I was touchy. Touchier than I'd ever been in my entire life. The kind of touchy that made me lean a little too close to Michael and whisper with a wicked grin, "Has anyone ever told you you're a pantom?"
He choked on his drink.
"You're so sexy," I drawled, fingers grazing his collar, "I want to bite you."
Michael gave me a puzzled look—half-amused, half-concerned. "Kim are you okay?"
"Oh, I'm more than okay," I said, laughing. "You're hot. Like dangerously hot. Your voice? Hmmm. I swear, if you keep talking like that, I might do something crazy."
He blinked slowly, then shook his head like he was trying to reset his brain. "You're drunk, Kim."
I shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. But still… I wanna bite you."
He laughed then, but it was that awkward kind of laugh that meant he didn't know whether to take me seriously or run for dear life. He picked up my purse and gently nudged me towards the car. "Alright, madam torcheuse. Let's get you back to your hotel room."
"But I'm fineeee," I whined as he helped me out of the cab and into the lobby. When we reached my door, I opened it, turned around and looked at him like he was the sun and I hadn't seen daylight in years.
Then I pulled him in by the collar and kissed him.
Not a shy kiss. Not a maybe kiss.
It was hot. Wild. Everything I'd wanted to run away from for years boiled into that moment.
And he kissed me back.
Hard.
I could feel his hands on my waist, my neck, his lips desperate and unsure at the same time. It was electric. Familiar. Dangerous.
We tumbled onto the bed in a haze of heat and tangled limbs. His jacket flew off, then his shirt. My fingers fumbled on his belt like I was trying to light a match. But then—
A wave of nausea hit me like a slap.
"Wait," I croaked, jumping off the bed. "I think I'm gonna—"
And just like that, I dashed into the bathroom and vomited my entire soul out.
Fifteen minutes. That's how long I was there. Crying and puking and cursing all my life decisions. My knees hit the tiles, my head pounding like a drumline. When I finally staggered out and collapsed onto the bed, the room spun around me. Then everything went black.
—-
Morning sunlight peeled my eyelids open.
My head throbbed. My throat was dry. My memory? Scattered like the pages of an unwritten journal.
I groaned and reached for water. Just as I sat up, a hand passed me a glass. I blinked, confused.
"Here," a familiar voice said.
I turned—and nearly jumped.
"Michael?! What—what are you doing here?!"
He smiled softly. "Relax. Nothing happened."
I looked down at my body, freshly clothed in the same dress, nothing shifted. I sniffed myself—clean. I'd clearly bathed.
Wait, did he—?
"I helped clean you up. You were a mess," he said, as if reading my thoughts. "But don't worry. I didn't touch you. You threw up all over the bathroom, then passed out on the bed."
I winced. "Ew. Sorry."
He laughed. "It's fine. I couldn't leave you like that. I was too tired to drive back anyway, so I crashed on the couch."
I looked over to see a pillow and blanket thrown haphazardly.
He sat beside me, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You have a dangerous mouth when you're drunk."
I buried my face in my hands. "Did I do anything stupid?"
"'I want to bite you'?" he teased.
"No I didn't"
I couldn't believe I said such things.
We both laughed. It felt good. Too good. Breakfast came—room service courtesy of the company's travel allowance. We ate together. Talked like nothing had happened. Then the driver called. It was time to return to B-Town.
Back in B-Town, I dove straight into work.
But something was missing.
Michael.
Every night, I found myself thinking about him. Replaying his laugh. His touch. The way he looked at me when he wasn't teasing. I caught myself smiling at random moments and immediately forced it off my face. No. I was not doing this again. Not with another man.
Besides, we never exchanged contacts.
He didn't even ask for mine. I blocked him back in uni, and I had no idea if he even changed numbers. I could try searching. I could unblock him. I could find him again…
But I didn't.
Because I knew how this story ends.
I'd been a fool for love once. I wouldn't let another Alvin wear a different face. Even if the name was Michael.
So I swallowed the longing. Pushed down the ache. Covered it with silence.
And reminded myself of my promise:
No matter how tempting…
I had to run. Again.