Across The Hall

I spent five days staring at his face.

Five days had passed since the elevator incident, and I couldn't get Mateo out of my mind. His face was etched into my memory, his voice echoed in my ears, and his touch lingered on my skin. I found myself stealing glances at him across the hall, my heart pounding every time our eyes met. Sometimes, his door would be locked, but it didn't stop me from staring, from wondering, from wanting.

It's like my eyes shifted from staring at the ceiling (because I don't wanna look at my husband's dying face), to staring at his face. Like I just found a hobby to do for hours. I replayed our conversation in the elevator over and over again, analyzing every word, every gesture. Had I done something wrong? Had I misread the signals? Did he regret what he had said, what he had done? The questions swirled in my mind, driving me to distraction.

And then there was the question that haunted me the most: Did he not love his wife? He had seemed so cold, so distant when he talked about her. But was that just a front, a mask he wore to hide his true feelings? Or was there something more going on, something deeper, something darker?

I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Mateo than met the eye. That beneath that tough, intimidating exterior, there was a man who was hurting, who was lost, who was crying out for help. And despite all my reservations, all my fears, I wanted to be the one to help him. I wanted to be the one to reach out to him, to understand him, to heal him.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I couldn't just sit back and do nothing. I couldn't just stand by and watch him from afar, wondering, wanting, waiting. I needed to take action. I needed to do something.

And so, I made a decision. I was going to get out of this hospital, away from the sterile corridors and the beeping machines and the constant reminder of sickness and death. I was going to go to his café, to his territory, to his world. I was going to confront him, to talk to him, to ask him the questions that had been burning in my mind.

I needed to know the truth. I needed to know where I stood, where we stood. I needed to know if this thing between us was real, or if it was just a figment of my imagination, a fantasy born out of loneliness and desperation.

As I packed my bag and prepared to leave the hospital, I felt a sense of determination, of purpose. I was taking a risk, a big one, but it was a risk I was willing to take. Because I knew, deep down, that if I didn't do this, if I didn't take this chance, I would always regret it. I would always wonder what could have been, what should have been, what would have been.

And so, with a deep breath and a steadfast heart, I stepped out of the hospital and into the unknown, ready to face whatever came my way. Ready to face Mateo, ready to face the truth, ready to face my destiny.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

The café was bustling when I arrived, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sweet pastries filling the air. I scanned the crowd, my heart pounding in my chest, my palms sweating with nerves. And then I saw him, standing behind the counter, his dark eyes scanning the room, his expression unreadable.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. And then, with a determination I didn't know I had, I walked towards him, ready to confront my fate, ready to confront my future, ready to confront the man who had stolen my heart and haunted my dreams. The man who was Mateo.

As I walked towards Mateo, my heart pounded so loudly in my chest that I was sure everyone in the café could hear it. My thoughts were a whirlwind, a chaotic mix of anticipation, fear, and exhilaration. What was I doing? Was this a mistake? What if he rejected me, turned me away, told me to leave and never come back? The doubts gnawed at me, threatening to overwhelm me, but I pushed them aside, focusing instead on the man in front of me.

Mateo was working behind the counter, his movements fluid and efficient. He was a natural, his hands deftly operating the espresso machine, steam rising in clouds around him. He moved with a grace that was almost hypnotic, his tall frame navigating the small space with ease. His dark blonde hair was slightly messy, a few strands falling into his eyes, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing tanned, muscular forearms. He was the embodiment of rugged masculinity, raw and untamed, and I couldn't help but be drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.

His expression was focused, intense, as he worked, his brows furrowed in concentration. There was a passion in his eyes, a fire that burned brightly, and I found myself wondering what it would be like to be the focus of that passion, to be consumed by that fire. I wanted to know what it would feel like to be the center of his world, to be the object of his desire, to be the one he couldn't live without.

