🌙 THE GIRL WHO LOVED CHAOS - When chaos feels like home, even heartbreak becomes addictive.
Some women chase love. Emily chased danger… because danger felt familiar. A narrative about toxic relationship.
Story: S A Spencer
Author of Popular Fictions: The Pink Mutiny, The Black Waters, Dream In Shackles
Emily Carter
was running barefoot down a Bondi backstreet at midnight, her breath tearing
through her lungs, her heart slamming against her ribs like it was trying to
escape. The pavement was cold and rough beneath her feet, but she barely felt
it. All she could see was Jake Lawson sprinting ahead of her, a stolen
motorbike helmet tucked under his arm, laughing like a man who believed the
world was his playground.
“Jake!
Stop!” she shouted, voice cracking.
He didn’t.
He never did.
A police
siren wailed somewhere behind them, slicing through the night. Emily’s pulse
spiked. She wasn’t built for this — she was a graphic designer who liked quiet
cafés and early mornings. But Jake? Jake was a storm in human form. And she
kept walking straight into him.
He darted
into a narrow alley, and she followed, skidding to a stop as he leaned against
a graffiti‑covered wall, grinning like a devil who’d just stolen fire.
“You’re
insane,” she gasped.
He winked.
“You love it.”
She hated
that he was right.
The siren
grew louder. Jake grabbed her hand and pulled her deeper into the alley. They
crouched behind a dumpster, Emily trembling, Jake still smiling like this was
foreplay.
When the
siren faded, he kissed her — hard, reckless, tasting of adrenaline and danger.
She kissed him back, even though her whole body was shaking.
That was the
moment she realised she wasn’t addicted to him. She was addicted to the chaos
he brought.
But chaos
always had a cost.
Because when
they stepped out of the alley, a man was waiting for them — tall, broad‑shouldered,
furious.
“You think
you can steal from me?” he growled.
Jake shoved
Emily behind him. “Relax, mate. It’s just a helmet.”
The man
lunged.
Jake swung.
Emily screamed. The man grabbed Jake by the collar and slammed him into the
wall.
Emily froze,
heart hammering, watching the two men grapple like animals. Jake was laughing —
actually laughing — even as the man’s fist connected with his jaw.
“Stop!” she
cried, stepping forward.
The man
turned toward her, eyes wild.
Emily
stumbled back, hitting the wall. For a moment, she thought he’d hit her.
But he
didn’t. He spat on the ground and stormed off, muttering curses.
Jake wiped
blood from his lip and grinned. “See? Fun night.”
Emily stared
at him, chest tight. “You could’ve been killed.”
He shrugged.
“But I wasn’t.”
He walked
away. She followed.
And that was
the problem.
Emily
realises she’s following a man who would let her walk into danger without a
second thought — and she can’t stop herself.
A week
earlier, Jake had taken her to a rooftop party in Surry Hills. The music was
loud, the drinks cheap, the crowd wild. Jake climbed onto the ledge, arms
outstretched, swaying dangerously.
“Jake, get
down!” Emily shouted.
He laughed.
“Relax, Em. I’ve got balance.”
He didn’t.
He slipped. For a split second, her heart stopped.
A stranger
grabbed his jacket and yanked him back. Jake laughed even harder, like he’d
just won a prize.
Emily cried
in the bathroom for ten minutes. He didn’t notice.
Two months
before that, they were walking along Coogee Beach when a man accidentally
brushed Emily’s arm. Jake snapped. He shoved the man, shouting, fists clenched.
Emily tried to pull him away, but he pushed her aside without meaning to. She
fell into the sand, humiliated.
He
apologised later. She forgave him. She always forgave him.
But the
night everything changed was the warehouse party in Marrickville.
Jake dragged
her there without explanation. The place was packed, sweaty, loud. People
danced like they were trying to shake their bones loose. Jake disappeared into
the crowd, leaving Emily alone.
She waited.
And waited. And waited.
Then the
fight broke out.
A bottle
smashed. A man screamed. Someone pulled a knife.
The crowd
surged like a wave. Emily was shoved to the ground, her knee scraping against
concrete. A boot nearly crushed her hand. She crawled toward the exit, heart
hammering, breath ragged.
Jake was
nowhere.
Outside, she
leaned against a wall, shaking uncontrollably. Blood trickled down her leg. Her
hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
She called
Jake. No answer.
She called
him again. Still nothing.
Finally, she
called Liam Brooks — the man she’d pushed away because he was “too safe.”
He arrived
in ten minutes.
He didn’t
ask questions. He didn’t judge. He just helped her into the car and drove.
Emily cried
the whole way home, her body aching, her heart hollow.
Liam didn’t
touch her. He didn’t try to fix her. He just stayed.
And that
scared her more than the warehouse.
Because
safety felt foreign. Unfamiliar. Wrong.
Emily
realises she feels more fear sitting beside a safe man than she did running
from a knife fight.
The next
morning, Emily booked a therapy session.
Dr. Harper
listened quietly as Emily recounted everything — the rooftop, the beach fight,
the warehouse, the alley, the sirens, the fear, the thrill.
“I know he’s
bad for me,” Emily whispered. “But I feel nothing with men like Liam. Nothing.
It’s like my heart only wakes up for chaos.”
Dr. Harper
leaned forward gently. “And what does chaos feel like to you?”
Emily
swallowed. “Like… love.”
A long
silence settled between them.
Then Dr.
Harper asked the question that made Emily’s entire world tilt.
“When was
the first time chaos felt like love to you?”
Emily froze.
A memory
rose — sharp, vivid, undeniable.
Her father
throwing plates. Her mother crying quietly. Emily hiding under the table, heart
racing — but feeling strangely alive.
That was the
first time she felt the rush. That was the blueprint.
Her phone
buzzed in her lap.
Jake was
calling.
Emily stared
at the screen, her pulse thudding in her ears.
She knew the
pattern. She knew the danger. She knew the truth now.
But knowing
didn’t mean she could stop.
Her thumb
hovered over the screen.
And
everything inside her fractured.
Emily
must choose between the chaos that feels like love — and the love that feels
like nothing.
📌 AUTHOR NOTE
Thank you for reading The Girl Who Loved Chaos. If Emily’s journey struck a chord with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments. Your likes, shares, and subscriptions help this blog grow and keep these stories alive.
Tell me — have you ever mistaken chaos for love?
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