The Pull

Sleep circled her like a predator. Not gentle. Not soft.

Patient.

Stacy paced the length of the bedroom again, bare feet whispering against the floor, flannel brushing against her skin with every turn. The Christmas pajamas felt ridiculous in any other context: festive, soft, harmless. But right now they were armour. Thick. Covered. Safe.

As safe as anything could be.

Arms folded tightly across her chest, she turned again, cutting back toward the bed before pivoting sharply away from it like it might reach out and grab her.

No sitting. That was the rule. The second she sat, her body would betray her. Eyes would drift. Muscles would slacken. And then...

Her stomach twisted.

No. Not again.

A glance toward the clock on the nightstand.

1:45 a.m.

"Jesus," she muttered under her breath.

Not even close.

Exhaustion clung to her, heavy and disorienting, the wine from earlier settling into her system in a way that made everything just slightly off. Not enough to knock her out. Just enough to blur the edges. Just enough to make fighting harder.

One hand dragged back through her hair, fingers catching slightly in the loose strands.

"Stay awake," she murmured.

Simple. Impossible.

Memory pressed in whether she wanted it or not. The first time she'd tried to sleep without him, without Evan sharing her bed. It shouldn't have been an issue. Women sleep alone all the time. Head on her pillow, laying under the blanket. Just drifting away. Just closing her eyes. And then...

Pain.

Sharp, invasive, impossible to ignore. Not constant. Not even sustained. Just timed. Perfectly. Every time her body tried to let go. Every time accompanied by a flash of Evan, a reminder that choosing distance would not be acceptable.

A shudder ran through her.

"Not doing that again," she said, firmer this time.

So she moved.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

When pacing wasn't enough, she **** herself into motion; jumping jacks, sloppy and uneven, breath catching halfway through. Running in place. Anything to keep her system engaged, her mind occupied, her body too busy to slip.

It worked. For a while. Then her lungs burned. Legs ached. Energy bled out of her in slow, inevitable waves. And eventually...

She stopped.

Just for a second.

Just to breathe.

That was the problem.

Because the moment stillness crept in, her body took it as permission. Her shoulders dropped. Her weight shifted. Eyelids grew heavy, vision softening at the edges.

"Nope."

She pushed herself upright again immediately, shaking her head hard as if that alone might clear it.

"Stay awake."

Another lap across the room. Another. God, she was tired. There was nothing to do. No TV she wanted. No phone distraction that could hold her attention. No books...

Her gaze drifted toward the dresser. Paused. Right.

That thing.

A slow, **** exhale left her as she crossed the room and picked it up.

The Encyclopedia of Evan.

Even thinking the name felt ridiculous. A clean white label. Matte cover. Neatly organized tabs that had no business existing in reality.

"This is insane," she muttered.

Still, boredom won. She flipped it open. Pages turned without much focus at first. Recipes, of course. Perfect meals. Instructions written in a tone that assumed familiarity. Domestic ease. A life she didn't remember living.

Her jaw tightened.

Flip.

Another section.

Tips and Tricks.

She flipped past the cover page, looking to see what type of tips and tricks she could possibly want to remind herself of. Her expression soured immediately.

"Oh my God. You mean for..." she said as her eyes darted down lists of sexual techniques, favourite positions, even suggestions for role play.

She snapped past it faster than necessary, the brief flashes of content enough to make heat creep up the back of her neck despite herself. Not embarrassment, exactly.

Violation.

Again.

That wasn't her life. None of it was.

Another flip.

Near the back, something new. A tab she didn't remember seeing before. Her fingers hesitated for half a second. Then opened it.

Love Notes.

The words sat there, neat and deliberate. A quiet dread seemed to hover over her as she started reading.

The first page. A small square of paper, taped carefully in place. Her eyes scanned it before she could stop herself.

Saw this and thought of you. Don't even know why, just made me miss you. Hurry home.

Her lips pressed together. She had no idea what context that was written in, but it was in Evan's handwriting.

Next page. A screenshot of a text.

You looked incredible this morning. I didn't say it because I was half asleep and stupid, but I'm thinking about it now and it's distracting me.

