17
OLIAS
Clicking the heat on in my car, I hold the phone like it might bite my ear off.
"Michael, are you fucking close or what?" I quickly spit out, the phone answering.
"I'm turning the corner. Be there in a few seconds," he responds.
I end the call by lowering the phone, raindrops falling on the screen.
My head is pounding, but not as fast as my heart against my chest. After hearing what Clarity told me, my first instinct was to go after that son of a bitch. But I couldn't, not with Clarity in this state.
So I called Michael, the only friend I have that I trust completely with her, to take her to my house.
She sits beside me in the passenger seat of my car, her knees up, and her hair starting to dry a bit. If she were any other person, I'd tell her to put her feet down. But she could completely wreck my car, and I wouldn't care.
She stares straight ahead, her consecutive nose sniffles filling the car.
Her face is red and swollen, and I stare at the bruise on her cheekbone and the other on her eyebrow.
A pit opens up in my stomach at the sight, my guts falling through it.
"Why did you go back?" I break the silence with my words.
She sniffs, wiping a tear. She shakes her head and says, "I don't know." The words escape her weakly. She doesn't look at me once.
She continues, "I thought he really meant his words this time, but I guess everyone seems to be lying to me lately."
The loss of hope in her words stabs my heart, knowing they are partially aimed towards me.
I hold onto the steering wheel tightly, "Clarity, I'm sorr—"
"I don't—" she turns to me, voice raising to cut me off before lowering. "I don't want to hear that word anymore. Please. I'd rather not talk at all."
I nod, wanting to hug her like she does me all the time. I want to say something, anything, to explain to her everything that happened at that party and with my phone.
But I don't. Because silence is what she wants, and it's what she'll get.
Moments later, a horn honks behind us, and I spin around to look out the rear mirror, seeing Michael's car.
I open the door to my car and get out, circling the front and opening Clarity's.
"Come on. Michaels taking you to my house, okay?"
She looks confused as she glances between Michael getting out of his car and me. "But where are you going?"
"To talk to Jonah. I'll need his address, too." I help her out of the car and walk her to Michael, opening the back door for her.
She shakes her head frantically, scared. "Olias, you can't . He's fought a lot before."
"And you don't think I haven't?" I ask nonchalantly.
“But—”
"Get in the car, Clarity."
“Olias—”
“I said get in the car.”
She grabs my hand, and I almost fold in at the tender touch of her wet fingers.
Her face is once again filled with worry and fear. "I don't want you getting in trouble for me.” She pauses before continuing, “I need you here... with me . Not in a lonely cell."
I bring my hands to her face, holding her neck and standing close. "He tried to rape you, Clarity. You said it yourself those exact words. I know you may be too nice to want him fucking dead, but I'm not." I gently graze my thumb over her wound, and she jumps at the contact.
I swallow the bile in my throat. Pressing my forehead down on hers. This wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t give her reasons to hate me. "Let me fix what I've broken between us. Let me make this right, and I swear no one will ever lay a finger on your pretty head again."
I close my eyes before continuing quietly, "But if you really don't want me to, then I'll stay."
She tilts her head up to look at me. My eyes dart across her face for an answer.
Her lips part, and she tells me the address.
It's only a few blocks away from here. She must have run to the building rooftop from his house.
My jaw locks, and I nod, softly stealing a kiss from her forehead just once before moving to the side. "Get in. I'll come back to you soon."
She listens, climbing in before raising her pinky. "Tonight?"
I raise my pinky and wrap it around hers, and she looks at it, her eyes widening at the sight of the tattoo.
I promise it reads in scripted ink.
She looks up at me, disbelief on her face.
"Tonight," I say before stepping back and shutting the door.
I walk around towards the front window to Michael. He slides the window down to hear me. "The key is still under my apartment door-mate. Just get her inside, and she will know where everything else is."
He nods. "You sure you don't need help?"
I shake my head. "No." I look behind the seat at Clarity, staring through the window, and then back at Michael. "Did you bring it?" I whisper.
He nods. Opening the small compartment in his car, revealing the handgun he had taken from his dad. A police officer.
