He drops into the chair behind him. I walk over and slide between his legs, my hands settling on his shoulders. My touch is soft now, but it’s a tether, a reminder that I’m here.
“Did the kiss help?” I ask with a quiet smirk. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he bites the inside of his cheek, and his eyes narrow a little, not with anger, but with thought.
That’s when I see it. The faint, red fingerprint on the edge of his jaw. I blink. My body goes still. That wasn’t mine. That wasn’t from me. It’s feminine, I can tell by the size. It’s fresh. And the only name that flashes across my mind, Juaqína. I lean in, gently brushing my thumb along the mark.
“Wah happen to yuh face?” His nostrils flare before he answers. His jaw ticks again, hardening. The storm is creeping back in. I reach for his hand, grounding him again.
“Babe… nuh bother get angry. Not now. When you ready fi talk, mi deh yah. Mi ears open. Mi heart open.”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, he grips my waist again and pulls me down onto his lap, like he can’t decide if he wants space or to disappear into me. I let him. Because sometimes love doesn’t start with words. Sometimes, it starts with holding a man together when the world can’t.
11
Hrs & Hrs
I thread my fingers through his hair, slow, gentle, like I’m trying to loosen whatever knot is sitting in his chest.
“You ready fi talk to me?” I ask, voice quiet in the hush between us.
It’s been a while. Too long since either of us spoke. I’m exaggerating, sure but it feel like we been stuck in this silence for hours. Just me. Him. This heavy air between us. Still, he doesn’t answer.
I lean in more, resting my chin on his shoulder, still playing with his hair. “Yuh sure you nuh ready fi tell mi which girl box yuh?”
I ask it soft, teasing but not mocking. Just trying to open a door he clearly not ready to walk through.
“Hmm?” I whisper again, letting my arms wrap around him from behind, my fingertips tracing slow patterns along his shoulder blade.
I know it might come off annoying. But I’m learning him. And what I’ve figured out is: sometimes, to reach him, I have to press. Gently, but firm. Push, just enough to loosen the seal.
He breathes in deep, a silent warning that he’s about to share something heavy. “Mi a go tell yuh… b-but wul on,” he says, voice low and steady.
I sit up slightly, and his arms wrap tight around my waist like a reflex. Like he don’t want me going anywhere now that he’s found the courage. “I was gonna get something for you to drink,” I murmur.
But his grip doesn’t loosen, so I know the answer is no. He leans back slightly, head resting against my chest. “Mi link mi madda… and mi see Lorie deh.”
His voice is slower now. Unpacking memories he’d rather bury.
“Lorie is a bar girl weh mi madda feel sorry fah. Have her a stay up deh same place where mi did live before. Me and her did mess round… nothing serious. She know mi did have other girl. She act like it never phase her.” He pauses. I feel the tension roll back into his spine.
“But mi see now say it was all a façade. Cause she start move like she have feelings fi me.” I stay quiet, fingers brushing the back of his neck. I don’t ask questions. I don’t pull away. I just listen.
“When mi go deh today… she see the ring weh yuh post.” His voice hardens.
“And she just… snap. Like something bruk inside har. She box mi, just so. Like she forget me is a mad man.” He exhales. I rub his shoulder. His silence between words feels like grief.
“Mi wul it though,” he adds. “Mi never react how me want to. Cause mi tell miself mi nah be like mi fadda. Him use to always tek out him anger pon woman… mi nah do dat. Even if mi body abeg mi fi retaliate.” I nod, rubbing slow circles into his shoulder with my thumb.
Mi know dis man fighting demons I’ll never fully see. His father? Damaged him in ways love alone can’t fix. But still… I’m trying.
“So a she box yuh cause she see mi ring?” I ask softly. He nods.
The girl follow me? No sah I need to private my page. He sighs, and the way his lips press together tells me everything, he’s still angry. Angry that he let it happen, and even angrier that he didn’t retaliate. That kind of restraint? It cuts deep when you come from fire.
“Um…” I hesitate. The name tastes dangerous in my mouth. “Juaqína…” I stop myself. He’s already on the edge. And I don’t want to push him off it. But he’s already looking up at me, eyes narrowed slightly, waiting.
“Never mind that,” I say quickly, trying to smile it off, running my hand down his chest.
“Wah ‘bout Juaqína?” he asks, his voice low, but sharp. The kind of tone you don’t ignore twice.