She turned the page. Another note. Handwritten.

I don't think you understand what you do to me. It's not just your body, either. It's everything. The way you look at me. The way you don't sometimes. It makes me want to earn it.

That part was in her own handwriting.

Beneath it was a response from Evan.

You don't have to earn it. You already own it. I love you, Stacy Mercer.

Her fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the paper.

"That's not..." she started, then stopped.

Not him. Not this him. Another version. A constructed version.

She flipped again, faster this time. Another screenshot. This one longer. Her eyes caught pieces of it before she could look away.

…kept thinking about you all day. About what we did in the kitchen last night. Couldn't focus. You're kind of a problem, you know that?

…not even sorry about it. If anything, I want it worse…

Heat rose suddenly, sharp and unwelcome. That was enough. The binder snapped shut with more **** than necessary, the sound loud in the quiet room.

"Nope," she said, now a familiar refrain.

It landed on the bedside table with a dull thud.

"Absolutely not."

Her face felt warm. Her pulse had picked up slightly.

Annoying. Infuriating. Unacceptable. And underneath it...

Stacy leaned back against the headboard slowly, letting her head rest against it with a soft, tired exhale. Anger had carried her this far. Anger had kept her moving. Kept her resisting. Kept her herself. But anger took energy. And right now there wasn't much left.

Her eyes drifted shut for just a second.

Just a second...

...

A jolt.

Not pain. Something else. Something hot. Something needy.

Her entire body reacted at once, breath catching sharply as awareness flooded through her, sudden and overwhelming.

"Oh, God!"

The sound slipped out before she could stop it. Heat. Deep. Immediate. Consuming. It wasn't subtle. It wasn't gradual. It was there all at once, blooming through her like something alive, something invasive, something that didn't ask permission before it took root. Her back arched slightly against the headboard as she sucked in a breath.

"What the hell?"

It didn't fade. Didn't lessen. If anything, it grew. Heavy. Insistent. Desire became arousal. Arousal became craving. Distracting in a way that bordered on impossible to ignore. And then...

Him.

Evan.

Not physically. Not real, but there. An image. A presence. A sense of him that slotted into her awareness like it belonged there.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," she breathed, her heart racing.

Her eyes snapped open. The room stayed the same. Empty. Quiet. But her body didn't get the message. The feeling didn't go away.

It settled.

This was worse than pain. God, it was so much worse than pain. At least pain was something to fight. This was a pull, a need that didn't feel like hers but was being processed through her anyway.

A slow, disbelieving laugh slipped out, shaky at the edges.

"Is this what he went through? What he'd felt the other night?"

The thought cut off as the sensation surged again, stronger this time, dragging a soft, involuntary sound from her throat as her head tipped back.

"Oh my God."

Understanding hit all at once.

Evan.

The way he'd looked that morning. Wrecked. Hollow. Miserable.

This.

He'd gone through this.

Alone.

All night long.

A wave of something sharp and unexpected cut through the haze: Empathy.

"Jesus," she whispered.

No wonder he'd been a mess.

No wonder he couldn’t focus.

This wasn't just distraction. It was consuming. Like something was reaching inside her, rewiring priorities in real time, pushing everything else aside until only one thing mattered.

Relief. Release. Climax.

Her hands pressed against the mattress on either side of her, grounding herself, forcing her breathing to slow.

"Okay," she said, voice strained but controlled. "Okay. Ride it out."

It had to pass. Everything passed. That was how bodies worked. That was how...

Her eyes drifted closed again.

...

The surge hit harder this time. Sharper. More focused. His presence even clearer.

"Damnit!"

Her eyes flew open again, breath coming faster now. Not fading. Not easing. Building.

That was the problem. This wasn't something that burned out. It was something that wanted. And it knew exactly what it wanted. What it needed. Realization began to settle in, cold and certain beneath the heat.

It wanted Evan.

Before she realized what she was doing, her body had slipped a hand between her legs and was massaging her groin, just over the wet spot. She needed release. For a moment, it didn't matter that the young man who the magic was forcing her into a relationship was up front in her imagination as she touched herself. The only thing she could think about was letting go.