"You better know what you're doing," he whispers back warningly, slipping the gun to me. "Is she worth this?"
I take it, sliding it in the back of my jeans and under my sweater.
He didn't mean the question with distaste, but it still irks me deeply.
She's worth this and so much more.
I glare at him before backing up. "Take her home."
***
I spot the first-floor buzzer and ring it.
I bite down on my jaw, itching to see this bastard again. Itching to slam his head into the floor.
The intercom turns on. "I knew you'd come back," he chuckles through the glitchy intercom. "Pathetic bitch."
I twist my jaw. Is that how he fucking talks to her?
The door buzzes, and I open it. Then, the second door opens into the building.
Walking to the apartment, the door starts to open. And before he can see me, I raise my foot, kicking the door in, slamming it against his front.
"What the fuck !" he groans, a hand on his forehead, stumbling back. He wears boxers, and a wife-beater and looks like he hasn't washed for days.
He took that shirt's name a little too literally.
He looks up at me as I stalk towards him. "What the hell are you doing here?" he questions, recognizing me from the supermarket.
My fist travels quickly towards his face, connecting with his right cheek. The noise of impact practically bounces off the living room walls. He grunts in pain.
"You tried to rape her? Hm?" my lips stay part, panting.
He laughs, turning back to me with a busted lip. He spits on his carpet. "She was basically fucking asking for it. And then she fucking bit me." He points to his shoulder, the teeth marks. Clarity’s. "I'm guessing she ran back to you, but now you can keep that whore. How does it feel having my leftovers?"
He goes to grab me, but I quickly dodge his hand, grabbing it, then twist it like a fucking branch. He screams in agony. Swiping his legs from under him with mine, he drops to the floor, and my vision goes blurry with anger as my fist meets his face again.
Again. Again. And again—
His knee rises between my legs, kneeing my balls.
I groan, losing composure long enough for him to punch my jaw. A wave of pain ripples through me, and I roll off him, doubling over for a moment.
He stands and goes to stomp on my face, but I quickly roll out of the way, getting to my feet.
I wipe the blood rolling down my chin, huffing to catch my breath.
"Really? You fight like a bitch," I spew.
He twitches his head. "You are a bitch. When you're fucking her, remember I was the one to stretch her out first—"
I charge him, slamming my shoulder into his abdomen, lifting him, and dropping him into the wooden coffee table in the center of his living room.
Punches follow my action, grabbing him by his head and smashing the side of his face into the broken wood below him. He screams as a crack goes through the air, and his arm, which I'm twisting, pops out of the socket. The hammering of my pulsating knuckles into the side of his face continues, blood appearing, splattering everywhere.
I lower my head to his, adrenaline soaring through my veins.
"Touch that girl again, you sick fucking bastard, and I swear to God I'll fucking murder you." I spit on his cheek, my hand tightly around his neck as he gasps for air. I tighten my grip on his dislocated arm, and he cries out.
"I don't want you seeing, texting, or calling her. I want you to look away if you stumble into her in public. If she tries to be nice, I want you to walk the fuck away . Because I will be there every single time to remind you of today. You understand me, or do I need to talk slower for your ignorant ass?"
He chokes out something inaudible, his ass face turning purple.
I smirk. "What was that? Didn't hear you."
He nods instead.
I let go of him. Standing up straight to stare at him on the floor, surrounded by the broken wooden table and blood stains. His arm is in an unnatural twist, and his face is swollen into a shape that makes him unrecognizable from the man I saw when I walked in.
Good.
I wipe my mouth again. Blood dresses the back of my hand, my knuckles bruised and busted open, pulsing pain zipping through my entire arm. But the adrenaline running through me makes it nearly unnoticeable.
Turning around, I open the door but stop when I hear a raspy laugh.
"The only thing,"—he coughs—" The only thing I understand is that I wish I finished what I started with her."
I turn around. "What did you say?"
“You heard me—"
My hand quakes as I reach behind my back and pull out the gun I got from Michael from my jeans. It was only if I needed to equal the playing fields. To scare him. But now I want to fucking kill him.
I snap back the safety on the gun, walking forward, pointing the head straight at him.
