The act of drowning was to die underwater. I had almost drowned once when I was seven years old, but instead of making me afraid of water, it was almost like the water had branded me as one of its own, transformed me into a child of the sea, and from that point on saltwater ran through my veins.

15 years later, I found myself drowning above water. I was drowning in lights, in sounds, in bodies. The heavy, stale air around me was suffocating, like a fish stranded on a hot beach. How I ended up in a nightclub in Monte Carlo in what seemed like the blink of an eye was past my level of understanding, and even though I knew I should have been enjoying my night, the only thing it did was emphasize my hatred of crowds. I needed water...or something stronger.

"Sav? Savannah!"

I could barely hear Gemma's voice above the thrumming base of the music, but she suddenly materialized in front of me in all her blonde, model-esque glory, almost sending me toppling over in my ankle-breaking heels.

"Here, you look like you need this." She grinned and handed me a glass, heavy and dripping with perspiration. My silent pleas had been answered in the form of a rum and coke, with a little pink umbrella sticking out of the top.

"God, are we in Monaco or fucking Sandals in the Bahamas," I muttered under my breath. "I don't think this is what Nina had in mind when she said have a good time."

I had a break in my surfing schedule, so I used the time to visit my childhood best friend Gemma out in England, where she was finishing up her graduate degree in London, like the proper functioning adult that I always knew she was going to be. We got suckered into flying down to Monaco for the weekend for her school friend Nina's birthday. It wasn't that uncommon for childhood friend and university friend to clash, but Nina and I clashed like sea water beat upon rocks on the shore. We tolerated each other for Gemma, which is why I guessed she was kind enough to include me in her more than excessive birthday plans.

But the universe worked in mysterious ways, and Nina gave Cinderella a run for her money as she was whisked away by some tall, dark mystery man before the clock had struck 12, leaving Gemma and I to enjoy the last of our night together alone. Couldn't say I was sad to see Nina go.

By midnight, we lingered against a wall by the modern-looking, plexiglass bar of the club, watching neon lights dance on the high ceiling. I didn't even know what the club was called. A group of guys bumped us as they walked by, nearly sending me to the floor and Gemma's fresh drink onto her dress.

"You can't be serious," Gemma fanned her face with her hand, her silver chain bracelet clattering against her watch. "This place is like a cesspool of testosterone and bad decisions. Maybe all men are just descendants of sticky lizard people."

"God, you gotta get over Harrison and his oxfords," I said with the flick of my wrist. Gemma had only been going out with Harrison for a few weeks, but apparently that was the limit of how long he could pretend to not be a chauvinistic asshole. The British accent was a real deflector, and Gemma had diplomatically broken things off last week.

"At least he had nice shoes." Gemma sighed into her drink. "I need to stop spinning the wheel of fortune and just pick a guy already."

I smirked and pushed myself off the wall. "No offense, but maybe you're just firing at the wrong targets. Why don't you let me pick a guy for you?"

"Oh right, great idea," Gemma scoffed. "You pick a guy for me and he'll probably end up playing the ukulele and be part of some no pants revolution."

"I'm going to ignore your cruel social commentary about my taste in men because I love you, and I'm now determined to prove you wrong and make your night memorable." I paused and took a long sip of my drink, loosening up my bones and my nerves. "Besides, everyone says the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else."

"I'm pretty sure nobody says that." Gemma's tone was dripping with sarcasm, but she threw a grin my way.

I raked a chunk of hair away from my face and scanned the room, watching more faceless bodies congregate on the dance floor. I pursed my lips, desperate for some beam of divine light to shine down on someone with a chorus of angels singing halle-fucking-luja.

A small group of guys were huddled at the far corner on the other side of the plexiglass bar, the lights of the club illuminating their faces in brief flashes. One guy stuck out as the lights highlighted his soft hair and his angular bone structure. Not a divine light, but it was close enough.

"Him." I pointed at the guy. He laughed at something, and his smile was gigawatt brilliant in the dark of the club. "The dark-haired one. Cute but looks like he doesn't know it. Red polo shirt, tight jeans."

Gemma groaned. "Who even wears polo shirts anymore?"

"See! That's your problem, you're too judgmental." I tugged on her arm and pulled her out to the edge of the dance floor to get a closer look.

