Chapter 10 Commotion #2
She’s moving reckless. Maybe it’s because my family’s around and she figures mi nah go deal wid har serious. Or maybe it’s ‘cause she know mi nuh hit woman. But mi blood boiling now.
“Yow, Lorie… yuh know seh mi nuh ramp,” I say, tone deadly calm. “An’ yuh come a gwaan so cause yuh know mi nuh put mi hand pan woman. But mi swear yuh have mi a think otherwise.”
“Mi nuh care wah yuh wah say yuh nah married deh gyal deh!” she screams.
Gyal?! She think she can stop me? I step up to her, glaring so hard it cuts through the air. My voice is low. “Lorie. Lif’ up. Now.”
But she doesn’t listen. Instead, she slaps me across my face and just like that, I lose it.
I grab her by the throat and shove her back against the wall, rough.
Her hands start flailing, pushing at me, but I press her in place.
Every muscle in me tenses as I fight the urge to snap.
I push her toward the door, trying to hold in the rage that’s burning in my chest. There’s too much darkness in me for this.
You’d kill her.
I push her toward the door, but she twists out of my grip and starts swinging, her hands flailing in the air, slapping and hitting wherever she can reach. I shove her hard. She grabs onto my shirt, and we both stumble, crashing over the glass table in the room. Jah Jah.
“Nickoi! A wah deh happen in deh!?” my mother shouts, banging on the door.
“Bro wah gwan!” Jordane yells from the other side.
“Dem a fight enuh!” Janel says, her voice trembling.
I hear my mother call for the key and footsteps sprinting away.
I get up first, breath heaving, while she struggles on the floor.
I adjust my shirt, trying to calm the fire crawling through my chest. Mi know mi still a hold back.
Mi know how dawk my meds get and me know the kind of anger weh live inna mi. The kind o’ rage weh don’t stop.
“Try come out right now! See how much time mi a tell yuh!” I bark, eyes locked on her.
She wipes her tears, voice shaking. “Mi a go mash up that shit!” I grab her again and she starts kicking, screaming. I lift her and toss her on the bed. She’s crying now, curled, but still mouthing off.
“Mi a go send har some pictures, and you see if unuh nuh lef!” she screams through sobs.
I snap. My hand locks around her throat before I even realize. She chokes on her breath, legs thrashing. I lean over her, pressing my knee down in her thigh — hard. She winces loud. Can’t move. Nick… stop.
The door bursts open. My mother grabs me from behind, holding my torso, her hands on my back, trying to calm the storm. “Come mi bwoy, nuh mek she draw yuh out,” she pleads. I’m still choking her gently, I press my knee down just a bit more. Her eyes squeeze shut, pain flashing through her face.
“S-Stop,” she whimpers. I look down at her.
“A you push eh man enuh. Mi nah ask,” Jordane says, voice flat. “But bredda… ease up offa har.”
I lean down to her ear. She twitches, but my grip holds firm.
“Yuh forget who mi be today. Jealousy mek yuh test mi. But thank God mi know how fi wul mi anger… The gun deh pan mi right now, and mi coulda use it. But mi nah do dat. True yuh deven know the amount of self control mi just exercise.” She trembles. Her body softens slightly.
“J-Just raise up nuh… p-please,” she whispers, voice barely there.
“Bombaat, the man dawk enuh,” one of my cousins mutters, half-laughing. Another one chuckles low. But my eyes stay locked on her. Watching her hurt. Watching her shake.
“Shut up! Yuh think a joke thing dis? Betta unuh come out!” Jordane roars, knocking on the wall with force.
“A’right,” my mother snaps, stopping him with a look. She rubs my back again, her voice soft this time. “Ease up offa har now, Nick… please.”
But mi still deh pon har. I lean in, one last time, voice low and venomous.
“Send har whatever yuh feel like. But mek sure yuh run. Mek sure yuh keep running. ‘Cause if yuh ever try nuttin, mi a bleach anyweh yuh deh and mi a kill yuh. And that’s not a threat. That’s a promise.”
I stare at her. Her eyes wide. She know mi serious. I release her and storm out the room, my chest tight, heart beatin’ like drum. Jordane trails behind me.
“Bredda… yuh want a weed?” he asks, trying to cool me down.
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 are hot 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.
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.