders, my breathing.
Finally it was my turn.
By then I was properly drunk, with all the consequences: the disgusting animal, the rotten bottom crawled out. I was rude, sharp, tactless.
“We don’t take cards.”
“For hell’s sake… what is this, the seventeenth century?”
The woman went even redder.
“I’m sorry, miss…”
“This is insane. Who even walks around with cash?!”
“Well… how about this: you pay with your card, and I’ll send you the money back?”
“Deal.”
And right then—the lights went out.
“Are you kidding me?! What the—WHAT A DAMN HOLE! What is this town?!”
The woman froze, completely thrown.
I flushed.
“I’m sorry… please. I… I can’t justify myself. I’m sorry I was so rude.”
And she smiled.
About a hundred and fifty hours seemed to pass.
We were sitting on the floor, eating off the shelves, talking about life.
Luna dozed, leaning against me.
“Listen… if you want, I can pay off your mortgage,” I said.
She looked up.
“If you let me and this bear of mine spend the night at your place.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
I took a swig of whiskey to hide the tears.
How could she just believe me like that?
God, what if I’m insane?
Another hour passed—and I woke up.
The three of us had fallen asleep, slumped against each other.
Luna lay to the side, two bags of chips and a huge pile of bread next to her.
I scratched Luna behind the ear.
“How are you?” I asked.
“I’m fine… and you, miss?”
“I’m okay.”
There was a knock at the door—a man and two boys.
I tensed.
“Stay still. Luna knows the commands. Where’s the back door?”
She smiled.
“It’s alright. That’s my family.”
“Ah… okay.”
“Luna, stand down.”
The house was typically American—but warm, with a kind aura.
I sat down on the couch, not moving, just watching.
Luna went off to check the rooms.
One door was closed.
I pretended I was trying to find signal on my phone.
Poor, trusting people believed me.
We checked the whole house and the yard.
Nothing. Clean.
In that room there was just a little girl sleeping.
They’d probably closed the door so no one would wake her.
Luna let out a soft whine—that was her “all clear.”
I came back and smiled sweetly, like I was asking my mother for a toy.
But in my head, my brain was on full alert.
You can’t just get drunk and fall asleep anywhere.
The man was about forty-five.
Two boys—six and thirteen.
I narrowed my eyes.
Everything looked clean: sincerity, tiny smile lines around the eyes.
Alright. We’ll keep observing.
Little by little, I relaxed.
Paranoia is wonderful when it’s under control.
They were reminiscing, telling jokes, showing photo albums.
I started talking with Kate.
“Are you happy?”
“Yes,” she lit up.
“Damn… and this life doesn’t weigh you down? You work as a cashier…”
“I like our town. It’s small. And I know everyone. Everyone is kind.”
“I see.”
I cleared my throat.
“Forgive my bluntness.”
My phone came back to life.
Started ringing.
Perfect.
And then—another knock at the door.
I jolted and woke Luna up.
“Tst-tst-tst.” The quiet clicking signal. “Ready.”
My body went into fight mode.
The door opened.
And there was…
Nate.
“…oh, for God’s sake.”
He was standing in the doorway—soaked to the bone, like some hero from a movie, but without that cheesy romantic gloss.
Real.
Heavy.
Jaw clenched so tight it looked like he could hold an airplane door shut at ten thousand meters.
I waved my hand sharply:
“Back off! I said BACK OFF!”
Behind him, the Porsche was gleaming—the one he’d brought instead of my wreck of a car.
Oh, damn.
I really should’ve taken the Porsche myself—now it stood there, shining like the universe’s private joke.
He took a step forward.
And I saw he was shaking.
Not from the cold—from tension.
“Let’s go,” he said, low and quiet.
“I’m not going,” I stepped back. “Don’t even think about it.”
He exhaled—tired, pained—and took my hand. Not roughly, but firmly.
“To the bar,” he ground out. “Now.”
And pulled me along.
God, the nerve.
Inside everything was boiling—anger, fear, alcohol, that stupid urge to hit him and then bury my face in his neck.
And this man…
Even when I hate him, he hits whatever switch inside me that flips to “yes”.
I grabbed onto the doorframe, the air, Kate:
“Please… please don’t leave me alone with him. Not even for a minute. Don’t let him get close to me… I…”
Kate looked surprised, but nodded.
“Alright. We’ll go with you. All of us.”
