The room smelled like sweat, and alcohol. And maybe regret. The fan on the ceiling spun slow, useless, barely pushing the air. My throat was dry as hell. My skin was sticky.
She was there. Not far. Maybe two feet, maybe less. Back turned. Blanket curled up tight around her shoulders like armor.
I sat up, or tried to. My head buzzed from the whiskey, my chest still going too fast. Couldn't slow it down. Couldn't quiet it. Felt like my body hadn't gotten the memo that things were over. That the music had stopped.
God!
I pressed my palms to my face. My fingers still smelled like her. Didn't need that reminder.
Don't need any of this.
I wanted to say something. Anything. Break it. The silence. The weight of it. But what? "Sorry"? Too thin. Too cheap. "I didn't mean it"? A lie. I did mean it. Every second of it. Every inch of skin I shouldn't have touched.
She moved. Just a shift. The blanket rustled. My whole body froze like she'd caught me doing something again.
Her hair spilled out over the pillow; her dark curls messy now. I stared too long. Looked away. Looked back. Couldn't not.
What the hell did we just do.
"Charlotte," I said finally.
It came out wrong. Rough, scratchy. Like gravel.
She didn't answer. Not right away. A little sound, though. A hum. Or maybe a sigh. Couldn't tell.
"I—" I started, but the words broke apart in my mouth, and fell apart like bad code. "I don't know what that was."
Her shoulder shifted, but she didn't turn. "It was nothing," she said. Quiet. So quiet I almost missed it.
Nothing!
The word hit like a fist.
I laughed. Low and ugly. "Nothing?" My voice cracked on it.
She still didn't turn. "We drank too much. The storm. The blackout. We… we got carried away."
Carried away. Like it was some accident. Like my hands had tripped and landed on her hips.
I wanted to argue. Wanted to say "don't you dare call it nothing". But my throat locked, and my chest pulled tight. Instead, I just nodded, even though she couldn't see me. "Yeah. Sure. Nothing."
I stood. Too fast. The blood rushed to my head. Room tilted for a second. I grabbed the desk. Breathed. My shirt was on the floor, tangled with hers. I picked it up, yanked it over my head, and the fabric stuck to my damp skin.
God, I couldn't be in here.
I went to the balcony. Slid the door open too hard. The night air hit like a slap. It was cool and salty. Waves crashed soft below, and the resort was mostly asleep.
I leaned on the railing, head down. Trying to think, trying to sort, but it didn't work. My mind kept looping. Her laugh. The way her lips tasted. The heat of her body pressed to mine. That sound she made when—
Stop! Just stop already.
I slammed my fist against the railing. Not loud. Just enough to sting.
Behind me, the bed creaked. My chest tightened. I didn't turn. I just couldn't.
"Lifted."
Her voice was softer now. No sharp edges. No teasing.
I swallowed. "Yeah."
"You okay?"
The dumbest question. No, I wasn't okay. Not even close. But I said, "Yeah. Of course."
She was quiet for a long time, until I heard her shift again. The blanket sliding, the bed springs whining, but my back stayed turned.
"You don't have to… freak out," she said.
I let out a dry laugh. "I'm not freaking out."
"You're out on the balcony punching railings."
"Yeah, well." I gripped the metal. My knuckles were red. "Better than—" I stopped myself. Better than what? Better than going back in there and—
"Better than what?" she asked.
"Nothing." I closed my eyes. "Forget it."
The silence stretched, waves filling it. Some voices way down the beach. A couple laughing, normal people, people who didn't screw everything up in one night.
She came closer. I felt it before I saw her. The air shifted. Bare feet padding against the floor. Then she was at the door. Not crossing it. Just there.
"You don't regret it," she said. Not a question.
I turned then. Finally. Her hair was a mess, blanket hanging loose now, slipping off one shoulder. Skin bare underneath. My throat went tight again.
"Do you?" I asked.
