Escape is Temporary

The cabin door slams shut behind Mara, the last to leave, her silver car peeling out into the dusk, gravel spitting under her tires. Julian's truck rumbles off next, Lena hitching a ride with him, her leather jacket a dark blur in the passenger seat. I'm alone now, the silence crashing in like a wave, heavy and suffocating after the storm of gasps and groans that tore us apart. My legs tremble as I sink onto the bed, the ropes still dangling from the headboard, the floor littered with our wreckage—buttons from Julian's shirt, a smear of lipstick on the wall where Mara pinned Lena. My body's a map of it—bruises blooming on my hips, rope burns stinging my wrists, the sticky mix of all four of us clinging to my skin.

I should move—shower, clean, something—but I don't. I just sit there, staring at the chaos, my breath shallow, chest tight with a tangle I can't unravel. What the fuck just happened? Mara's cool control shattering into fury, Lena's defiance melting into moans, Julian's desperation driving him into all of us, and me—me, diving in, orchestrating it, breaking it. It was a reckoning, sure, but it's left me hollow, a buzzing emptiness where the heat burned out. My hands shake as I run them through my hair, the cabin's quiet amplifying every creak, every rustle of wind outside, and I feel it—alone, truly alone, for the first time in weeks.

The thought claws at me—Mara's pact, Julian's trap, Lena's betrayal—all of it piling up, suffocating, and I need out. Not just the cabin, but this mess, this web I've spun and tangled myself in. I grab my jacket, the leather cool against my overheated skin, and stumble to my car, keys jangling as I fumble them into the ignition. The engine roars to life, and I drive—fast, reckless, the forest blurring into the city's neon glow, my mind a haze of need, escape, anything to drown this ache.

I end up at a dive bar on the edge of town, a grimy hole-in-the-wall I've never been to, all flickering lights and stale beer. Perfect. I shove through the door, the jukebox blaring some old rock tune, and the crowd's a mix of rough edges—tattooed arms, loud laughs, eyes that linger as I slide onto a stool. My shirt's still crooked, jeans unbuttoned at the top, hair a wild mess, and I don't care—let them look. I order a whiskey, neat, and down it in one burn, the heat searing my throat, grounding me just enough to breathe.

The bartender slides me another without asking, a grizzled guy who doesn't flinch at my state, and I sip this one slower, letting the buzz settle. My thoughts drift—Julian's hands on me, Lena's tongue, Mara's fingers—and fuck, it's too much, too close, stirring that ache again. I need a reset, a blank slate, something to wipe them away, even if it's just for tonight. That's when I see him—across the bar, leaning against the wall, dark hair falling into his eyes, a stranger in a faded jacket, watching me with a quiet intensity that hooks me.

He doesn't approach—not at first—just holds my gaze, a slow smirk curling his lips as he tips his beer back, throat working. My skin prickles, a fresh heat flaring low, and I don't think—just nod, subtle, an invitation. He moves then, weaving through the crowd, all lean muscle and easy swagger, stopping beside me, close enough I smell the leather and smoke on him. "Rough night?" he asks, voice low, rough-edged, and I laugh, sharp and dry, swirling my glass.

"You have no idea," I say, meeting his eyes—hazel, sharp, unreadable—and there's a spark, a pull I don't question. "You gonna ask my name?" I tilt my head, testing, and he shrugs, leaning in, his breath warm against my ear.

"Don't need it," he murmurs, and fuck, that's it—anonymous, fleeting, exactly what I want. I slide off the stool, grabbing his hand, and he follows, no hesitation, out the back door into the alley, the night air cool against my flushed skin. It's dark, shadowed, the hum of the bar muffled as I push him against the brick wall, kissing him hard, tasting beer and salt, my hands fisting in his jacket.

He groans, low and rough, kissing me back with an urgency that matches mine, his hands roaming—under my shirt, calluses scraping my sides, then lower, unzipping my jeans in one swift tug. I don't stop him—don't want to—just gasp as his fingers find me, slick and ready, plunging in with a roughness that makes me buck against him. "Fuck," I hiss, head tipping back, and he smirks into my neck, biting down, marking me as he works me fast, relentless.

It's frantic, messy—my hands clawing at his belt, freeing him, thick and hard in my grip, stroking him as he groans again, louder, the sound vibrating through me. He spins me, my palms slapping the brick, and I brace, legs spreading as he yanks my jeans down, just enough, pressing against me—not inside, not yet, just teasing, the heat of him driving me wild. "Do it," I growl, and he doesn't wait—thrusting in, deep and brutal, the stretch making me cry out, the wall rough against my cheek.

The alley's a blur—gravel crunching, distant traffic, the slap of skin as he pounds into me, urgent, no finesse, just need. My nails scrape the brick, hips rocking back to meet him, and it's perfect—raw, nameless, a purge of everything I've been carrying. He grips my waist, bruising, his breath ragged against my neck, and I feel it building—fast, unstoppable, a release I've been chasing since the cabin fell apart. "Harder," I gasp, and he obliges, slamming deeper, the friction sparking until I shatter, a sharp, keening cry echoing off the walls as I clench around him, trembling.

He's right behind me, a grunt as he pulls out, spilling hot across my lower back, and we slump, panting, his weight pinning me to the wall for a moment before he steps back, zipping up. I turn, legs shaky, pulling my jeans up, the cool air hitting the mess he left, and he's already lighting a cigarette, offering me one with a crooked grin. I take it, the smoke harsh in my lungs, grounding me as I lean beside him, staring at the flickering streetlight.

"Better?" he asks, voice casual, like we didn't just fuck against a wall, and I nod, exhaling slow, the buzz settling into my bones. "Good," he says, pushing off, walking away without a backward glance, and I let him go—no names, no strings, just a fleeting burn that's already fading.

I finish the cigarette, grinding it under my boot, and head back to my car, the night pressing in. Escape's temporary—I know that, feel it in the ache creeping back, the ghosts of Julian, Lena, Mara waiting in my head. The stranger's hands dulled it, sure, but it's not gone, not fixed. I drive home, the city lights smearing past, wondering how long I can run before it all catches up again.