She glanced at her husband and the kids.
“Get dressed. Move.”
A minute later we were already walking down the street.
Rain was coming down in sheets.
I was shaking—from the cold, from rage, from the fact that he was beside me.
Nate walked a bit ahead—wet, focused, moving like he was holding the whole world together.
His shoulders tense, his stride springy, angry, fast.
We went into a local bar.
Simple.
Warm.
Smelling of wood, beer and fried onions.
And—unexpectedly—serving surprisingly decent drinks.
Every head turned.
People stared at me like I’d just climbed out of a tornado and dragged in a wet angel of death behind me.
It was painfully awkward.
I sat down at a table.
Nate—across from me.
Kate—beside me.
Her husband and the boys took lemonades and pretended everything was normal.
The bar hummed around us, but between Nate and me—silence.
The kind of silence that makes your ribs crack from the inside.
The bartender set down two glasses.
I took mine.
Nate took his.
“So…” I said.
“So,” he echoed.
Neither of us blinked.
He was still soaked through.
Dark hair plastered to his temples by the rain.
Shirt clinging to his chest.
Salt-water drops on his lashes.
Looking like that…
Honestly, why on earth does he have to look like this exactly when I most want to kill him?
“What do you want?” I leaned forward, a little aggressive.
He leaned in too—but closer.
Too close.
“I want you home,” he said calmly. “Alive.”
“I am alive,” I snorted. “And furious.”
“I know,” he took a sip. “That’s why I came.”
Poor Kate sat between us like a cushion wedged between two wild predators.
She glanced at me and whispered:
“If anything—I’m here.”
I squeezed her hand under the table.
Nate noticed.
Something in his eyes shifted—pain, for a second.
So honest I almost looked away.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked quietly.
Damn.
That was the line I hadn’t wanted to cross.
I swallowed.
Grabbed a breath.
And finally said:
“Not of you.
Of myself next to you.”
He shut his eyes for a second—heavy, exhausted.
When he opened them again, it wasn’t anger I saw there.
It was something else.
Something that always disarms me.
“Baby,” he said almost in a whisper. “Look at me.”
I lifted my eyes.
“I’m here,” he put his hand on the table.
Not reaching for me.
Just—there.
“And I’m not leaving until you tell me to go.”
My heart dropped straight into my heels.
Kate quietly slid away, giving us space.
And I was still shaking.
“Then…” I exhaled, “talk. Explain.
Because I’m at my limit.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Alright,” he said.
“Let’s start.”
And I snapped.
Anger and pain shot through my body like an electric shock.
“Damn you,” I hissed. “I never hid a single thing from you.
You knew.
I told you everything straight.
You KNOW I’m not easy.
You KNOW I have a past.”
He let out a breath.
And I slapped him.
The smack rang out sharp.
He clenched his jaw and said nothing.
I slapped him again.
And again.
Everything in me was on fire.
I love him more than life, and that’s exactly why I wanted to tear him apart—because I was sure he would leave, and I…
I couldn’t afford to trust too early.
My history is a wound.
I don’t get to “just trust.”
I hit him with my open hands, one cheek, then the other.
I yelled like a crazy person:
“IDIOT!”
He stood his ground.
His locked jaw was the only shield he allowed himself.
I grabbed my glass and took another gulp of whiskey—for courage.
Because if he decided to walk away, I wanted it to happen today.
I needed to know.
I started pressing every button I could find.
His pride.
His ego.
His fears.
His weak points.
“You’re a coward!” I threw at him. “You’re testing me!
Men are all the same—you always test women before committing.
Like we’re projects.
Like we’re property.
Check the specs, sign the papers, move in.”
He lifted his head:
“Haven’t you been testing me too?”
Before you decided to be mine?”
“That’s DIFFERENT!” I shot back.
His mouth twitched with a painful almost-smile—no joy in it, only hurt.
“You tested me too, baby,” he said quietly.
“These are NOT the same things!” I growled.
And just like that, something inside me snapped.
My legs went weak and I sank to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.
No strength left.
I couldn’t fight anymore.
He picked me up and we left.
We said goodbye to Kate and her family—I couldn’t even look them in the eye.
The shame burned.
At the hotel he sat me down across from him.
I was shaking like a child.
“From about ten years old,” he began, “do you know which kids usually get adopted?”
The ones who later act like demons.
Who twist and thrash.
Who destroy everything.
