20
Thunder cracks the sky open.
Thousands of droplets decorate Helia’s glass office walls, London a mere blur beyond. The wind howls outside; the sound weaves around my mind, bringing a sense of calmness over me.
I am sitting in the office, stuck on a deadline with Helia.
Another loud crack of thunder shakes the windows.
How will I get home?
Working with Helia for the past week has been torture. Not because of the tasks he gave me but because of the heightened tension between us. There are these almost-moments where I have to keep myself from touching him after that little breakdown I had in front of him.
I catch him looking at me in the elevator, and I have to look away. To avoid eye contact.
Now I am more aware of his presence and every single small detail about him than ever.
But I don’t hate what he has done. In fact, I am grateful he was able to stop me before I blurted out why I felt trapped in the elevator in the dark. So, in a way, I am grateful for the kiss.
I should have hated it, but I didn’t.
The slow, seductive way he kissed me was breath-taking. My vulnerable state didn’t allow me to think properly, and I pulled him closer to me. Instead of being ashamed, I was more aware of how he felt against my lips. More aware of how his big, strong hands that once wrapped around my neck to threaten me cupped my cheeks gently, so softly I felt myself turning into a puddle. I felt my emotions flare at his touch.
I couldn’t believe it was the same man, and now, deep in my heart, an echo of a voice begs, demands, to kiss him again, and then I find myself watching his lips all over again.
How could I think about my nemesis like that?
After he helped me? The first to ever do so?
He makes sure to monitor my work and makes me sit in his office to do work with him, but he doesn’t realise that lunches have started to feel less lonely for me. No matter if we bicker or argue or I am glaring and he is teasing me, they don’t feel like the same empty lunches anymore.
In fact, I look forward to that part of my day when, instead of work, it’s just me and him and our small arguments.
“Is rain that fascinating? I thought British people are used to it?” Helia’s voice carries across the empty office as he walks in with two folders. His long legs carry him to stand right next to me in just a couple of steps.
‘I thought British people are used to it’… Does that mean he isn’t from the UK? Where is he from?
“I am. It’s just really heavy, and it’s getting late,” I say, still worried about how I will get home.
Both of our phones ping at the same time. It’s a warning about the thunderstorm that is approaching fast, recommending us to stay where we are for the next four hours.
“This—”
“A storm?” Helia interrupts.
“No, I need to be home.”
I can’t stay here. Mum will demand that I get home no matter the weather.
I stand up, ready to head out the door, but a firm grip on my shoulder stops me. I suck in a sharp breath and spin to face Helia. His emerald eyes look deep into my own, demanding me to stay in one place.
“You’re not going anywhere, Emerald. Not in this weather.” His voice is low, twisting my stomach.
“Are you worried about me, Mr Nashwood?” I tease, finding humour in the fact that he even said it.
He frowns, his brows dropping. “Of course I am. If I lose you, who will I torment? I am too lazy to hire someone else.”
I step out of his hold. “Too bad. Get someone else to hire them for you, but I am leaving.” Turning around, I open the door, only for it to be slammed shut with a hand.
“Helia, I need to go.” I go to grab the handle, but he captures my hand in his. I bite my lip to stop my gasp.
His big hand consumes my own, its warmth wrapping me tightly. Goosebumps erupt all over my body at his touch. Those same veiny hands with those long fingers held my face, kissing me, and—
I shut my eyes, erasing the thought, and will my heart to calm down.
It was a mistake.
A mistake.
A mistake that can’t happen again. And neither can that kiss.
I should want to kill him. He took my company. He tormented me. He hates me, and I hate him.
Then why? Why is my heart beating erratically inside of me?
Is it in fear of what he may do to me in his office?
Or… is it in anticipation of what other mistakes we might make?
“Let me go,” I argue.
“First name basis with your boss? That is not professional at all,” he murmurs in my ear, the velvety voice inciting an irregular heartbeat inside of me.
“What about you? Emerald, of all names? Very unique…” I can guess he uses it because I wear that colour often.
“It was my favourite colour, but then you stole it.”
I turn around to face him. He narrows his eyes, but he looks at peace, relaxed. His breaths fall in soft puffs while his eyes watch me with heightened intensity.
“Stole it? Are you seriously arguing with me about a colour?”
He shrugs, leaning closer.
His cologne, that strong musk-and-gardenia scent, fills me to the brim. It’s addictive. It’s an unwelcome obsession.
“What if I said I want to argue about why you haven’t been looking me in the eyes?”