" Say it. I dare you to say that shit again!"
He cheeses, red covering his teeth. "You don't have the guts to shoot me, pretty boy."
My nostrils flare, my chest rising and falling fast under my jacket.
"Do it," he tells me. "Find out how Clarity will take it knowing she's with a murderer—" a series of coughs follow.
I bite my tongue. The bastard is right. She wouldn't hurt a fly herself, let alone be okay with me killing someone.
But even if I was going to shoot, I couldn't because, behind me, the door bursts open, and loud, demanding voices fill the room.
"DROP THE WEAPON! HANDS UP, DROP THE WEAPON NOW, OR WE'LL SHOOT!"
I drop the gun immediately. It falls to the floor with a clang, raising my hands in the air.
My eyes close, fuck me. A nosy neighbor or someone must've heard the commotion.
Soon after I put my hands up, loud footsteps come up from behind, and I keep a straight face as I'm thrown to the ground on my stomach, being handcuffed.
"You have a right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law!" The policeman detaining me says.
That voice.
Shit.
Flipping me over, I see the face that matches the voice that I recognize.
Michael's dad, Henry Brown.
He pauses, squinting at me, " Olias ?" he whispers.
I raise my eyebrows. "Good evening, Mr. Brown."
He groans, lifting me to my feet. "God dammit, boy."
***
I sit in the single cell, slouching, my wrists feeling like they might fall off. They didn't bother cleaning my knuckles, leaving dirt and blood mixed with Jonahs to dry on my hands.
I promised Clarity I'd come back that night.
It's been a week since then.
A week with no phone and no way of contacting her to tell her I'm okay.
I know she's worried sick.
Keys jingling make my head lift up. A large policewoman walks towards me. Her name’s Angie Hills and she's probably the only person keeping me from rotting in this cell. She watched over my cell for her shift, and I told her what happened with Jonah and Clarity. She understood me.
"Olias," she says with a grin. "Your uncle, Elijah Grey, is here with your bail."
I called him the night I got detained, the one free call I spent on him. The mother fucker had hung up on me.
A week later, he shows up. I know it's only his way of teaching me one of his shit lessons.
I stand up, sigh, and walk towards the door. Angie opens it with her key, and I work on freeing my wrists.
The cuffs click open, and so do my lungs with them. I feel like I can breathe again. "Thank you," I sigh, massaging both my wrists.
She nods. "What you did was the right thing. He's where he belongs now."
Not only did Henry Brown say I never brought a gun to Jonah's house to start with, but he concocted a story in my defense that I was set up and told to go to Jonah's house only for him to pull a gun on me for getting with his ex-girlfriend, Clarity.
Henry had known me and my family for a long time before the crash. He only did this, I assume, because he thinks I'm some pity story. It’s not like he hasn’t arrested me before.
But I'm grateful. Jonah is gone and far away from Clarity. It isn't the correct reason he should be in there, but as Angie said, at least he ended up where he belongs.
"Nephew," I hear the low voice say from the hallway on the left.
I bite down on my cheeks, looking over at Elijah walking towards me.
He wears a gray suit unironically, his hair beginning to whiten at the roots, showing through the dye he continues to try to use to cover his old age.
Angie passes me my things, phone, wallet, and keys before leaving us.
" Elijah ," I say, mocking his tone, zipping up my black sweater. "Save the lecture, I don't give a shit."
I walk towards the door but don't get to open it before getting spun around into his fist.
Did he just fucking punch me?
I step back, holding my pulsing jaw.
"Are you fucking out of your mind?!" He shoves me towards the door, and I press my back into the bar, pushing it open to reveal the night streets. We step outside.
"You go to a boy's house, fuck him up and pull a gun on him for a girl you just met? Then you call me, drag me into your mess, have me pay your bail, then have the nerve to be a dick." He stands close, attempting to intimidate me, but I stand my ground with a high chin. "What would your father think of all this?"
I inhale, lifting my hands to shove him as hard as I could in his chest at the mention of my father. "You might be family, but I won't hesitate to fuck you up too. Watch your fucking mouth. And you didn't bail me out. I did. It's my money." Money my father left me.
