Chapter 12
The blood wouldn’t come off fast enough.
It clung beneath my nails and dried inside the lines of my hands, no matter how hard I scrubbed. Pink water spiraled down the drain while streaks of red still coated my skin.
The heat coming from the faucet had turned wicked minutes ago, but I barely felt it anymore. My mind was still stuck back at the warehouse, and I was still reliving the moment I removed his first layer of flesh.
The thought made my stomach twist into knots of disbelief.
I did that. I really dragged that fillet knife across his skin with horrifying ease while he thrashed against the floor. Blood ran down my wrist as G5 screamed so hard his voice cracked halfway through it.
I could still hear the wet choking sounds he made afterward, and still see strips of flesh uselessly thrown to the side like potato peels.
And the worst part?
My hand never shook once.
I braced myself harder against the sink as nausea crawled up my throat. The metallic smell of blood still clung to me so heavily it felt trapped inside my nose. I swore I could still feel warmth splattering across my face every time I closed my eyes.
Somewhere between his screaming and begging, something inside me had gone quiet.
Focused.
Calm.
Like I’d done that shit before.
“Booda,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I looked at him through the mirror, my ducts filling with tears. “What’s wrong with me?”
I needed to know because part of me had enjoyed finally being the one in control again.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “What the fuck…” I whispered.
Booda’s hands settled against my shoulders. “Nothing is wrong with you, bae. You just spiraling.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “That nigga begged me not to do it, and that made me want to do it more.”
“And?”
I looked up at my reflection in the mirror. Blood stained the side of my shirt. Tiny droplets speckled my neck. My mascara had smudged beneath my eyes at some point during the drive home, making me look crazier than I already felt.
“And I didn’t care,” I admitted softly. “But I thought I was a good person, despite some of the things I had been told about myself.” My throat tightened. “Am I supposed to be dead?”
Booda’s eyes stayed locked on mine through the mirror. “Nah. If it was your time, God would’ve let you die,” he replied with conviction.
I swallowed hard.
“I don’t know.” My voice cracked. “That shit is fucking me up.”
Because the truth was ugly.
The entire time G5 cried and begged for his life, all I could think about was how much I loved the sound. The control it gave me. I wanted to get back every piece of myself people stole from me while I was lying in a coma.
I dropped my head forward and stared at my trembling hands beneath the running water again. Memory wasn’t just bringing back faces anymore. It was bringing back instincts.
Booda moved closer behind me until his chest brushed my back. I felt the warmth of his body, so comforting, yet it made me want to recoil. I didn’t deserve his kindness.
“Fuck that nigga, Koko.”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t wanna be this person. I wanna be normal.”
“What is that?” Booda asked, his eyes boring into mine as his hands slowly slid down my arms before wrapping around me.
The warmth of his body grounded me just enough to keep my thoughts from spinning completely out of control.
For a second, neither of us spoke. Then his eyes dropped toward the blood staining my clothes.
“Take this shit off.”
I looked down at myself, realizing how much blood I still had on me. My shirt, my jeans, and even my shoes were smeared with blood.
A fresh wave of nausea rolled through my stomach, and Booda turned me gently toward him before reaching for the bottom of my shirt. His movements were slow and careful as if he knew I was one bad thought away from falling apart completely.
The fabric peeled away from my skin before dropping onto the floor beside us, and I stood there silently while his eyes traveled over me, checking for injuries.
“You hurt?”
“Only my hands from me scrubbing them so hard,” I admitted quietly. “And my chest feels like my heart’s about to explode.”
“That’s adrenaline.” His fingers brushed lightly across my ribs before moving toward the button of my jeans. “You’re shaking,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“You still here though. That’s all that matters to me,” he reminded me, and that almost broke me.
For the first time since he’d walked back into my life, I understood why I loved him. He embraced my darkest parts, and yet, I was still terrified of who I had become.
Booda’s fingers lingered at the button of my jeans for a moment before he slowly undid them. My breathing turned uneven again as the denim loosened around my waist.
“Get out your head and come back to me. This shit ain’t new. We murk niggas, baby,” he said, looking up at me with the sincerest eyes I’d ever seen.
I shook my head. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“Then stop fighting the memory. Embrace that shit.”