If I didn’t know him, I would have thought he cared for a second there, more than a boss would care about an employee.
I open my mouth, but there is no argument. I can’t tell him it’s because every time I look at him, the flashes of us kissing enter my mind, and I haven’t been able to think straight.
Or the fact that even right now, with him so close to me, I can only focus on my pounding heart and the thudding in my ears.
Helia’s eyes soften as if he found an answer in me. His body heat tempts me to curl into him to seek warmth, comfort, and safety.
With a mind of its own, my hand raises, my finger almost touching his lips, but when I realise what I am about to do, I go to drop it, but Helia takes hold of it.
A moment follows, his eyes captivating me.
Silence hangs between us, but it’s like thousands of words are said.
We aren’t meant to be, and we both know it.
If we took it even a step further, to just clench the thirst we feel, it would turn messy.
We are supposed to hate, kill, and defy each other, not try to find comfort, try to ignite a brighter fire between us.
Our breaths mingle, heavy, hot, and choking.
“Touch me,” he rasps, his body slowly pressing into mine.
“Touch me the way you want to.” He continues.
I feel my breath taken away the minute he allows me access.
“But I hate you.” I weakly argue.
His eyes don’t leave mine, not even for a mere second.
I am falling weak at the hands of the man who has written my demise. The sheer force and strength in his body would be out of this world, but right now, there is peacefulness around him that leaves me dazed.
It leaves me confused as to why I notice it, why I want those strong arms to wrap around me so he could be my armour while everyone tries to harm me for what I did.
What would Helia do if he knew about me?
He wouldn’t be like this, would he?
He wouldn’t show any mercy to me.
I’m trying to be better; so to think of him that way while not giving him the full truth… I can’t do that. No more lies and deception on my part.
I can’t keep another person in the dark. Can’t let another person suffer at my hands.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I allow my fingers to ghost over his lips, promising myself I’ll tell him everything so he can go back to hating me and stop treating me like this. I can’t see his eyes change while not knowing exactly who I was.
“You can hate me and want me, Emerald,” he whispers, and the words cut deeper.
No. You will hate me more than you ever have.
I let my fingers graze his soft lips, my touch going up to his cheek, to his eye, then across his brows. He closes his eyes, soaking in my touch.
The tips of my fingers tingle, then light up with a spark.
He breathes in, and I breathe out.
“Open your eyes, Helia.” My soft murmur opens what I believe is the portal to another world. The forest-green eyes that have trapped me with the poison they leak.
“I love the colour of your eyes.”
At the mention of the colour of his eyes, they shine, like my words make him happy.
My finger hesitantly drags over his other eye, the one with the scar, but he doesn’t move or flinch when I trace over it. The bumpy skin and the scar tissue seem from a knife wound. I would know from the many on my body.
I want to choke whoever did this to his face. Helia is handsome, and no matter if he had this scar or not, he’s still attractive, but to think he suffered through intense pain makes me rage.
“Whoever did this to you, I hope they found their hell.”
Something a lot like a proud smirk makes its way onto Helia’s face, but still, he doesn’t utter a single word, allowing me to speak my thoughts in a daze.
My heart drops, and my hand follows.
My stomach twists and twists until I can’t take it anymore. I feel sick.
“L-Let me go, Helia.” I shake my head, but Helia leans closer to me.
“You should hate me. You shouldn’t allow me to even touch you like this.” I gasp when I feel his forehead drop on my shoulder.
The action is so small, but the pain inside of me twists so fucking hard that I choke.
It makes me want to cry out because I want this. I want him. But I don’t deserve anything good.
“Ambrose—”
“Don’t you get it, Helia? I have ruined lives. I deserve everything that has fallen upon me. I have bullied, humiliated, and broken people.”
Helia’s hand on my hip tightens, and I hear his breathing turn harsher.
“I have—”
“Stop.” The force of his voice shuts me up.
Here it comes.
He lifts his head, his hands dropping from me, then he takes a step back, and the look in his eyes is gone. My hands clench tightly, my jaw ticking as I brace myself for his words.
“Get out.”
Without hesitation, I leave.
There is no explanation needed.
None.
But I do leave behind a part of me that I don’t think will ever come out as it did with Helia.
So then why, as I walk from my car to my house in the heavy rain, do I feel piercing pain inside my chest at the thought of Helia suddenly going back to the way he was?
So ruthless and unapologetic about everything?
Why does it hurt when it didn’t before?
Was it because of the small moment when I almost felt as if someone could love me? That very small, miniscule hope?