As I approached the counter, I saw his eyes flick up, scanning the room, always alert, always aware. And then, his gaze landed on me, and time seemed to stand still. His eyes widened in surprise, his body tensing, his hands pausing mid-task. I saw a flash of something in his eyes—shock, desire, fear, I couldn't quite tell. But it was there, raw and real and intense.

I took a deep breath, my heart in my throat, my palms sweating with nerves. "Hi, Mateo," I said, my voice barely audible over the hum of the café.

He stared at me for a moment, his expression unreadable, his eyes searching mine. And then, he spoke, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. "Hazel. What are you doing here?"

I swallowed hard, my thoughts racing, my heart pounding. I had come this far, had taken this risk, and now, I had to see it through. I had to tell him the truth, had to lay my cards on the table, had to put my heart on the line.

"I came to see you," I said, my voice steady, my eyes never leaving his. "I came to talk to you, to ask you the questions that have been burning in my mind. I came to find out the truth, Mateo. About you, about me, about us."

He stared at me for a long moment, his expression inscrutable, his eyes dark and intense. And then, he nodded, a slight, almost imperceptible movement of his head. "Alright," he said, his voice a soft murmur. "Let's talk."

He gestured to a small table in the corner, away from the bustle of the café, a quiet, intimate space where we could be alone. I followed him.

As we sat down at the small table in the corner, I felt a sense of intimacy envelop us, despite the bustling café around us. Mateo's presence was commanding, his aura filling the space, making the rest of the world fade into the background. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving mine, his expression guarded but curious.

"So, what do you want to talk about, Hazel?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through me.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to say. "I want to talk about what happened in the elevator," I began, my voice steady despite the butterflies in my stomach. "I want to know what it meant, what you meant when you said those things."

Mateo's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening slightly. He was silent for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. "What do you think it meant?" he asked, his voice a soft challenge.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. "I think it meant that there's something between us," I said my voice barely a whisper.

Mateo leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes locked onto mine. "And what if it does, Hazel?" he asked, his voice a dark murmur. "What if there is something between us? What are you going to do about it?"

I felt a shiver run down my spine, a mix of fear and desire coursing through my veins. "I don't know," I admitted, my voice shaking slightly. "I just know that I can't stop thinking about you, about what you said, about how you made me feel. I can't stop wondering what it would be like to be with you, to be touched by you, to be loved by you."

Mateo's eyes flashed, a hunger burning in their depths. He reached out, his hand covering mine, his thumb tracing circles on my skin. His touch was electric, sending waves of heat coursing through my body. "You should be careful what you wish for, little lamb," he said, his voice a soft growl. "Because I promise you, I'm not the kind of man who loves gently, who touches softly. I'm the kind of man who consumes, who devours, who takes what he wants and leaves nothing behind."

"I'm not afraid of you, Mateo, I said that already," I said, my voice steady, my eyes never leaving his. Maybe I am afraid. "I'm not afraid of what you make me feel, of what you make me want. I'm only afraid of never knowing, of never experiencing, of never living."

Mateo's eyes searched mine as if looking for the truth in my words. And then, he nodded, a slow, deliberate movement of his head. "Alright, Hazel," he said, his voice a soft murmur. "But remember, you asked for this. You wanted the truth, and now, you're going to get it."

He leaned back in his chair, his hand still holding mine, his thumb still tracing circles on my skin. And then, he began to speak, his voice low, his words raw, his truth laid bare. And as I listened, as I absorbed his words, his pain, his passion, I knew that I was in deep, that I was falling, that I was lost. Lost in the darkness, lost in the intensity, lost in the storm that was Mateo. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

But even as I fell, even as I lost myself in him, I couldn't shake the nagging doubt in the back of my mind, the question that haunted me, the fear that threatened to consume me. What about his wife? What about my husband? What about the promises we had made, the vows we had taken, the lives we had built? Were we ready to throw it all away, to burn it all down, to destroy it all for the sake of this passion, this desire, this love that threatened to consume us both? Only time would tell, and as I sat there, holding Mateo's hand, listening to his truth, I knew that I was ready to find out, ready to face the consequences, ready to embrace the fire that burned between us, no matter what it cost, no matter what it took, no matter what it meant. Because I was his, and he was mine, and together, we were going to burn.