He fixes his suit jacket. "You're too scared to take over your father's company. He left you, but yet you can pull a gun on someone," he scoffs, turning around to his BMW parked off the curb.
I follow him. "I'm not scared of shit; you're still upset he didn't leave you a dime," I scoff. "You bust your ass to try and get to his position, and yet his son gets to take it over just like that. And that pisses you off."
My dad was one of the most influential businessmen. He ran, owned, and managed several companies in this city. After the accident, his will stated that he left everything to me, Mom, and Vanessa, but with both Mom and Vanessa gone, it just left me. Elijah had always been envious of his brother's life. He's tried to sabotage my dad's business a few times, but he never succeeded, clearly.
And the fact that I could have everything that he wants just by attending one meeting burns him alive.
He opens his car door, unlocking the back ones. "You don't even want the position. The longer you wait, the more it goes in the trash. Everything your father built will be for nothing. I could help you, manage you."
I smirk, pulling his door open. Does he think I'm fucking stupid? He'll try to take charge as soon as he starts helping me.
"I want the position, and I don't need your help with it," I say. With one leg in his car, I say, "You know where I live."
My car, no doubt, got towed; I'll have to pick it up later.
He gets behind the wheel with nothing else but a huff of defeat. He'll try again soon, he always does.
Looking down at my phone, I dial the person I want to talk to right now. I've seen her texts and calls mixed in with everyone else's—everyone else being the guys.
Her phone rings once before she picks up. "Olias?!" she gasps, her voice high in hope.
I smile, looking out the window as Elijah drives. "Hey, Clare." The change in my tone from talking with Elijah to her is drastically noticeable.
"Oh my Gosh , where have you been?" she stresses. "I thought the worst. I thought maybe you were gone. Like gone gone. Dead gone," her voice quivers, clarifying.
"I'm fine. I just got caught up in something with the police—"
She gasps again. "Are you alright?"
"I'm alright. Are you still at my house?"
She hums a yes. "I've gone to my best friend Natalie's house a few times to talk to her about you. But I've come back here every day to see if you've come back; I'm here now, in your bed with Dog."
My chest pulses with a feeling, just imagining her cuddling with the damn cat, waiting for me.
"I'll be there soon, in about an hour, okay?" I lower the phone for a second to see the time: 1:45 a.m. "Don't wait up for me."
I can hear the tiredness of her voice, "You're crazy if you think I'm falling asleep."
"Better for me if you didn't. But I, um, I—" I huff, stopping myself and shaking my head.
What should I say to her? How do I part this conversation? I can't say what I want to say. I can't throw it at her while on the phone like I did at the party.
"I'll see you soon," I resort to saying, ending the call.
I lean my elbows on my knees, wiping my face. I'd be thankful if she even wants to be with me anymore. Even though she was worried, it didn't mean she had forgiven me for the party incident. What if she doesn’t feel for me anymore the same way I strongly feel for her?
"She doesn't know yet," Elijah says as if coming to terms with something.
I lift my head, looking at him through the rear mirror. What the hell is he talking about?
"Know what ?" I say, pissed off.
He glances at my reflection in the rearview mirror. "That you love her. She doesn't know it, does she?"
I lean back in the seat, bouncing my leg quickly and gazing at the mush of blurry buildings flying past.
I shake my head. "No," I say. "No, she doesn't."
***
Twisting the key inside my apartment door, I open it slowly, scanning my house.
The ride was more than two hours due to traffic, even after threatening Elijah to drive faster.
The lights are off inside my house, and it smells like... muffins.
Closing the door, I drop my keys on the bowl beside it and stalk over to the living room, where I see Gilmore Girls playing on the TV. And laying on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, is Clarity.
I can barely make out her face, illuminated by the TV light flickering from scene to scene.
My smile grows when I look at the coffee table and see two muffins on a plate. One is demolished, and the other is untouched.
Kneeling beside the couch, she lays on; I watch her like a creep.
Her plump pink lips are parted slightly, and a soft snore leaves her with every inhale.
