“Are you saying I can’t come in and get my furniture? Now I’m wondering how the property management people would feel about your subletting activity?” Micah says in that containedway of his. Low and lethal. And it should not be as attractive as it is.
Jasper glares at him and then at me, before stepping back and letting us through the door. I can tell the silence won’t last. Bullies can’t seem to help themselves, especially when they’re at a disadvantage. My plan is to move all the furniture out into the hallway first, then we can work toward getting it downstairs. I don’t want Micah spending any more time than necessary in this dump.
Micah’s cautious as he opens the door to his room. I hate it on sight. No wonder he spends all his time in his gym corner. It’s nicer than this dump. The dim light from the tiny window gives the room a dreary feel, and the faded off-white walls don’t help the situation. There’s a nasty brown water stain on the ceiling right above the bed that has me clenching my teeth. I don’t need confirmation to grasp that he was being overcharged for this dismal piece of real estate. It’s a small comfort that he won’t be living here anymore. It’s bad enough that he had to live here at all.
We’re about halfway done when Jasper feels the need to heckle Micah. I have no idea why he thinks that’s the right move, especially with me standing right here. I’m not one to physically intimidate people outside of the cage, but today it’s doing important work.
It begins as muttering, but soon it grows to outright insults when Micah walks by Jasper perching on the back of the sofa. His words are too low for me to hear, but Micah’s back stiffens. My rage spirals up again, simmering just below the surface, ready to erupt with the right pressure.
He doesn’t bother keeping his voice down the second time as we awkwardly maneuver Micah’s mattress through the doorway. We’ve only got his desk and the bed frame left.
“Fucking asshole. I hope you have to live in your car. You were trash when you moved in and I knew it.”
I’m stunned by the amount of venom in his voice, and it does nothing to help my rising fury. I remind myself that jail isn’t a place I want to visit, and as a trained fighter, I can’t punch him in the face, no matter how much he deserves it. But it’s a near thing.
Micah’s face pales at Jasper’s insults, shoulders hunching in that familiar way they do when he’s hurting. My entire body tenses and my jaw clamps as I grit my teeth.
We go back for the desk and when we’re maneuvering it by the couch, Jasper starts in on Micah again.
“Trash with no family. Parents probably threw you back…”
This time I can hear him, and it guts me. What the actual fuck is this guy’s issue? Micah’s wince is all it takes for me to act, because I’m done. My rage explodes, and I’m moving before I’m even aware of it.
Jasper doesn’t even get to finish his insult before I have him pinned against the wall. My hands are around his throat, not choking him, but putting him on notice.
“You better think real hard about what you say next, asshole. Because you’re on my last nerve right now.”
My fingers squeeze his throat, not enough that he can’t breathe but enough that he’s feeling the pressure. His eyes widen and I see real fear for the first time today, and it’s in that moment he understands he’s dealing with someone he can’t bully. I’ve never enjoyed making someone cower, but a dark satisfaction fills me, the strength of which is surprising.
I let the reality of his situation sink in before loosening my hold, but only enough that he’s able to speak. Then I let my fighter out, giving him the ruthless face I save for the cage.
The blood drains from his face and it’s far more gratifying than it should be, but I’m past caring because my fury is driving the bus now.
“Let me make this incredibly clear so even someone as stupid as you can understand. Micah is mine. Mine. You don’t look at him. You don’t talk to him. You don’t touch him. You don’t go near him. Ever. You even think about it and I’ll be up your ass like you read about. He’s mine and you don’t mess with what’s mine.”
The acidic smell of urine hits me, and there’s a wet spot on the front of Jasper’s jeans. I’m tempted to snicker, but that won’t send the right message. Humiliation is the only thing a bully truly understands, which means I let him stew.
“Nod if you understand me?”
He nods frantically, unable to move his head by much with my fingers still around his throat. When I finally let him go, he sags back against the wall, trembling.
“Maybe you should go change while we finish up,” I say, my voice full of as much derision as I can muster, before deliberately turning my back on him.
Micah’s wide green eyes meet mine as I move to grab the other side of the desk we’re currently moving.
“Ready?” I ask, as if I didn’t just threaten his former landlord.
Micah nods, his shocked look is slowly replaced by a more assessing expression. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. In true Micah style, he’ll take his time processing everything before he’ll even say a word. I let him see me. Bare of everything I’ve been keeping to myself. Let him see it. It’s out there now. I’ve been hiding this for so long, and it’s a profound relief to let it go.
“Yes. Let’s do this,” he says finally, shooting me a soft smile before picking up his end of the desk. The smile is more than I’d hoped for, so I’ll take it.
As we maneuver the unwieldy piece of furniture into the hallway, I hear a door slam in the background. Micah’s shoulders relax despite the desk he’s holding.
Thank God that’s done.
“You okay?” I ask Micah. “That was intense.”
He looks at me, his expression unreadable.
