[Trigger Warning: This scene contains themes of sexual coercion and attempted assault.]
"Babe, are you sure you can drive? I'll drive if you can't," I said quietly, my hand resting on Razen's arm as his grip tightened around my waist.
"I can, I'm still sober, okay?" he muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder and waving sloppily to his friends outside the club. His smile was lopsided. His words were soft, but unstable. Just like him right now.
"You look wasted…" I said, trying to keep my tone light even as my stomach twisted.
Razen chuckled and leaned in closer, his hand creeping a little lower on my back. "I said I'm fine, baby. Just a little tipsy."
We started walking to the parking lot. The air was cold, sharp against my skin, but it didn't sober him up. I could feel his unsteady steps as he leaned into me for support. Then suddenly, I felt his lips press against my neck.
"Babe, stop. Someone might see us—we're in public," I said, gently pushing him back, trying to keep it playful.
"Mmm… let them," he mumbled, lips still dragging against my skin. He was being more aggressive now, his hands sliding over my hips, pulling me toward him.
"Razen," I said, firmer this time. "Not here."
But he just grinned drunkenly and opened the car door. Before I could protest again, he slid into the passenger seat, slumping back with a satisfied groan. I sighed, grabbed the keys from his pocket, and got in behind the wheel.
The car ride was silent except for his humming—off-key and slow. Every so often, his hand would reach out and rest on my thigh. I tried to gently shift away, but he kept reaching. His fingers started to press a little harder. He was touchy in a way he usually wasn't. Not like this.
By the time we reached his condo, he was practically falling over. I helped him out of the car and through the building's entrance, his arm slung around my shoulder, dead weight. He reeked of alcohol—tequila, maybe. That sour, sharp smell I'd come to dread after nights like this.
He mumbled something incoherent as we waited for the elevator. I glanced at my phone. Almost midnight.
"Razen, you need to sleep this off," I said gently.
He leaned in closer. "Damn, you smell so good," he whispered against my hair, breath hot and sticky.
I flinched. "Razen…" My tone carried a warning.
"You're so hot tonight, baby. I missed you."
The elevator dinged. I felt his hand slip lower on my back, wandering too far. I shifted away slightly, pretending not to notice. The doors opened. We stepped in. The air inside was thick and silent, save for his heavy breathing.
By the time we reached his floor, he was muttering again. "You never wear this top for me. You wore it for someone else, huh? You trying to make me jealous?"
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
We entered his unit. I guided him inside, flicked on the light. He dropped his stuff—keys, jacket, phone—onto the floor with a loud clatter and collapsed on the couch like a rag doll.
"I'll get you some water," I offered quickly, needing space, clarity, anything but this tension
But before I could move away, his hand clamped around mine.
"Stay," he said, eyes hooded but locked on mine.
"Just let me—"
"I said stay," he snapped, his voice lower now, more commanding. That edge in his tone sent a chill down my spine.
He tugged me toward him and kissed me—sloppy, deep, reeking of alcohol. I didn't kiss back. I just stood there, still, hoping it would end quickly. Hoping he'd pass out.
But it didn't. His hands moved fast—rushing to my blouse, fumbling with buttons like he'd done it a thousand times, which he had. But never like this. Never this… carelessly.
"Wait," I said, pulling back. "Razen, stop. You're drunk."
He didn't respond. He kissed my jaw, my neck, his hands snaking inside my blouse. My skin recoiled, but my body froze.
"I just want you… just for a bit, baby. Come on… you know you want it too," he murmured.
"No," I said, louder now. "I don't. I said stop."
But he didn't.
His hand gripped my wrist tightly, pulling me down onto the couch, hovering over me. He yanked at my blouse again, unbuttoning the last of it. I instinctively crossed my arms over my chest.
"Razen. Stop. I said no!"
He groaned in frustration, like I was the one ruining the moment. Like my refusal was just noise.
"You never say no to me," he muttered.