Red polo guy broke away from his circle and walked towards the back of the club where the doors to the back deck were. He was still smiling.

"Look, he's alone, now's your chance." I nudged her in the back again.

"Sav, I don't know-"

"Gemma Frost, if you don't do this, I swear to god you are buying me breakfast at that all-day buffet in our hotel tomorrow, and I will eat my weight in pancakes. Go!"

"Fine," Gemma pouted. "Carpe fucking diem."

Dark silhouettes obscured the foreground, but Gemma's blonde hair gleamed as the brief strobes of light flashed overhead. Gemma and her sleek, silvery dress skirted around the perimeter of the dance floor like a shark would circle prey, but she then stopped on a dime, the conviction in her chase suddenly gone.

I wracked my brain for a snarky comment about pancakes, knowing that Gemma was in the process of bailing. It wasn't every day I witnessed my best friend deviate from a challenge, and I was ready to bask in the glory. As I moved to intercept her, someone knocked into me, and I watched in horrifying slow motion as my full drink and cell phone were knocked from my arm, tumbling towards the floor to their doom. Before I could even blink, a hand snapped out and caught my phone before it hit the sticky, alcohol soaked tiles.

"Wow, nice save," I breathed out, and when he looked up at me, my heart ricocheted against my ribs. He laughed, exposing the brilliant white of his too-perfect teeth, and when he handed me my phone back, my chest felt like it had been set on fire.

"Sorry about your drink," he said, and his words rolled off his tongue in a mix of accents I'd never heard before, but god if I didn't want him to keep talking.

"It's okay," I gave him a shrug. "No use crying over spilled rum, I guess."

He smirked and leaned back against the bar. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the way his biceps strained against the sleeves of his black t-shirt and the way the hem of the shirt rode up, exposing a sliver of skin above the waistband of his jeans. There was a casual elegance in the way he stood, like the kind of guy who never had to try very hard to get what he wanted. His entire profile was angular and strong, with bits of scruff dotting his jawline, and there was a kink in his nose, like he'd probably broken it as a teenager. Whoever he was, he knew exactly what he was doing.

He said something to the bartender in what sounded like French and was immediately served two more drinks, this time without the frilly umbrellas.

"Here." He handed me a glass, still dripping with perspiration, and it nearly slipped out of my hands again as his fingers brushed against mine.

I gave him a smile, hoping to deter from the heat filling my cheeks. "Thanks, uh..."

"Atlas."

The lights from inside the club finally hit his eyes. I was sucked into them immediately, crystal blue like an ocean I could see the bottom of, but still drown in. A brilliant white streak cut through his otherwise dark hair above his left eyebrow. He didn't just sound like a superhero - he damn well looked the part, and I was overcome with the urge to run my hands through that streak of white hair, desperate to feel its history.

"Savannah," I replied.

"Savannah," he echoed, and my heart damn near exploded, enamored by his voice. There was a lilting musicality to the thickness of his British accent, but there was something else unidentifiable that twisted up in his words, and in the way he said my name. He leaned in closer to me, close enough that I could smell the liquor on his breath and the woodsy cologne on his neck.

"I think your friend is talking to my friend," he said and jerked his head towards the other side of the bar. Sure enough, there was Gemma, smiling her effervescent smile at Red Polo Shirt Guy, but he was smiling back.

"Oh, that's your friend?" I asked with a playful grin. "He's not a psychopath or anything right?"

"No," Atlas shook his head. "Just a sore loser sometimes."

Even though I was sure it was an inside joke lost on me, I laughed louder than I intended too, but he laughed too.

"Well good," I nodded. "I told her if she didn't go talk to him she owed me breakfast at the hotel buffet tomorrow."

"I'm sure Cal would be glad to know he's worth more than hotel breakfast." He kept grinning at me, his gaze wandering up and down the length of my body. Heat rolled through my stomach, and I found myself regretting the tight, rust-colored midi dress I had on that probably made me look like a piece of flank steak. Despite all that, the opportunity wasn't lost on me to do the same to him, and while he was dressed simple enough, the faint glimmer of the diamond Cartier bracelets on his right wrist had the gears in my mind turning. He couldn't have been much older than me, but I didn't have much time to overthink any of it as he met my gaze with a smirk and raked his hair away from his forehead, the streak of white catching the blueish purple of the strobe lights.