Her eyes flicked away. Out to the ocean. Back to me. "That's not the point."
"Yeah, it is."
She pulled the blanket tighter. "It complicates things."
I barked a laugh. "Complicated? That's the understatement of the year."
She flinched a little. Like I'd thrown something. I hated myself for that.
"I'm not saying it was—bad," she said, quick, almost stumbling. "I just… we weren't supposed to—"
"Yeah, no shit." I said, cutting her off. My voice sharper than I meant. "We weren't supposed to. And we did."
The words hung there. Heavy. Sharp.
Her jaw tightened. She nodded, like she was sealing something in. Then she turned, went back to the bed. Climbed in. Pulled the blanket over her head this time. Done.
I stood there, with my heart pounding, as I stared at the shape of her under the covers.
I wanted to go to her. To say something, anything, just to fix the crack I'd just made. But my feet didn't move. My tongue didn't work either.
Instead, I stayed on the balcony. Until the waves blurred. Until my eyes burned. Until the first thin light of the morning started creeping over the water.
The sun was brutal. Way too bright. My head ached, and my mouth felt like sandpaper.
Charlotte was gone.
Her side of the bed empty, sheets messy, pillow dented. No blanket. No note. Nothing.
Panic hit before I could stop it. Stupid. Why panic? She was probably at breakfast. Or the pool. Or anywhere but here.
Still, my chest squeezed.
I checked the bathroom. Empty. Balcony. Empty. Of course, I knew she wouldn't be there, but I just had to try.
I sat on the edge of the bed, hands in my hair, as I was pulling. Tried to breathe, tried to slow down, then the door opened.
She walked in. Fresh clothes. Hair damp, like she'd showered, and a paper cup of coffee in her hand. She paused when she saw me.
"Oh!"
I stared, but couldn't read her face. It was neutral. Too neutral.
She set the coffee on the desk. Not mine. Hers.
"You were gone," I said, with my voice rough.
"Yeah." She didn't explain. Didn't owe me one.
I nodded, looked down at my hands. "I thought—"
"What?" she asked.
I shook my head. "Nothing."
She sighed. Sat on her side of the bed, careful not to brush against me. Sipped her coffee.
The silence again. It was killing me.
I couldn't take it. "So… what now?"
She frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean…" I gestured between us. My hand shook. "This. Last night. Us."
Her lips pressed thin. She looked at the wall. "There is no 'us.'"
The words landed like a blade.
I nodded too fast. Too hard. "Right. Yeah. Of course."
My chest caved in anyway.
We sat there, inches apart, like strangers.
I wanted to tell her everything. That I couldn't stop thinking about her laugh, her voice, the way she looked at me. That I wanted her again. That I hated how much I wanted her.
Instead, I said nothing.
Because maybe she was right. Maybe it was nothing.
But it didn't feel like nothing. At least, not to me.
I couldn't work. Couldn't focus. The laptop sat open, screen glowing, code waiting. My fingers hovered, but nothing made sense. Letters blurred. Syntax broke.
All I saw was her.
At lunch, she didn't sit near me. She laughed with some other guests. Too loud. Too bright. Like nothing had happened.
I clenched my jaw. Ate fast, and left faster.
On the beach, the sun burned my skin. Sand stuck to my ankles. Kids screamed, ran, splashed. It was normal, happy. But my chest ached watching it.
I wanted to go back and hide. But the room smelled like her.
Nowhere was safe.
Night again.
The storm never came back. The power stayed on. Music from the resort bar drifted up, carried by the breeze.
I sat on the balcony. Alone. Bottle half-empty.
Her door slid open, and she stepped out. No blanket this time. Just her.
We didn't speak. Not at first. Just stood there. Same balcony. Same divide.
She leaned on the railing, and I mirrored her.
Finally, she said, "We should forget it."
I laughed, bitter. "Can you?"
She didn't answer.
We both stared at the ocean, pretending it was enough.