Chapter 12

Faye Malisorn's POV

The cool night air hits us as we make our way to P'wan's car. The alcohol I've consumed starts to make me feel dizzy, and I lean heavily on Yoko, who supports my weight steadily.

P'wan opens the back door, and Yoko helps me get inside, gently guiding me onto the seat. She tucks away a stray strand of hair from my face, her touch lingering just a bit longer than necessary.

I'm too disoriented to say much, but the feeling of Yoko's hand on my skin ignites a spark inside me, even in my inebriated state.

P'wan gets into the driver's seat, starting the car. The engine hums to life, and through the window, I watch as the club and the city lights pass by in a blur.

I try to keep my eyes open, but the effect of the alcohol and the motion of the car make it a struggle. I can feel the world spinning around me, and the only thing grounding me is the solid presence of Yoko beside me.

Yoko's voice reaches me through the haze, a soothing murmur.

"Just rest, we're almost home" she says quietly, her hand still holding mine.

I'm only vaguely aware of the car stopping, of Yoko helping me out of the backseat, of being half-carried into my house. All my senses feel muddled, and I'm running on instinct more than anything else.

I hear Yoko's voice, firm and determined. "I've got this," she tells P'wan. "You should go back. I'll take care of her."

P'wan hesitates, her worry clear in her eyes.

"Are you sure?" she asks, glancing at me and my clearly disoriented state.

Yoko nods, "I'm sure. I appreciate your help, but I can handle it from here."

P'wan still looks unsure, but she eventually relents. She gives a reluctant nod. "Alright, but call me if you need anything."

"I will," Yoko replies, her voice steady. P'wan gives me one last lingering look before walking back to her car.

The sound of the car door closing and the engine starting reaches my ears, but it feels almost distant, as if I'm hearing it through a haze.

All my focus is on Yoko, her presence anchoring me in the midst of the tumultuous sea of alcohol and emotion.

Yoko leads me to my bedroom, her hand gentle on my arm. She helps me lie down on the bed, pulling the covers over me.

The cool sheets feel nice against my skin, and I let out a small sigh.

Yoko leaves the room for a few minutes. When she returns, she's holding a damp washcloth. She sits down next to me, gently placing the cool cloth on my forehead.

I can barely keep my eyes open, but I force them open, watching Yoko as she takes care of me. It's surreal, seeing her like this, tender and gentle.

She's focused, her touch light as she dabs the cloth over my face, wiping away the sweat and smudged makeup. Her gaze is fixed on me, a mixture of concern and something else I can't quite pinpoint.

Despite my fuzzy mind, I'm momentarily shocked when Yoko gently hits my arm and scolds me.

"Don't make me worry like that again. What were you thinking, drinking so much?" Her voice is laced with irritation, a hint of a pout in her tone.

The guilt and embarrassment flood me, mixing with the fog of alcohol and exhaustion.

As I look at Yoko, all the conflicting emotions I've been trying to suppress come to the surface. The alcohol has weakened my defenses, and I feel my eyes starting to water.

"Yo..."

With a mixture of drunkenness and desperation, I force myself to sit up, moving closer to Yoko. The world spins around me, but I ignore it, my focus solely on the woman in front of me.

I'm close enough now to see the flicker of surprise in her eyes, but I don't stop. I reach out, my hand grasping her arm, my touch needy and seeking.

Yoko's face is a mask of confusion and hesitation, but she doesn't pull away. She lets me hold onto her, her gaze studying me, trying to understand what's going on in my alcohol-soaked mind.

"Faye,"

I try to hold back the tears, but the mix of alcohol and emotions is making it hard to control. I cling onto her, my fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt.

"I'm sorry," I manage to say, my voice low and thick with emotion. "I'm sorry for everything."

Yoko doesn't say anything for a moment, but her gaze softens, her expression losing some of its guardedness.

She lifts a hand, her fingers gently brushing a strand of hair away from my face. Her touch is tentative, as if she's not quite sure what to do with me in this vulnerable state.

"You're drunk," she points out quietly, her voice softer than I've heard in a long time. "You shouldn't be making apologies or decisions in this state."

I know she's right, but I can't help the wave of emotions that washes over me.

The alcohol is amplifying everything, making me more sensitive and reactive. Tears threaten to spill over, and I bite my lip, trying to hold them back.

The words slip out of me, fueled by the alcohol and the swirl of emotions inside me.

"I don't like seeing you with other men," I say, my voice cracking. The confession hangs there, raw and vulnerable, and I feel myself cringing, embarrassed by my own drunken honesty.

Yoko takes a few moments to process my words, her expression morphing from surprise to something unreadable.

