Always Not Enough

The bass pulsed through the penthouse like a heartbeat, loud and relentless, shaking the floor beneath my feet. The air was a cocktail of whiskey, perfume, and smoke—a suffocating haze that blurred the edges of everything. Bodies swayed and laughed, lost in the mindless thrum of the music.

I leaned back against the couch, the leather cold against my overheated skin. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, the dull ache behind my eyes pulsing in rhythm with the music. The half-empty bottle of whiskey dangled from my fingers, my grip loose and careless.

The band thought it would be a good idea to party in celebration of our tour trending worldwide. Right before they even decided it, I'd suffered from one of my nightmares. The same one I've been having for ten years. I think that's why the alcohol baited me again.

Around me, the party blurred into an endless swirl of motion and noise. Groupies draped themselves over my bandmates, their giggles sharp and brittle. One of them leaned into my shoulder, her perfume cloying as she whispered something I couldn't hear—and didn't care to.

I barely registered her as she slipped away, lost in her own haze of liquor and empty promises.

My eyes drifted shut for a second, the world tilting. The numbness was familiar. Comforting, even. A brief reprieve from the mess I was drowning in.

But it wasn't enough. It never was.

A warm hand slid down my chest, the sensation breaking through the fog. I didn't need to look to know who it was.

Marisol.

"Need another drink, baby?" she whispered, her voice dripping with honeyed seduction.

I shook my head, my eyelids heavy. "I'm good."

She pouted, leaning closer. Her silk mini dress clung to her curves, the sheer fabric leaving little to the imagination. Her lips brushed against my ear. "You're never good, Malyen. That's why you need me."

Her words were poison, but I didn't pull away. Because some part of me—a weak, desperate part—wanted to believe her. Wanted to sink into the oblivion she offered.

She grabbed the stereo remote, turning off the music. "Everyone get the fuck out!"

Everyone was always scared of Marisol. They knew she was the top bitch, and they had no choice but to listen. Everyone scattered out of the penthouse, saying their goodbyes, in only a matter of minutes.

Then we were alone.

Her fingers traced the edge of my jaw, her breath hot against my neck. "Let me help you forget."

I let her kiss me. Her lips were soft, practiced. The kind of kiss that was supposed to erase everything else. But all I felt was empty.

She swung one leg over me, straddling my lap, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging lightly. I let her control the moment, let her think she was winning. Because maybe she was.

Marisol's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she leaned in, her perfume thick in the air, a cloying sweetness that wrapped around me like a snare. Her lips curled into a victorious smile, and her fingertips traced the sharp line of my jaw, gliding down my neck with agonizing slowness. Her touch was deliberate, practiced—a predator savoring its prey.

"See?" she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. "You don't have to think, baby. Just let go."

Her words melted into the haze clouding my mind. The whiskey had dulled the edges of everything else—the ache, the regret, the memories I didn't want to face. It left me vulnerable, my defenses crumbling like brittle paper. Her body was warm against mine, her curves molding to me like she belonged there. Like this was enough.

I clung to the numbness. I needed the numbness.

She straddled me, her thighs pressing firmly against my hips as she rocked her body against mine in slow, tantalizing waves. The silk of her dress slid over my jeans, the friction sparking something deep and primal. A low groan escaped me before I could swallow it down.

Her smile widened. She knew she had me.

"That's it," she murmured, her lips brushing against mine, featherlight. "Stop fighting it."

I didn't want to fight. Not tonight.

Her mouth captured mine, the kiss slow and deep, her tongue sliding past my lips with a confident flick. She tasted like wine and temptation, the bitterness blending with the fire in my veins. Her hands tangled in my hair, nails scraping lightly against my scalp, sending sparks skittering down my spine. I let her deepen the kiss, let her claim me with every flick of her tongue and every heated sigh.

I slid my hands up her thighs, my palms tracing the smooth, taut lines of her body. Her skin was warm, flushed with anticipation. I could feel the rapid beat of her heart beneath my fingertips, the thrum of desire that pulsed just beneath the surface.

She pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, her gaze dark and glinting with triumph. Her lips were swollen, her breath coming fast.

"You want me," she whispered, her fingers trailing down my chest, teasing the hem of my shirt. "Say it."

I didn't answer, my throat too tight, my thoughts too tangled. But my body betrayed me, the tension coiling low in my abdomen as she ground herself against me. A smirk lifted the corner of her mouth as she felt the evidence of my surrender.

"That's what I thought," she purred.

She leaned back just enough to tug my shirt over my head, the fabric falling away like a discarded memory. Her eyes roamed over me, possessive and greedy, as if she were etching the moment into her mind.

Her hands followed her gaze, sliding over my shoulders, down my chest, her nails leaving faint trails of fire in their wake. I shivered beneath her touch, the alcohol in my system making everything feel more intense—every caress sharper, every sensation deeper.