"That doesn't mean you get to take what you want," I snapped, voice shaking.
He tried to kiss me again—harder this time. Desperate. But something in me snapped. I shoved him. Hard.
He stumbled back, falling against the couch cushions, stunned.
"What the hell?" he slurred, blinking at me like he couldn't process what had just happened.
I stood up fast, chest heaving. My blouse hung open. I pulled it closed with trembling hands, fingers fumbling with the buttons.
"You didn't listen," I said, trying to steady my voice. "You didn't care what I wanted. You were trying to force me."
He looked at me like I was being dramatic. Like this was a misunderstanding.
But it wasn't.
It was clear. It was ugly. And it was real.
He shook his head. "No… I didn't mean—Xylia, come on. Don't make this a big deal."
"A big deal?" I echoed, a bitter laugh escaping. "Is that what this is to you?"
I grabbed my bag off the floor and headed for the door.
"You're drunk, Razen. But that doesn't make this okay."
"Wait—" he started, standing up, stumbling.
I turned to him one last time, my voice quiet but firm. "Just because we're not okay doesn't mean i will let you to touch me and kiss me like that."
His expression shifted. He looked like he might cry. Like regret was finally cracking through the fog of liquor and ego.
But I didn't stay to watch it break him.
I opened the door.
And I walked out.
Not tonight. Maybe not ever again.
-
"You're zoning out. Did you two have a fight?"
I snapped back to my senses when my mom spoke beside me, while he was busy putting food on the table.
I sighed. "It's not totally a fight, Mom. J-just some sort of misunderstanding." I smiled, trying to cover up my worries.
"You both should talk about it. You know communication is the key, right? Have a proper conversation and face the problem with him. Listen to his opinion, and let him listen to yours. Don't deal with this alone," she advised and tapped my shoulder, offering her moral support.
"Thanks, Mom," I said and hugged her.
She's really my safe place. She's always been the first person I run to—ever since I was a kid. My dad was always busy with politics, so I never really had time to have small talks with him. It's always been my mom.
"You have class?" Mom asked.
"Later, Mom. 5 p.m. Why?"
She smiled, and I felt her head lean on my shoulder. "Come with me. I need to buy some ingredients to bake a cake."
My smile widened as I nodded excitedly. "Sure, Mom! I'll just change my clothes."
I immediately rushed to my room. This is my favorite bonding time with her—shopping!
When we arrived at Circuit Mall, we went straight to Shopwise to buy ingredients.
Flour, eggs, sugar, butter, and milk… Something's missing.
Cocoa powder!
"Wait, Mom. I'll just get the cocoa powder," I said and headed quickly to the baking aisle.
As I reached for the cocoa powder, I overheard someone a few feet away muttering under their breath.
"Seriously? No brown sugar either?"
I turned slightly, pretending to be focused on the shelf, but my curiosity won. A guy in a denim jacket was holding his phone, frowning, and clearly reading a recipe that was going way over his head.
"Do people hoard baking supplies now, or what?" he added under his breath.
He wasn't talking to anyone, but I couldn't help it.
"You could substitute white sugar and molasses," I said, before I realized I was actually talking to a stranger.
He blinked, looked at me, surprised. "Really?"
"Yeah. Two parts white sugar, one part molasses. Not perfect, but it works for most recipes."
He blinked again, then smiled a little. "You sound way too confident. Are you some kind of baking genius?"
I shrugged. "Just a daughter of one."
He chuckled and put down his phone. "Well, daughter of a baking genius, you just saved me from a failed birthday dessert."
He gave a small salute, grabbed a bottle of molasses, and started to walk away—but then paused.
"I owe you one," he said, nodding at me. "What's your name?"
I hesitated. "Why?"
He grinned. "In case the cake explodes and I need someone to blame."
I smiled. "Nice try."
And with that, I turned back to the cocoa powder, pretending not to care.
But when I glanced back moments later, he was still there—walking away now—but he looked back too.
Just for a second.