She looks at me, her gaze searching my face, trying to gauge where this sudden confession is coming from.

"I don't like the way they look at you," I mutter, the words coming out more harshly than I intended. "I don't like how they touch you, how they make you laugh..."

I'm on a roll now, the words and feelings coming out of me too quickly to control.

"I hate it. I hate that I have to sit by and watch others flirt with you, knowing I can't do anything about it."

A wave of regret washes over me as the words continue to spill out. I release my grip on Yoko's arm, my hand falling limply to my lap.

"I should have known better," I murmur, my eyes meeting hers, filled with a mix of pain and longing. "I should've made you mine, so they would all know you were off limits."

My confession hangs in the air, the weight of my regret and my desire all tangled up in a messy knot.

Despite the gravity of my confession, Yoko tries to brush it off.

"You're just drunk and emotional. You don't know what you're saying. I'm sure you'll regret this in the morning when you're sober."

Her words sting, but I don't argue. I know she's probably right. I'm intoxicated, emotional, and acting on impulse.

But even as I acknowledge this, part of me still means every word I'm saying, every feeling I'm expressing.

I look at her, my eyes pleading, trying to make her understand that even through the haze of alcohol, there's truth to my words.

"I don't care," I mutter softly. "I'm drunk, and I'm emotional, but it doesn't make what I'm saying any less true."

Yoko's expression wavers, her gaze flickering with a mix of emotions. There's confusion, doubt, but also a hint of something else, something I can't quite grasp.

"You don't know what you're saying," she repeats, her voice firmer than before. "You need to rest. We'll talk about this when you're sober, when you can think rationally."

In a rush of impulse, as yoko starts to pull away, I reach out and grab her, crushing my lips against hers.

The world spins around me as our lips meet, my senses overloaded. The taste of her, the feel of her skin, the scent of her hair, it's all overwhelming.

I pour every ounce of emotion I've been holding back into the kiss, desperately trying to communicate what I can't articulate with words.

Yoko doesn't respond at first, taken by surprise by my sudden action. But after a moment, she does respond, her lips moving against mine, tentative yet responsive.

It's not the passionate, heated kiss I was expecting, but it's something, a response that gives me a flicker of hope.

Despite the moment of response, Yoko suddenly pulls back, breaking the kiss. Her hand gently pushes against my shoulder, creating a small distance between us.

She looks at me, her eyes conflicted, her breathing slightly uneven.

"Faye," she says softly, her voice serious but tinged with a hint of sadness. "This is not right. We can't do this. You're drunk."

Despite her attempts to put a stop to this, I ignore her protests. I pull her close again and press my lips against hers, seeking more of that electric connection.

Even as Yoko tries to resist me, pushing herself away and repeating her protests, I don't give up.

I pull her close again and press my lips against hers. Our bodies press together, and this time, she doesn't pull away immediately.

There's a battle going on inside her, a conflict between rationality and desire. And as we kiss again, more passionately this time, it's beginning to look like desire is winning.

In a swift motion, I pull Yoko closer, guiding her into my lap. The change in position deepens the kiss, bringing our bodies even closer together. Our chests are pressed against each other, and I can feel the heat of her skin even through our clothes.

The kiss finally breaks, our lips parting but our faces still mere inches apart. We're both breathless, our chests rising and falling quickly.

We stay like that for a few moments, our eyes locked, drinking in the sight of each other, trying to decipher meaning in the silence.

The words come out before I can stop them, a hoarse whisper that seems to fill the space between us.

"I love you," I say.

The confession tumbling out of me. It's a simple statement, but it feels like a revelation, a truth that's been waiting to be spoken aloud.

The moments stretch on, and my heart thudded in my chest, the silence between us thick with tension.

I can't read her expression, can't tell what she's thinking. Maybe she's processing my words, maybe she's trying to decide how to respond. Or maybe she's just shocked into silence, unsure of how to handle a drunken confession.

"Yo," I say, my tone questioning, almost pleading. I want her to say something, anything, to give me some sort of response to my confession.

I watch her, studying her expression, waiting for a reaction, any reaction.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Yoko speaks. Three simple words that send a wave of relief and joy crashing over me.

"I love you, Faye."

The words are barely out of her mouth before I act, surging forward to claim her mouth in another deep, passionate kiss.

I pull her closer, my arms wrapping around her, desperate to express my emotions, my love for her through my actions.

The alcohol has numbed my inhibitions, my fear and doubt, leaving only the raw, unbridled emotions that I've been trying to suppress for so long.

This night, this moment, will be etched into my memory. Even in my drunken state, I know I don't want to forget a single second of it.