"Wait," she told herself, experiencing a brief moment of clarity. "What are you doing?"

She **** her hands down to the mattress with great willpower. Then, after a shaky exhale, she pushed herself upright, feet hitting the floor again.

"Get up."

Movement. Distraction. That's what she needed. To shake off the feeling, to get the blood circulating anywhere but her groin.

She paced. It didn't help.

Bounced on her heels. Didn't help.

Hands clenched at her sides as the sensation followed her, persistent, inescapable. Her heart was racing now. Body hyper-aware in a way that made stillness impossible and movement meaningless.

Nothing changed. Because her body wasn't responding to her. It was responding to the potion's magic. Tonight, her body, her feelings, her sexual drive was inexorably tied to the young man that she had resented since she met him. It had changed its strategy from pain to pleasure, following the path it had tried with Evan.

How had he been able to resist this? It was so strong. So all-encompassing. She could hardly think of anything but Evan. Evan in bed. Evan naked. Evan on top of her.

"That's not..."

Another surge of desire cut the thought off. She steadied herself, trying to regain control.

"Fair," she finished weakly.

Fair, it seemed, didn't hold currency with the potion.

Her gaze flicked toward the door. Then away. Then back again.

No. Absolutely not. She wasn't doing that. Wasn't going to be pushed into...

Another pulse. Stronger.

Her hand moved before she consciously decided to let it. Fingers wrapping around the handle. Cold metal under her skin.

"What are you doing, Stacy?" she whispered.

A good question. A very good question. Because this wasn't her. It wasn't what she wanted.

Was it?

Her grip didn't loosen. If anything, it tightened.

Inside, the heat coiled tighter, sharper, more demanding with every passing second. A quiet, dangerous thought slipped in, distracting her from the dampness of her panties. Just sleep. That's all. Same bed. Nothing else. A compromise. A loophole. She'd be able to resist her urges. Resist Evan.

Probably.

The handle turned. The door opened. Cool air brushed against her skin as she stepped into the hallway, bare feet silent against the floor.

One step.

Then another.

Each one easier than the last.

By the time she reached his door, her heart was pounding so loudly she was half convinced it would wake him before she even touched the wood.

A pause.

Hand lifted. Hesitated. Then...

Knock.

Soft.

Barely there.

But loud enough.

The seconds stretched painfully. What if he didn't answer? What if he...

The door opened. Just a crack. Light spilling out. And there he was.

Evan.

Sitting up. Awake. Looking just as wrecked as she felt. Of course he was. He was, after all, cursed by the same magic, **** to be punished for sleeping without her. He was probably as aroused as Stacy, if not more. She tried not to look at his groin, but the hunger in her kept forcing her eyes down. She couldn't see an erection, an observation that made her feel alarm at how disappointed she had felt, but perhaps he hadn't fallen asleep for a few minutes.

For a moment, words didn't come.

Didn't exist.

Just the two of them standing there, the space between them thick with everything unspoken. Everything ****. Everything unavoidable.

Say it.

Her throat tightened.

"Evan," she said.

The name came out rougher than intended. Not angry. Not sharp. Just tired. Tired and urgent.

"I, uh..."

God, this was humiliating. Frustration flickered across her face. ****. Resistance clinging stubbornly even now. But none of that changed the reality pressing in on her from the inside out.

"I need you."

There it was. Out in the open. No taking it back. No softening it. Just the truth.

Raw. Uncomfortable. Necessary.

His reaction barely registered. All that mattered was that he moved. That he got up. That he didn't argue. Relief hit immediately, sharp enough to make her heart race.

Not emotional. Not sentimental. Physical. Immediate. As if her body had been waiting for that exact outcome.

"Okay."

The word settled something inside her. Not everything. Not even close. But enough. Enough to help her feel at peace. Enough to help her feel a little excitement.

Stacy turned before she could overthink it, already stepping back into the hallway. She trusted that he would follow. Because at this point what choice did either of them really have?