I ignore him. My hand shaking, my blood feels like fire. Mi wah box dung smaddy. Mi wah bruk supm.
“Bad man, yuh affi cool dung before yuh go out deh mad, enuh,” he tries again, but I still don’t respond.
I push open the front door and the breeze hit my face. As I step out, my sister rushes over and wrap me in a hug. Her voice soft. “Calm down, big brother… please.”
ZARA
The door slams, hard. I jump. My heart damn near stops. Nickoi. He doesn’t say a word as he storms past the kitchen, his eyes locked on some invisible thing only he can see. His jaw is tight. His body stiff. His whole energy? Off. Like scary-off. I don’t even think, I slide off the counter and follow him up the stairs. My feet feel too loud on the steps.
“Nickoi?” I call, but I already know he’s not going to answer. He’s not in the room. I check the office and—
Yeah. There he is. He’s sitting in the chair, frozen, eyes glued to the canvas like it’s doing something to him. Like he can’t look away. I linger in the doorway, quiet. Watching. Waiting. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just breathes like he’s trying to keep himself from, I don’t know. Breaking? Exploding? I take a slow step in. Then another. It’s too quiet. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why he’s like this. But the way he’s sitting, shoulders tense, hands gripping the armrests, I know it’s bad. This isn’t normal. This isn’t just ‘he’s upset’ this is something darker.
I stop a few feet away from him. “You okay, baby?”
Nothing. His eyes don’t leave the canvas. Like I didn’t speak. Like I’m not even in the room. I start messing with my fingers, twisting them, anything to not just stand here useless.
“Y-you wanna talk?”
He turns his head, slowly, like I interrupted something sacred. His eyes meet mine. And I freeze. They’re… empty. Not angry. Not sad. Just… blank. Like whatever he’s feeling, it’s buried under ice.
He exhales through his nose. A harsh, tired sound. “No.”
One word. Cold. Final. It hits harder than if he shouted. He looks away again. Back to the painting. Back to pretending I’m not here. And I stand here like an idiot. Still fumbling my fingers. Still scared to touch him.
Because whatever this is… It’s bad.
“I know something’s wrong,” I say softly, fingers fidgeting at my side. “But I’ll give you space… we can talk when you’re ready.”
I turn to leave.
“Zara.” My name comes out of him like command and apology all at once.
I pause mid-step. His voice hits the back of my neck like heat, not anger, but weight. Something in it tells me not to go. Not yet. I turn, and he’s standing now, hands braced on the desk, shoulders broad and stiff like he’s fighting to keep something inside. His head is slightly bowed, jaw clenched, eyes heavy under his lashes. I walk slowly toward him. The tension rolls off his skin, thick, silent, pulsing like bass in a dark room.
“You ready to talk?” I ask, keeping my voice low, respectful of whatever storm he’s holding back.
His eyes lift to mine. One second. Two.
“You can tal—” He doesn’t let me finish.
He surges forward and grabs my face, his mouth crashing into mine like his control finally snapped. It isn’t soft.
It’s not gentle. It’s urgent. Possessive. Honest. And my body reacts before my brain does. The breath leaves my lungs in one hard exhale. My knees damn near forget their job. His lips arehot and full and slightly trembling, like he needed this more than air. He kisses like he’s afraid of what he’ll say if he speaks instead. His hand slips down, gripping the back of my thigh, his fingers strong, but his touch careful. Like he knows exactly where to hold me to remind me I’m his, without ever needing to say it.
I don’t just feel it in my mouth, I feel it in the back of my neck, down my arms, in the way my hips sway forward without thinking. His other hand curls around the back of my neck, grounding me, as he lifts me onto the desk. My back hits the wood, cool against my skin, but I’m already burning. Not with lust. With connection.
When his tongue finds mine, I lose the rhythm of my breathing. My fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, not because I’m trying to pull him closer, but because I’m trying to hold onto whatever control I have left. Every nerve in my body has turned toward him. My chest is rising like I just ran. My thighs tense around him automatically. And somewhere deep inside me, something is unraveling, like this kiss is reaching a version of me even I’ve never met.
He pulls back, both of us breathless. I blink slowly, like I need time to return to myself. His gaze is on me. Low. Focused. But he’s not scanning me for reaction, he’s reading me like I’m a scripture. Like he’s memorizing what he just caused.
He still looks tense. But different. Less trapped. Like something finally let go inside him. “How you feel now?” I ask, still catching my breath.
His eyes flick down to my lips again, like he’s considering another kiss. “Much better,” he says, voice low and weighty.
He lifts me off the desk slowly, carefully, hands firm on my waist, like letting go too fast might undo all of it. I adjust my clothes, heartbeat still clinging to my ribs. My lips tingle, not from pressure from presence.
“So what now?” I ask, my voice smaller than I meant it to be.