The lights in his eyes danced, and it sucked me into a whole new galaxy.

"Do you wanna dance?" I blurted out.

It seemed like at first I took him by surprise, but then he gave me a coy smile and slipped his hand in mine, leading me towards the dance floor.

Bass from the music radiated through the floor and up my legs, but Atlas pulled me into his body, and he steadied me as I felt myself melt into him. His hands worked their way up my thighs to the hem of my dress, guiding my hips into his as we swayed to the beat of a song I didn't know. His breath caressed my neck, and even in the choking heat of the club, it sent chills down my spine.

My left knee began to tremble, and I knew in the back of my mind a night like this would set my recovery back, but the way his hands moved up and down my body, confident but with a soft sensuality, dissolved the pain.

Atlas spun me around so our chests were pressed against one another's, and I hoped he couldn't feel the frantic beat of my heart through the thin fabric of his shirt. He had pulled me in, the way a wayward comet gets caught in a planet's orbit. My nerves were firing off faster than my body could keep up, and it made me realize that I'd never wanted anyone as badly as I wanted him - a literal stranger - in that moment.

I ran my hand up the sharp angle of his jaw, resting my fingers where I could feel his pulse through his neck. It was calm and steady, like his arms as they pulled me closer into him. First our foreheads touched, and even though we were both sweaty and almost suffocating in the thick, dense air of the club, I still wanted to be closer. Our noses brushed, and our lips were centimeters apart when I was suddenly bumped in the shoulder and buckled under my bad knee. Before I could hit the floor, Atlas's arms caught me, with his seemingly inhuman reflexes on full display again.

"Holy shit what is wrong with people," I muttered, readjusting the shoulder strap of my dress. My face burned as he moved his hands from my shoulders back down to my waist, pulling me closer still. "...thank you. Again."

He looked down at me and ran his tongue across his bottom lip, my stomach lurching for just a taste.

"You want to get out of here?" His voice fluttered against my ear. "Somewhere less...congested."

"Abso-fucking-lutely," I replied without a moment of hesitation.

He reached down and took my hand in his, gently guiding me off of the dance floor and towards the back doors. I glanced around for Gemma, still posted up at the far end of the bar with Red Polo Shirt guy. Our eyes met, and I mouthed oh my god to her, my eyes wide as I jerked my head toward Atlas. She gave me a coy smirk and a nod, holding her drink up to me until she was out of sight.

A forgiving summer breeze hit me as we stepped out onto the city sidewalk and dried the sweat on the back of my neck. Before I could even find my footing, Atlas was pulling me into a black SUV, and for a split second I went into panic mode. Young American girl disappears after last being seen with handsome British stranger on the streets of Monaco.

"Where are we going?" I asked, trying to teeter on the edge of being alert without sounding like a total freak.

"Is my place okay?" Atlas leaned over and breathed out against my cheek.

His place? Words jumbled into a knot in my throat, and all I could manage was a nod. Nina was no doubt still tangled up with her knight in Armani armor, so it wasn't like we had a choice.

Atlas said something to the driver in French, and we glided away into the city. The backseat of the SUV was expansive, but we sat with our thighs pressed up against one another, our knees bumping with even the slightest twists and turns.

He moved with the same speed and precision when we pulled up to an old, intricate white stone building, but he led me away from the golden entranceway, giving the man at the door a nod before taking us down a cobblestone alleyway. Lights flickered from the building above us so we weren't in complete darkness, but it still made my heart thunder against my ribs.

"Any particular reason we can't use the front door? Are you like...part of the Monte Carlo mafia or something?" I asked with a forced chuckle.

"I just uh...I don't like drawing attention to myself," he replied with a grin, bringing us to an industrial metal door that looked out of place forced into the side of such a refined, antique building. "Even if I was, do you think I'd tell you?"

I barely had time to be confused as he swiped a key card that looked similar to the one I had for my hotel room, and he forced the door open with his shoulder. It looked like a service entry to the building as we wormed around stark white back hallways and stairwells until we finally emerged in a secluded part of the lobby. The crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling were dimmed, bathing us in a soft, warm glow. Our footsteps were silent as we walked along a ruby red carpeted hallway towards an elevator at the back of the building, and as we stopped in front of it, he finally let go of my hand.

