CHAPTER 2
Nirah
PIERCING MY EYES open, I groaned, turning onto my side.
Big mistake. The bright sunlight burned my retinas straight through my eyelids. I lazily covered my head with the sheets, allowing the warmth to wrap around me, but two minutes later, my siren-like alarm sliced through the air.
With reluctance, I threw my bare legs over the edge of my bed. The coldness pricked at my soles as I got up, stretching my arms into the air.
I gathered my hair, fisting it into a ponytail as I dragged my body to the bathroom.
Today will be better. It has to be. I didn’t want to think about last night, but as usual, my mind betrayed me. The interaction played in my head like an unending loop. Sylvester, and the gut-wrenching memories that came with him.
Still in my plaid pajama shorts and grey sweatshirt—that I borrowed from my best friend Jordan—I headed downstairs and heard the clinking of pots and pans coming from the kitchen.
Hesitantly, I took the last step, craning my neck around the corner. I couldn’t contain my smile as I watched my dad failing horribly at making breakfast. Dark smoke floated out of the pot on the stove while the water in the other overflowed.
“Dad?” I fought back a chuckle, trying to hide my smile. He spun around with big brown eyes and froze—completely defeated.
“Nirah,” he sighed, and I rushed over to turn off the stove before he burned our damn house down. “I was trying to cook breakfast, and I—it didn’t go well—it’s not going well,” he breathlessly stuttered, looking at the mess he made.
“It’s okay,” I assured him with a kiss to his cheek. “Who needs breakfast anyway?” I frowned, picking up a piece of burnt toast.
“I guess I’ll just have to go out and get us coffee and donuts then…” he trailed off, seeming extremely disappointed in himself. Sympathy pinched at my heart as I watched the disappointment in himself consume his entire being.
“Coffee and donuts are the only two things that’ll fix this,” I shot him a warm smile before we both burst out into laughter.
Dad and I had been through a lot over the years, but he never failed me when it came down to trying; putting in the effort. He wasn’t perfect, hell who was, but that didn’t stop him from trying . Even when his trying led to ultimate failures.
A heavy, unwanted tension hung in the air as I emptied out the pot of water into the sink while he cleaned up the countertop. He was the first to break the silence, and my heart raced in anticipation. I anxiously pushed a stray strand of my hair behind my ear, waiting.
“I wanted to apologize,” he sighed, scratching the back of his neck, and my body tensed. “Yesterday. I disappointed you… I know.”
“You lost your job, didn’t you?” I half whispered as I turned around, and he lowered his head, averting my eyes. Of course, he did.
Ninety percent of his relapses were because of him losing his job. Unfortunately, it was a never-ending cycle. A cycle I was trying to help him break. But, I could only do so much.
“I know I said that I’d get better, and this will all be over, but I just couldn’t control it this time.” I’ve heard that before.
“I can’t keep working two jobs and coming home to take care of you and the house anymore,” I shook my head. A heavy weight pressed down onto my chest, and just as I thought I had gotten rid of it, it wrapped around my throat.
I could tell my dad was feeling guilty. I wasn’t trying to make him feel guilty, but it was the truth, and he needed to hear it.
“I know, but please understand, Nirah,” he began, walking towards me.
“This is my third job in a month. It’s been rough for me.
” I swallowed hard. It’s been hard for you, dad?
“I’ll find a job soon, okay? And I won’t fuck it up this time,” he nodded in an attempt to reassure me.
I could only show him a closed mouth smile.
“Okay,” I nodded in defeat, and he pulled me into his arms. I wrapped my arms around his waist and he kissed the top of my head repeatedly.
“Two chocolate coated donuts?” he asked and I forced a smile.
“Add a jelly filled one and you’re completely forgiven,” I humorously said, breaking the hug as I looked up at him. The storm brewing behind his eyes had seeped into his brain, clouding his mind in variously ill ways. He needs help, Nirah.
I offered to clean up the kitchen but he wouldn’t let me and promised that as soon as he was done, he’d leave to get the donuts. I really hope he finds a job soon.
Suppressing my mixed emotions, I got changed into something comfortable and closed my bedroom door. I decided to play one of my favorite songs to dance to— River by Bishop Briggs.
The song vibrated through the room and I tossed the remote onto my wooden dresser.
I walked over to the pole I had set up near my bedroom window and took a few deep breaths in.
