Fragments Of A Night

Amara’s POV

The second Selena and I stepped into her apartment, I bee-lined for the bathroom. I didn’t even glance at her—I just needed water, steam, anything to drown myself in.

I twisted the shower knob hard to the left. Hot water blasted down, sharp needles against my skin. I leaned my forehead against the cool tile, arms braced, and let it scald. The sting was better than the heaviness clinging to me. Maybe if I burned enough, it would scrub the night off.

The steam clouded everything, even my thoughts. But flashes still came in—the weight of a body, a laugh, a voice in the dark.

I scrubbed until my skin went pink. Until my hair was a heavy rope plastered to my shoulders. Untill my fingers hurt. And still, it didn’t make me feel any better.

By the time I finally dragged myself out, Selena was waiting in the living room. A glass of water in one hand, pills in the other.

“Here.” Her voice was soft but steady, the kind of tone that didn’t leave room for arguments.

I obeyed. My throat was dry. I gulped the water down, swallowed the pills fast, and set the glass aside before my hands could shake it right out of my grip.

Selena’s gaze flicked over me like a scanner. She’d already laid a silky nightgown across the couch. One of hers—because of course she’d anticipate I couldn’t stand to wear my own clothes. Of course it would fit.

I slipped into it, the cool fabric clinging to my damp skin. I sank into the cushions, but the silence between us was heavier than the waterlogged towel I’d dropped.

Selena sat across from me, her knees angled toward mine. Her eyes were sharp, cutting right to the marrow.

“Do you want to tell me what happened last night?”

The words slammed into me harder than the pounding in my head.

“I—” My throat closed.

She didn’t let me stall. “Amara, we went out because you were hurting. Because you lost your job and I thought one night of fun might help. But you vanished. Do you understand how terrified I was? I thought something—God, I thought the worst.” Her voice cracked on that last word.

Guilt swallowed me whole. She was right. I wasn’t the type to disappear. Not without a word.

“I… woke up in a hotel room,” I whispered. The words scraped like glass against my throat. “With a man I didn’t know.”

Her face went pale.

“I think—no. I know we slept together.” My chest caved as the confession spilled out. My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms as tears spilled hot and fast.

“Oh, Amara…” Selena’s eyes softened instantly. She pulled me into her arms and held on, rocking me gently like I was six years old again and had just scraped my knee. “You should’ve called me. Next time, I promise, I won’t leave your side. Not for a second.”

The warmth of her hug steadied me. But then she said it—

“Was it the man in the face cap?”

I froze, pulled back. “What man in the face cap?”

“At the club,” she said slowly, measuring each word. “I left you at the bar when that guy dragged me to dance. But I kept checking on you. You were with some man in a black cap. I couldn’t see him clearly.”

Something sharp tugged in my brain.

And then—snapshots. Blurry but insistent.

Him walking in. Sliding onto the bar stool beside me. Ordering a drink. His cap tugged low, hiding his face. Me teasing him about it, laughing that with the neon lights, no one could see anything anyway.

His laugh. Low, rich. Unexpected.

Drinks. Too many. His hand brushing mine when I reached for my glass. The way he leaned closer, his voice slipping under the music like velvet.

Me telling him he wasn’t driving anywhere like that. His hand tossing keys to the waiter. His words, slurred but certain: Drop us at a hotel instead.

The rest unraveled like thread yanked free.

The hotel room. Stumbling inside, laughter spilling out too loud for the hour. My heels kicked off somewhere by the door, his cap flung carelessly across the carpet. I remember pressing my back against the wall, giggling, breathless, as his mouth found mine again and again.

At first, his kiss wasn't smooth. It was hungry, desperate, a little sloppy from the alcohol. But God, it felt real. He kissed me like he’d been starved for months. Like he couldn’t believe I was actually there.

His hands were everywhere—tugging at the straps of my dress, fumbling with the zipper, then steadying when he realized I was shaking. He paused, his forehead dropping to mine.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

I remember nodding, whispering, “Yes,” even though my pulse was a runaway drum in my throat.

And then his lips were back, tracing down my neck, over my collarbone. The scrape of his stubble made me gasp. He smiled against my skin like he liked that sound, like he wanted to drag it out of me again and again.

My dress hit the floor. His shirt followed. His chest was warm, solid under my palms, rising and falling with ragged breaths. My fingers curled against him, memorizing the ridges of muscle, the warmth of his skin.

We stumbled toward the bed, tripping over laughter, pulling at each other like we’d combust if we stopped. His jeans hit the floor, my bra tossed aside, and suddenly I was bare under his gaze.

I should’ve felt exposed. Instead, the way he looked at me made me feel… seen. Revered. Like he couldn’t believe I was real.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

Heat flushed my face, but before I could reply, his mouth was on me again. Lower this time. His lips trailed down, down, until I was arching into him, hands fisting in the sheets.

His tongue teased, worshipped. I couldn’t stop the sounds coming out of me, didn’t even try.

When his fingers joined, working me open with slow patience, I thought I’d shatter. He didn’t rush. He took his time, like he was memorizing every reaction, every breath.

And when I finally broke, when my whole body arched and trembled, he held me through it. Whispered things I barely remember—soft words, curses.

Then he was above me, staring deep into my eyes.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped. “And I will.”

I shook my head, dragged him down to kiss me. “Don’t stop.”

The first slow thrust stole the air from my lungs. Stretching, filling, burning in a way that made my nails dig into his shoulders.

He groaned, like he was breaking apart just from being inside me.

And then he moved.

Slow at first. Testing. Learning me. Every movement of his hips had me gasping, clinging, begging. And when I whispered harder, he gave it to me.

Deeper. Rougher. Until the headboard rattled and the sheets twisted and my voice cracked on his name.

It wasn’t just sex. It was more. Something tangled and reckless and almost tender. The way he kissed me between thrusts. The way he whispered “You’re the only woman who’s made me laugh in a long time.” The way his hands framed my face.

We came undone together, bodies crashing, hearts pounding. And then—blackness.

I blinked hard, dragging myself back to the present. Selena was watching me like I’d just disappeared into space.

“Amara?” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I—” My voice cracked. I swallowed, tried again. “I remember now. It was him. The man in the face cap.”

Her brows furrowed. “And?”

“I remember him being… kind that night. Not like this morning.”

I left out the details—the worship in his hands, the way his laugh had melted into a groan. Selena didn’t need to know that. Instead, I told her about today. His arrogance. His threat to ruin me if I breathed a word.

Her eyes blazed. “Who the hell does he think he is? And why would you even want to go to the media?”

“Exactly!” I snapped, pressing my fingers hard against my temple.

“I don’t want anything from him, Sel. I just want to forget. I have bills to pay. Rent. Electricity. Job applications stacked up. That’s what matters. Not some stupid one-night stand with a man I’ll never see again.”

The words tumbled out fast, brittle.

Selena’s lips pressed thin. She didn’t buy it. Not fully. But after a beat, she only sighed.

“If that’s what you want.”

“Yes.” My voice was firmer, even though my insides shook. “It was just one night. Like he said. I’ll never see him again.”

Selena tucked the blanket over me, brushing damp curls from my forehead like she used to when I was sick. “Get some rest. Tomorrow you deal with real life. Tonight you just breathe.”

I stared at the ceiling. The plaster swam. My body felt hollow and heavy at the same time.

I repeated the words over and over. It was just one night. Just one night. I’ll never see him again.

But deep down, in the pit of my stomach, I knew the truth.

It wouldn’t be that easy.