Who lash out at their parents.
Who blow things up at school.
Who wreck the house.
Because they’re angry.
Humiliated.”
“Shut up, Nate,” I exhaled. “Leave me alone.”
He didn’t move.
“You KNOW why they do it.”
“NO!” I yelled.
He leaned closer.
“You do know,” he said, breaking it into syllables. “Why they do it.”
“Fine, so what?!” I shouted back.
He crossed his arms.
Heavy.
Calm.
All steel.
“Coward,” I hissed.
“Then say it,” his voice was dangerously even. “Say it yourself. Why do they do it, baby?”
So I threw the worst thing I could at him:
“What if I sleep with your friend?
Or your partner?
What if I’m not faithful?
What if I’m a cheat?”
“That’s not happening,” he said flatly.
“Oh really? Maybe I’ve been playing you this whole time!
Maybe I’m a sly little fox!”
“No,” he repeated.
“Maybe I’m with you for the money!
Maybe it’s just convenient!”
“No,” he said quietly.
And that was it.
I broke.
I cried.
Not pretty, not dignified—like someone who hadn’t been allowed to cry for years.
He came over and hugged me.
I hit him again.
And again.
He came back a second time.
Hugged me again.
I hit him.
He came a third time.
And I gave up.
I didn’t explain anything anymore.
I just fell asleep.
In the morning I woke up first—as always, after a storm.
The driver brought my clothes.
Shower.
Light breakfast.
Pencil skirt.
Top.
Heels.
I pulled myself together.
Face smooth.
Voice calm.
Back straight.
I’d lost a kilo and a half overnight—classic overload.
He woke up.
“Morning,” I said.
“Morning,” he replied.
I saw in his eyes that he recognized me again.
The real version.
Not the one collapsing on the floor.
Wild, but composed.
The wounded animal had gone deeper to lick her wounds.
He sat across from me, studying my face.
“So why do they do it?” he asked.
I shrugged, looking away.
“Because they’re terrified to love,” I said quietly.
“Terrified to end up unloved again.
So they show the worst of themselves right away—
so they’ll get sent back as fast as possible, before they start believing in happiness.
Before they get used to it.
Before they start hoping.
Before it hurts too much when it’s ripped away.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t get all clever on me,” I snapped, so I wouldn’t drown in my own truth.
He gave a hoarse little laugh.
“Next time you decide to test whether I’m really with you,” he said, “give me at least a day’s notice.
I’m a big boss, you know, I don’t exactly have ti—”
I smacked him.
“Idiot.”
He laughed—warmly, genuinely.
“By the way,” he leaned closer, “you know they refund money, right?”
“Who?” I narrowed my eyes.
“That ultra-fancy place.
The hotel you chose.
One night there costs as much as a house.”
“You bastard…” I reached for him.
He kissed my forehead, soft and sure.
“Woman,” he murmured, “I love you more than life.
Please don’t ever change.”
“Get out of here,” I whispered back.
The drive back was easier.
The music was soft, gentle, purring.
It lulled Nate to sleep—he slumped against Luna; Luna drooled on him a little, unintentionally, her face just built that way.
I was driving—the same old Ford.
I watched him.
How is he still standing?
How did he sit through all of that?
How did he endure me?
I don’t know.
Honestly—I don’t know.
A tiny sprout of hope stirred inside me.
Was it possible, even for a second, to think he really loved me?
I was scared.
Scared that I was a burden to him.
That my nature would destroy him.
“He’s stronger than you think,” a voice suddenly said.
“Oh, hello,” I snorted. “You again, my spirits.”
“What else are we supposed to do on the road?” they chuckled.
I looked at Nate sleeping.
He was beautiful.
Blindingly so.
Alive.
Mine.
I remembered every time we’d appeared somewhere together—
every woman’s eyes on him, like he was their new religious experience.
Even the Aristocrat, I swear, was half in love with him.
“But wanting someone isn’t the same as loving them, is it?” I asked the spirits.
They nodded.
I patted myself on the shoulder and said out loud, quietly:
“I love him.
I really love him.
I love his laugh.
I love the way he’s a troublemaker.
I love him when he’s a kitten, and when he’s a predator.
I love him so much that just the thought of losing him tears my soul apart.”
The spirits traded glances.
“Maybe he won’t leave,” they suggested.
“I don’t know…” I whispered.
“Guys, I honestly don’t know.”