I exhaled heavily, feeling my knees start to shake. "I take it you've done that before."

"Considering I live here, yeah," he replied with a grin. Despite his statement in the car, actually hearing him say he lived in Monte Carlo - in a building with chandeliers and a doorman, no less - threw my stomach for a loop.

I didn't have much time to be shell shocked as the elevator arrived with a ding. I scurried onto the elevator after him, but the moment the doors closed behind us, all of the lingering touches and heated glances from the night came to a head. The elevator suddenly seemed huge as he moved towards me, pressing his body into mine against the cold silver wall and putting his hands on my hips. In heels I was tall enough to lean up and brush my lips against his, and it was like a match to gasoline. Fire ran wild through my body as he took control, cradling my head in his hands and running his tongue along the inside of my mouth. I gripped onto his shirt and pulled him closer to me, but it still wasn't close enough.

The elevator dinged, causing us to jerk away from each other, our temporary euphoria lost in swollen lips and messy hair.

He led me down the hallway in silence, both our bodies jittering and refusing to come down from the high. There couldn't have been more than six rooms on the floor, with little gold numbers on the door marking each apartment, and what I could only assume was his, was the last one on the end.

"Oh, before I forget," he turned on his heel and leaned back against his door. "I have a dog. A big dog. He's friendly, but some people get weird about it."

"Don't worry, I'm a dog person," I hurriedly assured him, trying not to think too much about how many other people who got weird about it he brought back to his apartment on a nightly basis.

"Okay, good," he smiled down at me. He turned back around and punched in a code on the keypad above the door handle, ushering me inside and shutting the door behind him with a gentle click.

He kept the lights in the entranceway off, walking through the open floor plan to a kitchen space, flicking on two hanging lights over a large island dotted with three clear plexiglass barstools. Everything was clean and sleek, accented in chrome and marble. We were immediately greeted with the sound of nails tapping against the hardwood floor, and out of the darkness of the apartment came a massive black dog, with pointed ears and coat of fur thick and dark like a shadow. It was barely a dog - it could have passed for a wolf in the wild.  

"Hey hey hey," he snapped at the dog before he could get any closer, then said something else in French that got him to sit, tilting his head up at me.

"His name is Phantom. You can pet him if you want, I just don't like him approaching people without permission," Atlas explained with a shrug. "He travels with me, and he's around strangers a lot, and most people when they see that walking up to them, they get a little freaked out." He paused and gave Phantom a pointed look. "We're working on it."

I crouched down and scratched Phantom between the ears, and he almost responded with a smile, his tongue flopping out the side of his mouth.

"I get it," I said, more to Phantom than Atlas. "I have a Samoyed. He's basically the yang to your yin. He's a little intimidating, but he's just a big fluffy white marshmallow."

While I showered Phantom with affection, Atlas walked around the kitchen island to the large chrome accented fridge and yanked it open, taking out two water bottles and sliding one across the pristine marble countertop to me. I finally stood up and returned my attention back to the handsome, seemingly otherworldly man I found myself in the presence of. My stomach rolled with the prospect of what the rest of the night held. I wanted to latch onto him in ways I couldn't begin to understand, but I settled for taking the water bottle first.

"Oh, uh...thanks." It seemed like such a small gesture, but the subtle kindness of it took me by surprise, and I turned the bottle over in my hands as I watched him down nearly all of his in one go. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned back against the counter by the fridge. The same sound of nails clacking against the hardwood retreated back to the corners of the dark apartment until it was silent once again.

"I have something stronger, if you want." Atlas nodded his head towards a dark, antique-looking bar pressed against the far wall, a stark contrast to all the modern accents of the kitchen. There were several bottles of wine, whiskey that even looked more expensive than my car, and more champagne than any normal person had.

I grinned at him. "You know, the more time goes on, the more I'm convinced of my mafia theory. You travel a lot with your highly intimidating wolf dog, and you just keep bottles of Moet & Veuve lying around. Gifts from your seedy clients, no doubt."

"Alright you got me," he shrugged. "I'm actually a hitman. My specialty is petites morts."

I furrowed my brows, my French dismal at best. "Little deaths?"