A few ideas jumped into my head and I clung to the pole as I slowly spun around, organizing my thoughts. Dancing was my ultimate escape. It was just me and the pole. No one and nothing else.
I lifted myself off the ground as I spun faster, climbing the pole with ease. Whenever I danced, it was as though gravity didn’t exist. I could just be— lifting my arms, legs, twisting myself in any directions I pleased. I had no obstructions. No limits, and no boundaries.
I focused on every beat and every word from the song as the song bounced off the walls, wrapping around me like an armor no one could penetrate.
I couldn’t contain my smile as I hooked the back of my knee around the pole, throwing my head and arms back. My hair hung loose, flowing as I spun around the pole. I was happiest when I was dancing… and no one could take that from me.
I slowly descended to the balls of my feet catching my breath. I whipped in the direction of my dresser to turn down the music but gasped in shock as a man stood in my doorway, leaning against the door frame with his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Don’t stop on my account, sweetheart ,” the tall, brunette mused.
My heart dropped to my feet as I stood there, barely clothed in front of a man I didn’t know. He was pretty broad and I could tell his biceps were huge by the way they were trapped in his black dress shirt. Long legs, feet crossed at the ankles.
His facial features were extremely defined, especially his strong jaw line. He had a little scar underneath his right eye but it was fading. His eyes, though a beautiful olive green, portrayed a deep, dark, black hole.
He had somewhat of a dangerously luring energy circulating around him and it felt… inviting . Fearfully so, that is.
His voice was a low rasp. “Done checking me out?”
I couldn’t help but find calmness in his voice. It seemed too familiar.
I swallowed hard. “No. But I do have a pretty good description to hand over to the police,” I replied, trying to steady my voice and he simply hummed in response. Hummed. He hummed in response.
“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in here?” I asked, grabbing the remote to turn down the music.
He tilted his head to the right as he pushed himself off the door frame. He strode inside and my heart rate increased—pounding in fear.
“No, no no,” I rapidly shook my head as he walked over to my bed. He fell back on my bed, propping himself up on both of his elbows. “What are you doing?” I gulped.
He answered as though it was the most obvious thing. “Waiting for my lap dance, sweetheart .”
I scoffed at his ridiculousness. “You can’t just waltz in here and demand a lap dance, sweetheart ,” I shot back.
“Are you insane?” my brows drew together and he cocked a sharp brow at me.
“Did you escape from a mental asylum or something?” I frowned until realization slammed into me.
“Oh God—you’re here to kidnap me, aren’t you?
” I lifted my hand to my neck to pull away the invisible object wrapping around my throat—suffocating me.
He looked at me wearily. “No. You were doing so well, I wondered if you’d like some company.”
I simply shook my head. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
“But I did; now, I want you to do that little dance for me,” he adjusted himself on his elbows.
“Do you always go into strangers houses demanding a lap dance?”
“Says the stranger dancing half-naked in my colleagues house.”
“I’m not a stranger, genius, I live here,” I retorted. “What are you doing at your so-called colleague’s house anyway?”
His answer was vague, and I didn’t like it one bit. The unknown gnawed at my brain profusely. “Work.”
I could almost laugh. Yeah, right. You’re my unemployed father’s colleague? He must not be very bright. “How did you even get inside?” I questioned, and he casually looked around my room, taking it in.
It wasn’t much, but it was big enough to fit a queen-sized bed, two nightstands, a dresser and built-in, floor-to-ceiling cupboards. With, honorable mention, my pole.
“Miguel let me in.” Okay fine, he knows my father’s name. Big whoop.
“If you’re here to see him, then why are you in my bedroom?”
He sat up, crossing his hands on his lap. “I came up to find the bathroom,” he answered and I slowly nodded.
“Right, and why exactly would loud music be coming from the bathroom?”
He simply fought back a grin. “As far as I’m aware, Miguel lives alone, so when he leaves his house and music comes from one of the rooms…” he trailed off as though he was speaking to a toddler with a developing brain.
I rolled my eyes. “Well, obviously my dad doesn’t live alone,” I snapped back, keeping my distance from him.
“You’re his kid ?” he asked and looked next to me—at the pole—then back at me.
“Yes. His twenty-two year old daughter.” I’m not a ‘ kid ’.
Big mistake. I didn’t miss the sudden look of interest that flickered behind his eyes. Fuck! That came out completely wrong.