One Last Night With a Stranger (1)

"You have just three months left to live."

I stare at the doctor, wishing that I am deaf and he hasn't just proclaimed a death sentence on me. I fight back the tears threatening to spill out of my eyes, hating how pathetic my life is.

I am just twenty-two, freshly out of college and have a ton of debts on my neck. I have spent years being the best student, trying to prove to the scholarship board that I am worth their sweats. I had worked series of part-time jobs to make up for what the scholarship couldn't cover. I have missed out on many fun activities, not daring to be as adventurous as my peers are.

Why now?

Why will I have a strange disease and have to die suddenly when it is time for me to enjoy my labors?

Is my life meant to be that hard?

Was I born to suffer and die just like that?

I have no one to ask. My mother had dumped me unceremoniously at the side of the road as a two-month-old baby. There, a good Samaritan had picked me up and taken me to the orphanage. I had survived and started hustling to stay afloat.

How sad all the struggles and faint hopes are about to come to an end.

"Star," the doctor calls to get my attention.

I snort at the ridiculous name I have been given. What is the point of having a fancy name when there is nothing fanciful about my life?

I drag myself out of the mental hole I have crawled into and blink at him.

He stares at me, his eyes clouding with pity. "Are you okay?"

I keep my snort to myself. Would he be fine if he were me? "Am I free to go?"

He nods. "Yes, you can." He says, handing my diagnosis result to me. "But get back soon so we can admit you for treatment."

I walk out like a robot, squeezing and throwing the paper on the floor. If I have just three months to live, I am not going to spend them feeling sorry about myself. Heavens knows I have done enough of that.

I am going to enjoy my life and do all the stuff I haven't allowed myself to experience. I know the first thing I am going to do, and that is to lose the virginity I have treasured like it's the key to the vault of the world bank.

I glance at myself in the mirror later that night, hardly recognizing myself. I have my brown hair in curls, black eyeshadow boldly complementing bold lipstick and my skirt is so short that it would have made the girl I was the previous day cringe in shame.

Not tonight though. I am going all in.

"Helloooo, beauty." Someone drawls behind me as I step into the club.

I feel overwhelmed by the rush of heat and people grinding against one another, and I feel the crazy urge to bolt out of the packed space.

I force myself to stay put.

I flick one gaze at him and know he isn't the one. I want to get laid so bad but I want the memory unforgettable. I want my first sex to be part of the memories flicking through my brain as I take my last breath.

I feel tingles on my skin and sense someone watching me. I turn and my heart jumps with awareness, knowing as I set my gaze on him that he is the one. We stare at each other without making a move from where we are. Heat sizzles on my skin as I keep looking, unable to tear my gaze away.

I let out a soft moan, imagining what he can do to me if I am in his arms if he can affect me this much.

His gaze travels down my length and I force myself not to dash to the door, feeling super self-conscious at his perusal.

As if we have decided to, we start moving at the same time. I smirk, doing my best to look sultry as I approach him and hope I am doing a good job of it. The last thing I want to do in my last moments is to embarrass myself. I have enough pitiful memories to contend with.

His gaze is on me as mine is unblinking. We stand before each other, barely glancing at the crowd bumping and humping against one another. Our gazes are locked together, scarcely an inch between us. We can kiss if we want to. We can also make out if we want to at that point.

He breaks the eye contact first and a wide grin spreads across his lips as he pulls me closer, wrapping his arm around my waist. I let out a gasp at the possessive way with which he holds me and my heart starts doing crazy flips.

I love ittttttt. I mentally scream out loud in my head.

When have I ever been held by a man like that?

He leans forward, his beard tickling my skin as he nuzzles his mouth close to my ear. "Wanna fuck?"

Heat pools low between my thighs and I have to bite my lips to keep myself from moaning out loud. His words are straight to the point and hit me straight where they should as well.

I don't trust myself not to squeak so I only nod, keeping my gaze on him. He runs his tongue briefly on his lower lip and smiles, indicating that he loves what he sees.

I am the one who actually won the jackpot and love what I see. Standing tall at three inches above me, and looking handsome and rugged, he is every thing I dream of in a bad boy. I feel like the universe is trying to make it up to me for the bad hand that it has dealt me.

It better feels sorry for being harsh on poor me.

He grins at my exuberant nod and slides his hand into mine, leading me out of the club to wherever the devil knows. I don't care where he leads me to as long as he fucks me right.

What if he is an assassin? The good girl in me, the one I have purposely buried tonight, stirs and tries to warn me.

I ignore her, reminding her that I am going to die anyway. At least, I am making this choice on how to die.

I would be damned if I let the fear of death talk me out of having the best night of my life.