Atlas nodded, finishing off his water. "You see, the French believe that when you orgasm, it's so intense that you actually die, and then you're reborn as a new person."

A wildfire ripped through me, and with it came the veneration that willed my body to move on its own, begging to be as close to him as our moment in the elevator. I walked around to the other side of the island and casually leaned against it. I had confidence in myself when it came to interacting with guys, and casual sex wasn't foreign to me, but something in the air around him and the way he carried himself sent my nerves into a lustful frenzy.

"Well then..." I gave him a coy grin. "I guess I wouldn't mind being reborn. Like a phoenix from the ashes. That's kinda sexy."

He pushed himself off the counter to close the space between us, and his cologne tickled my nose. He reached down and brushed his thumb over my lips, tilting my chin up towards him. His icy eyes studied me as a faint smile pulled at his lips. "Then it fits you well."

With tense, fervent desire ballooning in the air between us, he reached down and took my hand, gently leading me away from the kitchen. With the other lights still off, I couldn't take in too much more of his apartment as he took me to his bedroom, still reeling from the fact that he actually lived there.

The moment the door to his bedroom closed behind me, we collided. Our mouths, our bodies, and every intricacy of our beings, all tangled up and unwilling to part. I wasted no time pulling his shirt off, reveling in the feeling of his muscles under my hands. We fumbled over to his perfectly made bed without separating, and in one smooth motion he slid my dress off and pulled me on top of him. His mouth began exploring my bare skin, from my neck down to my chest, and I had to bite down on my lip to keep myself from moaning. I craved control, but I couldn't decide if I craved him more.

I pulled away from him and sat up, my thighs straddling his waist. I ran one finger down the ridge in his abs, stopping just above the waistband of his black Calvin Klein boxers.

"You know..." I leaned forward ever so slightly, feeling all the liquid confidence I had surge to the surface. "I'm a surfer."

"Oh really?" He grinned.

"Yeah," I nodded, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "And I'm most comfortable in a position like this, where I can, you know, ride my best."

I pushed my hips deeper into his, and a low moan escaped his lips. Before I could even bask in the satisfaction, he flipped us over furiously fast, his body rigid as it pressed me deeper into the bed.

"Well, I lied before," he breathed out. "I'm not a hitman."

I chuckled. "I figured as much."

Atlas brushed his fingers down my stomach, leaving little trails of heat in their path. "Well I suppose I've still been referred to as a weapon of sorts in my profession, although I think it's just part of this whole alpha dog persona that other people have given me."

"Oh really?" I echoed his coy grin from before. "You gonna transform under the full moon too?"

Atlas then leaned down close to me, so close that I could taste his lips on mine.

"Not exactly. But uh...if you're lucky tonight..." his voice was barely a whisper. "You'll still get to hear me howl."

breathe in for a little while
goosebumps down my waistline
i feel the fire, burning in craze
fall into your hands

chasing the wild / hippie sabotage

welcome (back) to monaco baby!

like i mentioned in my prelude notes, this is a fully fictional, edited version of a story i posted last year. i refuse to let anyone or anything ruin this experience for me again, as it brought me a lot of joy when i wrote it offline, and one of my 2022 intentions for wattpad and writing is simply write what brings me joy, so here we are. gemma belongs to my best m8 w1ldflow3r, and savannah & gemma really held us and our sanity together during COVID last year - we had over 150 pages of shared google docs notes for our stories, and it was just FUN. i'd like it to remain fun, so let's get a few things out of the way now;

- please treat this as a brand new story. there were several reasons for its removal the first time, and i would rather not relive all that. we're starting fresh here. rude or unnecessary comments will be deleted, and i have no issue muting people. this is a positive space.

- atlas is his own character with his own personality, history, traits, (and dog) and i spent a lot of time and effort creating him, so please refrain from doing the 'oh this reminds me of this real person or that real person' thing. trust me, there is nobody like atlas 🤌🏻

however, if you're a first time reader...welcome to the show. i hope you love my babies, take good care of them, and let me know your thoughts on chapter one!

ps; atlas's white streak of hair is called a 'mallen streak' - it's like one of those weirdly niche physical traits that i'm shamelessly obsessed with, so of course i've given it to our main man, and i will consistently remind you that he has it lol