Mateo took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine, as if he was about to dive into uncharted waters. The café around us seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of us in our intimate corner, the air thick with anticipation.

"The truth, Hazel," he began, his voice a low rumble, filled with a raw honesty that sent shivers down my spine. "The truth is that my marriage is a sham. It's a facade, a lie we tell the world to hide the ugly reality beneath."

He paused, his jaw tightening, a shadow passing over his face. "My wife and I, we were never in love. It was a marriage of convenience, a deal struck between two people who were desperate to escape their own personal hells. She needed a way out of a bad situation, and I needed... I needed to prove something to myself, to the world."

His eyes darkened, a pain flickering in their depths. "I thought I could save her, fix her, make her happy. But I was a fool. I was arrogant, blind, stupid. I thought I could force love, force happiness, force a life that neither of us truly wanted."

He looked down at our joined hands, his thumb tracing the lines on my palm, as if drawing strength from the contact. "But the truth is, Hazel, I'm not a good man. I'm not the hero, the savior, the knight in shining armor. I'm the villain, the monster, the beast. I'm the man who hurts, who destroys, who ruins everything he touches."

His voice was filled with self-loathing, with a darkness that threatened to consume him. I could see the pain in his eyes, the torment, the guilt. And my heart ached for him, for the man he believed himself to be, for the man he feared he was.

"But you're not like that with me," I said softly, my voice barely a whisper. "With me, you're different. You're gentle, kind, passionate. You make me feel alive, Mateo. You make me feel seen, heard, wanted. You make me feel like I matter, like I'm important, like I'm... loved."

Mateo's eyes snapped up to meet mine, a fire burning in their depths. "And that's what scares me, Hazel," he said, his voice a low growl. "Because I do love you. I love you in a way that's wild, intense, consuming. I love you in a way that frightens me, that terrifies me, that makes me want to run away and never look back."

He leaned forward, his hand cupping my cheek, his eyes searching mine. "But I can't run, Hazel. I can't leave. Because I'm drawn to you. I'm addicted to you, to your innocence, your purity, your light. I'm obsessed with you, with the way you make me feel, with the way you make me want, with the way you make me need."

His words were like a fire, burning through me, consuming me, setting every nerve ending alight. I could feel the intensity of his love, his desire, his passion. It was overwhelming, exhilarating, terrifying.

"But what about your wife?" I asked, my voice shaking slightly. "What about the promises you made, the vows you took?"

Mateo's expression hardened, his eyes flashing with a cold determination. "I'll take care of it," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "I'll end it, once and for all. I'll set her free, set us both free. Because I can't live like this anymore, Hazel. I can't live in this lie, this sham, this prison. I want to be free, free to love you, free to be with you, free to live the life we both deserve."

His words were a promise, a vow, a declaration of love and intent. And as I looked into his eyes, as I saw the truth laid bare, as I felt the intensity of his love, I knew that I was ready. Together, we would be free.

Mateo's eyes bore into mine, the intensity of his gaze pinning me to my seat. His hand still cupped my cheek, his thumb gently brushing against my skin, sending waves of heat coursing through my body. His words were raw, honest, a stark confession of his feelings, his desires, his fears.

"Hazel," he murmured, his voice a soft growl that sent shivers down my spine. "You don't understand. For you, I am sweet. For you, I am innocent and pure. For you, I am weak and fragile, for you, I am soft and supple, for you, I am perfect. I am whatever you want me to be, whatever you need me to be. Because you, Hazel, you make me want to be a better man. You make me want to be the man who deserves you, who cherishes you, who loves you like you've never been loved before."