A weak laugh left me. “Easy for you to say.”
“It would be easy for you, too, if you would admit you liked what you did and left it at that.” His hands slid along my hips before he pushed the jeans downward. “Quit tryna punish yourself for killing a muthafucka that tried to kill you.”
I stepped out of my pants as I contemplated what he’d said.
The bathroom floor was cold beneath my feet, but when I turned on the shower, the heat slowly filling the room wrapped around me like a blanket. Steam fogged the mirror inch by inch until my reflection began to disappear behind it.
Maybe that was better. I didn’t wanna look at myself right now anyway.
Booda reached behind me and unclasped my bra before tossing it aside with the rest of my clothes.
“You shaking harder now,” he said as his hands settled against my bare shoulders.
“I feel sick.”
“That’s your nerves crashing.”
“No,” I whispered, my eyes drifting shut. “I liked it,” I admitted out loud for the first time, and for a second, neither of us spoke.
Then Booda’s hands slid down my arms until his fingers threaded through mine. He helped me into the shower, then stripped and stepped in behind me.
We stood beneath the running water, facing one another.
“You liked the power it gave you,” he corrected calmly. “That ain’t the same thing.”
“But I wanted him to hurt.”
“He wanted you dead.”
I swallowed hard.
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It ain’t supposed to, but being in denial about you being a killer won’t either.”
My throat tightened because deep down, I knew he was right.
The girl who woke up confused wasn’t the full version of me. She was the broken version. The softened version. The version stripped of all the ugly shit that made me dangerous in the first place.
And tonight proved that woman was still somewhere inside me.
The sight of Booda should’ve calmed me completely, but instead it made something ache inside my chest. Every scar across his body told stories I couldn’t fully remember yet, and somehow that hurt worse than the flashes themselves.
Booda stepped closer and brushed his knuckles lightly beneath my chin.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you scared I’ll leave you.”
My eyes dropped immediately.
That answer must’ve been enough for him because his expression softened almost instantly.
“I’m here,” he said firmly.
Then he guided me backward until my back hit the wall.
“I ain’t going nowhere without you, Ko.”
Steam continued to climb around us as water beat against my skin. He didn’t move, just watched me, and I hated how much I needed that silence. Hated how much I needed his stillness to anchor me.
I tried to speak, but my throat was tight. Tears burned my eyes as I stared up at him, my chest aching with too many emotions I couldn't name.
“You good,” he promised.
Then he leaned in.
His lips brushed against mine so softly it almost broke me completely. That gentleness was a stark contrast to the violence that still felt fresh beneath my skin. He didn’t rush or deepen the kiss, just kept touching me with a patience I hadn’t expected.
The water ran hot against our bodies, but I barely registered it. My mind kept playing those moments over—G5 screaming, the knife in my hand, the strange calm that settled in my chest as he begged for his life.
Booda’s thumb brushed gently across my cheekbone. “Focus on me,” he demanded, and I realized my hands had started shaking again.
“I am.”
But I wasn't. Not really.
I tilted my head back against the tile, and water streamed down my face, mixing with tears I hadn’t realized were falling again.
“Ko.” Booda’s voice pulled me back.
I blinked and refocused on him. The steam swirling around him, the water slick across his shoulders, the way his eyes stayed locked on mine like nothing else in the world mattered more than me in that moment.
Then he kissed me again, deeper this time.
One of his hands slid down my back and gripped my waist firmly, holding me in place while the other tangled into my wet hair. The control was there, but it wasn't suffocating. It was grounding.
I whimpered against his lips as my stomach twisted with guilt and pleasure at the same time. My hands braced against the wall behind me as he shifted closer, pressing his body flush against mine.
Every point of contact was an anchor.
“Booda…”
“Yeah,” he answered against my mouth, not pulling away.
“You can’t fix this.”
“Shhh, I got you,” Booda growled, his voice rough, like gravel soaked in whiskey.
His hands were everywhere at once, possessive and demanding as the shower pounded relentlessly, steam curling around us like a fucking veil.
But all I could feel was his body pressed hard against mine, water sluicing down the ridges of his chest, the thick cords of muscle in his arms. His dick, already hard, brushed against my thigh, and my breath caught in my throat.