Her hair covers her face, and I brush it back gently to give me a clearer view of her face. But it only shows me the scabs of the bruises that the bastard left last week. I hope he rots in prison.
I stand up, bend over her, and peel back the cover. My heart swells at seeing her in one of my oversized shirts, nothing but underclothes.
Sliding my hands slowly under her, I lift her slowly, second by second, careful not to wake this precious girl. She even smells like me.
She whines a little as I bring her to my chest, rubbing her head into me.
Goosebumps cover her legs and arms. It's freezing in here.
Walking to my room, I slide the door open, and Cat meows at my entrance.
I can't see shit, but I feel him pounce at my leg, wanting to play. Or maybe sees Clarity and wants to play with her .
I shove him away gently. "Not right now, little guy."
When I get to my bed, I lower Clarity onto it, pulling the cover over her as she sleeps soundlessly.
It takes me several seconds to finally take my eyes off her, slipping off my boots and clothes to get in the shower. I wash off all the dirt and blood on my skin, drenching my hair in the water and letting it fall over my face.
I reach for my shampoo, the coconut-scented one I use, and squeeze it out, but it's empty.
I laugh. So that's why she smelt like me.
A few minutes later, I get out of the shower and get dressed in the bathroom to avoid waking Clarity up before making my way to the room.
But as I open the door, I gasp, quickly lifting my foot and falling to the floor as Cat squeals.
This God damn animal.
I nearly squashed his tiny ass.
I groan on the floor, cursing in a hush as Cat pounces on my chest, taunting me.
"Olias?" Clarity’s soft voice calls out to me. Fuck ! I woke her up.
I lift Cat off my chest. "You little bastard," I hiss quietly.
He meows.
"Olias, is that you?"
I place the kitten down, standing up. "Yeah," I whisper, combing my damp hair with my fingers.
I walk towards the bed, where Clarity sits up, blinking at me, clearing her vision. Is she mad? Does she look mad? I can't tell. I'm almost worried she might tell me off. Get angry at me for doing exactly what she feared I'd do. Or maybe question me about the party. My mind races to find a good response to any one of those scenarios—
She lifts her arms towards me.
I let go of the breath in my lungs.
A hug. Of course, she'd want a hug; this is Clarity I'm talking about. The same girl that fell asleep on the couch with muffins waiting for me to come home.
I bring my knee on the bed and move to her like she's a magnet and I’m the metal. Then, I cling to her as if my life depended on it. In some way, it feels like it truly does.
I hold the back of her head. My other hand wraps entirely around her waist.
She squeals as I take her down to her back, burying my face in her hair. I want to kiss her, but I don't know if she wants me to. I won't, it's too soon.
"I've missed you," I say, my voice muffling against her neck. "So fucking bad."
She pats my back. "I'm glad you came back to me."
"I'll always come back, Clarity. Always."
Her breathing pauses at my words before starting up again. What is she thinking?
"I made you muffins," she says, combing her hand through my hair. A shiver runs through me. "Chocolate chip ones. I wanted to eat mine with you but was hungry and ate it."
I laugh softly. "I saw it, and it looks amazing. I'm sorry I took so long," I lift my head. She shifts her gaze from the ceiling down at me.
She yawns, her entire mouth opening, and I grin.
Everything she does, I find so got damn attractive.
How does she make a yawn look hot?
“Clarity,” I start, nervous. “About the party—”
She puts the flat of her pointer finger against my lips. “Shhh. Not now, please…” she yawns again, “just a few moments of how it used to be. Please?”
I nod. “Okay.
She blinks, her eyes fighting to stay open. "Are you..." she rubs her eyes. "Are you ready for Thanksgiving... tomorrow?" she yawns again.
Thanksgiving. I forgot it was so soon. I had told her I'd go with her so she could see her little sister. Does she want me to go still? It must be the sleep talking.
I nod, stroking the side of her face. "Yeah, of course."
She smiles. "Don't be scared; I'm sure Dad and Clarissa will love you,” her words gradually get quieter before her head dips sideways. Her soft snores come back in moments, and she's sound asleep.
I sigh. "I'm not scared that they won't love me," I whisper to her unconscious self. "I'm scared that you won’t."