Chasing an Illusion

Name: Chasing an Illusion
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Giacomo Vernon

Modern | Completed

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That day was my best friend's birthday, and he invited us out for dinner and singing. Everyone had a great time and drank quite a bit. Drunk, I stepped outside to go to the restroom and met a man who was my ideal type. Under the influence of alcohol, I ended up having a relationship with him. I thought I had cleverly secured the love I desired, but little did I know that I was actually a fool who walked right into a trap.

Modern Revenge Secret relationship Scheming Age gap

Chapter 6

12-16 15:29

Chapter 1

Today was my good friend's birthday, and he splurged on dinner for us, planning to party the whole night.

We were all college students with no lesson tomorrow, so naturally, we were all in.

After dinner, we headed straight to the nightclub, ordered two cases of beer, and started playing darts while drinking.

Later, feeling it wasn't enough, we bought some red wine too.

By the end of the night, everyone was so drunk they were sprawled on the sofa, completely out of it.

I could hold my liquor reasonably well, but I was still a bit tipsy. The air in the room was too stuffy, so I decided to go to the restroom to splash some cold water on my face to sober up.

As I reached the restroom door, I accidentally bumped into someone. I opened my mouth, trying to apologize, but couldn't hold back the nausea and ended up vomiting all over.

It was unbelievably awkward, since I vomited right onto the person I had bumped into..

"I'm so sorry, so sorry," I quickly apologized, trying to lift my foggy head to look at the person supporting me. "Your clothes..."

When I saw his face, my mind went blank.

He was exactly my type.

Under the influence of alcohol and his accommodating manner, we ended up heading to the hotel next door, under the pretense of helping him clean his clothes.

......

When I woke up the next day, I was alone in bed. I searched around but couldn't find any note.

I knew the nightclub could be chaotic, and this sort of thing wasn't unusual. Although I was drunk, I had come willingly.

Still, I felt a bit disappointed because last night was genuinely enjoyable.

I was not the kind of person who did this often, and last night was actually my first time being so bold, mostly because of the alcohol.

I had hoped to get his phone number for further contact, but unfortunately, he was gone.

I sighed, got up, and dressed. My clothes were neatly placed on the sofa, probably by him before he left in the morning.

Just as I put on my shirt, I heard the door open. I didn't have time to hide before the door swung open.

"You didn't leave?"

"You were up?"

We spoke simultaneously.

Seeing him come in with things in hand, I felt a small thrill of happiness.

"Yeah," he said, placing the items on the table and glancing at me, clearing his throat. "Get dressed and freshen up. Let's have breakfast."

Only then did I realize my clothes weren't properly on, and my face flushed red. I quickly grabbed my clothes and dashed to the bathroom.

When I came out, he was sitting on the bed, head down, replying to messages. Breakfast was already laid out on the table.

Noticing me, he put his phone away and called me over to eat.

He acted naturally as if we were a couple who had just spent a romantic night together, having breakfast the next morning.

His natural demeanor made me a bit jealous, thinking he must have done this many times before.

Unexpectedly, during breakfast, he said, "Last night was my fault. You were drunk, but I wasn't. I shouldn't have..."

"No," I hurriedly interrupted, "I shouldn't have held onto you. This isn't anyone's fault, just a one night..."

I couldn't bring myself to say the last word.

He kindly picked up where I left off, "Alright, but I still want to say, I'm not a playboy. I genuinely have the impulse last night, and I admit that. So, the choice is yours. If you want to go on a date, I'm willing to. But I might be much older than you, which you might mind."

"How old are you?" I asked tentatively.

"Thirty-five," he replied.

I took a bite of my donut and softly said, "I'm twenty."

I heard him sigh, saying he was leading the youth astray.

In the end, I didn't tell him whether I wanted him to be with me, and he didn't press further. He even offered to drive me back to school.

He drove a Silverado 1500, a car with strong practicability, suggesting he was a practical guy.

He looked decent, had a good financial situation, but at thirty-five, he was neither married nor had a girlfriend (as he told me), and I didn't dig deeper into it either.

He dropped me off at the school gate and left, but not before suggesting we add each other on WhatsApp, which I agreed to.

After accepting his friend request, he sent me his name: Adam Flynn.

I browsed through his social media. He didn't post much, and when he did, it was simple updates, like pictures of the sky or a corner of a café.

He seemed quite artistic.

Just as I was scrolling through his posts from last year, my friend called, asking where I had gone.

I suddenly remembered how I had left them at the nightclub. I didn't want to tell the truth, so I lied, saying I had drunkenly taken a cab back to school.

Luckily, my friend was too drunk to remember much, so he believed me.

Back at the dorm, my roommates were in class, so I took a shower.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I saw the girl in the reflection bite her lip and smile triumphantly.

I never thought my plan would work out so perfectly.