Marisol leaned in again, her lips brushing my jaw, my neck, the hollow of my throat. Each kiss was a brand, each bite a claim. Her teeth grazed my skin, just hard enough to pull a hiss from my lips.

She laughed softly, the sound low and sultry. "I love when you let go."

Her fingers moved to the button of my jeans, popping it open with a deft flick. The zipper followed, the sound loud in the charged silence between us. My breath caught in my throat as her hand slipped inside, her touch firm and sure. My body responded instantly, a surge of heat flooding my veins, drowning out the last shred of reason.

I tipped my head back, my eyes squeezing shut. The room spun, the ceiling tilting, the shadows dancing like twisted echoes of my mistakes. I knew this was wrong. I knew I was sinking deeper into the void I'd been trying to crawl out of.

But I couldn't stop.

Not now.

Marisol guided my hands to her hips, her own breath quickening as she slid off her dress, the silk pooling on the floor like a dark whisper. She stood before me, bare and radiant in the dim light, her eyes blazing with possession.

"Take me," she commanded, her voice raw with need. "Now."

I didn't resist. My hands gripped her thighs as I pulled her back to me, her body fitting against mine like a puzzle piece that never quite fit. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her skin searing hot, her breath ragged.

She sank down onto me with a gasp, her head tipping back, her hair cascading over her shoulders like a dark waterfall. My world narrowed to the feeling of her—the tightness, the heat, the rhythm that grew frantic and desperate.

We moved together, a collision of need and oblivion, a desperate attempt to fill the void. Her moans filled the air, mixing with the frantic pounding of my heart. My fingers dug into her hips, my breath coming in shallow, broken bursts.

She whispered my name like a prayer, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. She thought she had won. That she had claimed me.

And maybe she had.

But as I lost myself in her, the numbness faded just enough for the truth to slip through.

This wasn't what I wanted.

This wasn't who I wanted.

But by the time I realized it, it was too late.

Marisol's lips were everywhere. Her hands trailed fire down my chest, her body pressed so close it was like she was trying to merge with me. The scent of her perfume was thick, and I couldn't think past the buzz in my head—the whiskey haze dulling everything except the heat and the rhythm of her movements.

The door creaked open. For a split second, everything froze—the heat, the noise, the fog in my brain. And then…

"Oh shit."

Zayan's voice shattered the silence, cold and disappointed. My eyes snapped open, and everything tilted.

"Jupiter?"

Her eyes wide, the shock barely held back. She clenched her jaw, swallowing down whatever was clawing its way up her throat. Her hands trembled, fingers clutching the edge of her damp t-shirt. Raindrops clung to her curls, her cheeks flushed from the cold or maybe from the devastation I could see blooming in her eyes.

"Wait—Jupe, please!" I shoved off Marisol, my legs unsteady as I fumbled to pull my jeans up. "It's not what you think. Just—let me explain!"

Zayan sighed, his head falling as he just shook it back and forth, disappointed.

Her eyes flickered with pain, but she lifted her chin, her voice tight and brittle. "Don't. Just... don't."

She turned away, heading for the door.

"Jupiter, wait!" My voice cracked, desperation clawing at my throat. I stumbled after her, my bare feet slapping against the cold floor.

Jogging down the hall, I could see Jupiter walking towards the elevators. I caught up to her at the elevator, her hand hovering over the call button. She wrapped her arms around herself, her shoulders trembling.

"Jupiter, please," I whispered, my voice raw. "Let me explain."

She puts her hand up to stop me, not even looking in my direction. "Malyen, stop. I don't need to hear it. You are clearly single and I have no reason to be mad or even disappointed at you." She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than me.

"I don't even know why I'm here. I have no reason to be here." She said quietly, reaching to press the call button three more times.

She didn't look at me. "Go back inside, Malyen. Go back to your... company. This was a mistake."

"No!" The word burst out of me, sharp and panicked. "It wasn't a mistake. You showing up here—seeing you again—it's the only thing that's felt real in years."

She let out a bitter laugh, her eyes glistening. "Don't do that. Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying!" I ran a shaky hand through my hair. "Jupe, I didn't want any of this. I didn't want her. I just... I'm so fucking lost without you."

Her lips trembled. "You're not lost, Malyen. You're exactly where you want to be."

"That's not true." My voice dropped, barely a whisper. "You know it's not."

She shook her head, her curls damp and tangled. "I don't know anything anymore."

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. She stepped inside, her eyes finally meeting mine. For a second, I saw it—the hurt, the disappointment, the love buried under five years of distance.

"Goodbye, Malyen," she whispered.

The doors slid shut.

I stood there, the empty hallway echoing around me, the taste of regret bitter on my tongue.

"FUCK!" My fist connected with the wall, a sharp burst of pain shooting through my knuckles. It was a relief—something real, something I could feel, because everything else was slipping away.

I gripped my knuckles, groaning quietly.

And for the first time in years, the numbness was gone.

All that was left was the pain.