The Mating Run by Leeka

Chapter 52

Fake

My eyes flutter open, and I am met with the comforting sensation of being held. by Zeke.

In any other circumstance, being held in such an embrace upon waking up offers a sense of comfort, a quiet reminder of our strong connection. As my consciousness fully returns, a disconcerting truth settles heavily on my shoulders.

Zeke’s arms, which were once a comforting embrace, now feel constricting and suffocating. It isn’t the gentle embrace I expect upon waking; it’s a hold that leaves. me feeling confined.

I shift, feeling increasingly uncomfortable as my senses pick up on the presence of another camera. The camera’s unblinking lens is fixed on us, as if freezing the vulnerability of the moment in time. It’s as if a punch to the gut, the realization washes over me – we are being watched again, our every intimate moment exposed to unseen eyes.

And I just know that it is Zeke’s idea, as the sound of his voice echoes in my

mind.

Anger and betrayal surge through me, overwhelming my emotions.

I carefully untangle myself from Zeke’s embrace, the once gentle motion now filled with a hint of desperation. The weight of my emotions threatens to spill over, creating a heavy atmosphere around me. I crave distance, a breath of air to bring clarity to my thoughts.

I feel manipulated, like a pawn on a chessboard with every move carefully plotted.

The sound of something shifting beside me causes me to tense up, and I let out a quiet curse.

“Alina, what’s wrong?”

Through the silence, Zeke’s voice rings out, carrying a palpable sense of worry. Standing there, I can feel his gaze on me, his eyes filled with confusion. With a tired sigh, he rubs his eye and lets out a quick yawn. Although I despise it, a surge of concern for him floods my being.

At first, I remain silent, not answering. As he continues to stare at me, I let out a frustrated sigh. I mumble under my breath, the words barely escaping my lips.

“I just need to get out and get some air.”

As I speak, my voice trembles with the same intensity as the brewing storm

within.

Zeke’s voice echoes through the air once more, tinged with both anxiety and

perplexity.

“Alina, please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

In that fleeting moment, the weight of my emotions makes me contemplate opening up to him, as if the words are begging to be released. I want to ask the question that lingers in my mind – what are we? And what does this mean for us? I fall silent, that we are still being watched, and that someone or something is

aware

observing our every move.

himself appear

tear my eyes away from the rain–soaked ground. “Just, you know,

a sigh, his tone filled with a frustrating and helpless

emotions.

so let’s stick together.

and in any other situation, I would welcome the sentiment. However, things are anything but

Sun, 10

Fake

appearance, he seems far from

turn to him, our eyes locking

please give me some space,

nods, his face etched with a frown. The unspoken tension hangs in the air, and with each step I take away

down, my tears blend with the raindrops, silently releasing

within me.

Even when Zeke and I have tender moments, it feels wrong because we are just part of a

to the bone and feeling exposed, and Zeke’s

silhouette against the backdrop of the shelter, his eyes mirroring a mix of worry and tenderness. I can feel the stark

urgency, Zeke swiftly covers

another sponsor.

a soothing sense of security. I hug

touch, he reaches out and brushes away my tears, his thumb leaving a comforting warmth on

breath, I whisper, careful not

on deaf ears.

“What?”

my chest. “Zeke,” I begin, my voice a fragile whisper. “What are we?”

filled with warmth, stiffen. There is a brief flicker of uncertainty on his face as he opens and closes

the intensity of my

palpable.

we can’t keep running away from this. I can’t keep ignoring this or I’ll lose my mind. Give it to me straight. Tell me, what

like a cascade, I feel the dampness seeping into my bones, mirroring the storm inside me. Facing

flood, and I can no longer keep them in

Zeke’s chest carries the weight of my frustration, confusion, and anger as I unleash my pent–up emotions. As

torment.

the impact of my punch to his chest. “Stop doing all this stuff to me if you can’t even learn

stands there, stoic and silent, taking in every blow without uttering a single word. The combination of understanding and regret etched on his face makes the silence all the moré infuriating. As

and drowning out any other

voice cracks with a blend of frustration and hopelessness. “Is anything between us even real?”

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all my punches, silently watching as all my hidden emotions come pouring out. I feel lost, realizing that the answers I want are as hard to find as the raindrops

fists pounding against his chest. “Tell me this is real. That

a

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