Once, my paranoid love

Elena began kissing Ron after stating, “Ron, I love you so much.” Ron snatched her up and set a high pace for her. Elena began to moan pleasantly and urge for more as the rhythm grew. “Ah, my goodness! Yes, my sweetheart.”

“Please keep going. You are the best.”

“No!” Paul shouted. It was only his imagination.

Paul’s world had crumbled around him, and in his inebriated state, he struggled to make sense of it all. His mind swirled with jealousy and anger as Elena’s whispered confessions to Ron replayed in his head like a broken record.

“No, no, no,” Paul slurred, his voice trembling with rage and despair. He clutched his head, as if trying to physically block out the tormenting thoughts. “You can’t do this, Elena. You can’t love or sleep with him.”

He took another swig of the wine, the bitterness of the alcohol mirroring the bitterness in his heart. The room seemed to spin around him, but he couldn’t escape the images of Elena and Ron together, their passionate kisses and whispered promises haunting him.

The more he ruminated on Ron’s words, the more his anger consumed him. He felt like a wounded animal, cornered and lashing out in pain. The wine bottle slipped from his hand, clinking as it hit the floor, but Paul paid it no mind.

“How dare you, Elena?” He growled, his voice low and menacing. “You must pay for what you have done.”Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

“I’ll show you how to make a girl scream.”

In a fit of wrath, Paul crushed the wine bottle. His hands clenched into fists, he gazed at the shattered remains of a wine bottle strewn across the floor.

As the shards of glass settled, the bar’s bartender cautiously approached Paul. She held another bottle of wine in her delicate hand, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and intrigue. She had seen her fair share of unruly patrons, but there was something about Paul that had always intrigued her.

“Sir, your wine,” she uttered softly, her voice a soothing melody amidst the chaos. Her eyes never left Paul’s as she expertly began pouring the rich, crimson liquid into a crystal-clear glass.

Paul, a magnetic presence in any room, finally broke the silence.

“Elena,” he murmured Elena’s name with a hint of sadness, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

The bar girl, her raven-black hair cascading like a waterfall, shot Paul a sidelong glance. ‘Wow, this youngster is far too attractive to be handled,’ the bartender thought, her heart racing as she continued to fill his glass, her fingers brushing lightly against his. There was a palpable tension in the air-a potent mixture of desire.

Suddenly, Paul’s strong hand shot out, grabbing her wrist with surprising gentleness. He pulled her toward him, forcing her to sit on his lap. The sudden intimacy sent a rush of warmth through her body, and she found herself unable to resist his magnetic pull.

Their faces were now mere inches apart, their breaths mingling in the confined space. “Why did you betray me, Elena?” Paul whispered tenderly, his thumb lightly tracing her cheek. His eyes bore into hers, searching for answers in the depths of her soul.

The bartender couldn’t help but smile as she observed Paul’s turmoil. His shattered wine bottle had revealed a deep inner turmoil, and she was drawn to his vulnerability.

“So, this is a case of a broken heart,” she murmured softly, her voice tinged with sympathy. “But why does a girl break this handsome boy’s heart?” Her words hung in the air, a question that begged to be answered.

Paul, still lost in the memories of Elena’s betrayal, looked into the stranger’s eyes with a mixture of sadness and curiosity. He hadn’t expected her to understand, but there was something about her presence that soothed his wounded soul.

“Sir, I am not Elena,” she began, her tone gentle and reassuring, “But I can make you forget about her if you let me.” With those words, she turned toward him, her body gracefully finding its place against his chest.

Paul’s heart ached, and the weight of his past seemed to momentarily lift as he felt the warmth of the stranger’s embrace. Her closeness offered solace, a brief respite from the torment of betrayal.

With sadness in his eyes, Paul asked, his voice barely above a whisper, “Can you?”

The girl’s fingers traced patterns on his chest as she looked up at him. Her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of green, held the promise of comfort and distraction. “Yes,” she replied softly, “I can make you forget. At least for tonight.”

As Paul gazed into the girl’s mesmerizing green eyes, a fleeting sense of confusion washed over him. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, he allowed himself to believe that she was his Elena, lost in the depths of those familiar emerald-green orbs.

Driven by a potent mix of longing and desperation, he leaned in to kiss her, hoping to find solace in the taste of her lips. But just as their faces drew near, something triggered within him-a subtle discrepancy that shattered the illusion.

In an instant, he clasped a handful of her hair, pulling her away from his lips with a sudden, furious intensity. His eyes blazed with anger and betrayal, and his grip tightened on her hair.

“You are not my Elena,” Paul growled, his voice filled with rage and disappointment. The realization hit him like a cold, hard truth, and he recoiled from the girl as if she were poison.

The girl, her green eyes wide with shock and pain, gasped as her hair was yanked by Paul’s forceful grasp. She had allowed herself to play a part in his momentary delusion, hoping to provide the solace he so desperately sought. But now she found herself caught in the whirlwind of his anger.