MUTILATED PIE CRUSTS
Marcus’s POV
The first thing I hear when I get home is a loud thwack in the kitchen, followed by another, and yet another after that.
In addition to Qiang texting Qi to let him know they’d gone home early, Cade had also let us know he’d taken Qiang home.
He also made it very clear that the kiss meant nothing, and they only talked upstairs.
To be honest, I’d gotten the impression that Cade initially flirting with Qiang had been his way of fucking with me, testing the waters, so to speak.
But I guess even he has limits on how far he wants to take it.
Or maybe what he said at that dinner was on his mind too.
He’d rather make friends with me than enemies.
Evidently, that doesn’t mean he’s not going to fuck with me given the chance, but there’s also a boundary between annoying and way too far, and he wanted to make sure I knew he didn’t cross that line.
Throughout the horrible night, and after venting everything to Imani, I thought I’d reached a point where I understood that Qiang isn’t mine, despite every cell in my body saying otherwise.
However, deep down, I know if Cade had crossed that boundary, I would have been incapable of letting that go. So while I know I’ll have to try and behave around Qiang, the reality is, I’m gonna have a really hard time keeping the jealousy to myself.
Considering the ridiculously late hour, we all assumed Qiang was long in bed by now, so Qi and Tristan went downstairs as soon as we got home. However, the ceaseless thwacks in the kitchen are heavily contradicting that assumption.
I follow the sound to find Qiang in the kitchen, aggressively beating what looks to be a pie crust. I’ve never made a homemade pie, and definitely not a homemade crust, but I always thought you were supposed to roll it, not beat it.
Although I don’t think either method requires as much violence as Qiang is exerting.
Qiang’s look from earlier is completely gone, replaced with comfortable silk pajamas, clear skin, and soft hair that’s loosely tied back to keep it out of the food.
This is the Qiang I like most. Their looks are absolutely jaw-dropping, but the soft Qiang that exists only at home is easily the most stunning. Even if their brow is currently furrowed in anger, and they are mercilessly beating the helpless dough into submission.
Cade had said it’d been a couple of hours, and they’d been pensive, but altogether seemed alright.
However, the frenzied violence they are committing against some harmless dough, and the rolling storms in their eyes, say they are no longer alright, and their earlier pensiveness has turned into something much more tumultuous.
“Are you making a pie or murdering it?” I ask lightly, hoping there’s some glimmer of humor in them to spare.
“It’s pie crust, it’s already dead,” they say acerbically, with an articulated thwack after ‘crust’ and ‘dead’, before rolling the pin harshly over the dough.
“Well, it sure as fuck is now,” I point out, still trying to get a lighter reaction from them. Maybe even that little tick of their lips they get sometimes when they are trying so hard to fight back a smile when they want to be serious.
Qiang lets out a long-aggrieved sigh, their eyes flashing just a bit before looking up and meeting my gaze. “What do you want?”
I shrug, still trying to keep things light and hoping it’ll help calm them down a bit. “Just needed to know if I’m about to be an accessory to murder.”
Qiang reaches up with one hand and pinches their eyes shut with their fingers. “Marcus,” they hiss out, drawing the ‘s’ sound out with so much acid I’m surprised I can still claim the name as my own. “It’s pie crust. It’s supposed to be smashed down.”
I look at the poor, mangled remains of the dough and then look back up at Qiang. “Yeah, but that’s more like a crust crepe now,” I point out, knowing very well I might actually be risking my life if their furious eyes are anything to go by.
There’s a noticeable tick in their jaw before they narrow their eyes at me. “Shouldn’t you be tired after the long evening with Imani?” they ask in a scathing tone.
The stark white of their knuckles as they ask the question, and a spasm of hostility rolling through them, are enough for me to recognize the true nature of the question.
They think they’re implying that I should be going to bed and not pestering them; however, their entire demeanor shows the cracks of jealousy and pain at the mere thought of what they think I’ve been up to tonight.
“I’m definitely tired; I don’t think I’ve talked so much in years.” I set the record straight because, as much as I love the idea of them wanting me enough to be jealous over me, we’ve got enough stacked against us without me letting stupid misunderstandings like that sit between us.
“Because talking is what you were doing,” they scoff with disbelief before turning their attention back to the mutilated pie crust.
“I didn’t sleep with her, if that’s what you’re implying.
But that jealous tone of yours is a bit out of line considering you told me to find someone else before we left for the party,” I grate out, getting a little frustrated myself, especially after it was they who made out with Cade fucking Murphy right in the middle of a massive frat party.
I get it was lashing out because Kingston showed his stupid face at the party and went out of his way to taunt them, but they have no room to lash out at me after everything that unfolded today.
“I am not jealous,” they hiss angrily.
I roll my eyes at them. “Oh, please, your voice is dripping in so much jealousy, your lips are turning green.”
Qiang’s body goes even more rigid than it already was, while their face turns into a full mask of ‘mean girl’ disdain.
“You’d like to think,” they say, dropping their hand to their hip and popping it out with so much sass that if it weren’t for the very ugly mood of this conversation, it would be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen them do.
Not that I’m into the ‘mean girl’ vibe, but the amount of confidence it takes to hold themself that upright, even in the middle of spiraling, is definitely hot.
However, hot or not, they are being a full ass right now.
I take a step towards them. I’m not gonna just stand back and take this tonight.
I’m tired of rolling over and still coming out like I’m the bad guy, or I’m constantly in the wrong.
They feel this shit too; they have from the fucking start, and as much as they’re fighting it, I’m tired of them making me feel like I’m feeling this all by myself.
“I know it, Qiang. You want to stand there and give me a hundred reasons why we won’t work, each one of them more flimsy and ridiculous than the last. Qi and Tristan would both be thrilled, so that one doesn’t work.
Our age difference. You make four years sound like a decade; once again, absolutely ridiculous.
I play a sport that harms no one, which is only an argument to you because that fuckface played the same sport, and you lumped everyone into the same pot as him.
While I can see where your brain went, it doesn’t make it any less ridiculous of a detour,” I rant out, getting more heated as I gain traction before Qiang steps forward with a red face full of anger and interrupts me.
“A sport which breeds competitiveness and toxic masculinity that creates a culture of bullying those weaker than you to prove how great you are,” they raise their voice with eyes flashing angrily at crimes long since past that are most likely playing vividly in their head.
I shake my head. “Not all of us are like that.”
“Yesss, all of you are like that,” they hiss with their jaw clenched so tight it might just snap under the tension.
“Do you even listen to yourself when you speak? All of them, really? What about Tristan? Gio? Me? You know one footballer who is a bully. And I’m not saying there aren’t other football players who are bullies, or that there isn’t a reason there’s an entire stigma of jocks being bullies, but you know enough who aren’t to know it’s a stereotype, and not always the reality,” I point out, but they adamantly shake their head back at me.
“Liars and tricksters. You say anything you need to say to get your way. Then once you have it, you flip it around to something else and blame me for believing your lies,” they rail out.
Even though I’ve known from the start that it’s not really me they’re angry with, that was the final clue to know for sure that they’re angrier about Kingston than they are in their misplaced jealousy over me.
It pisses me off even more because they know better than this, and they are still putting both Tristan and me in the same lump as that idiot.
“I’ve never done that to anyone before, and definitely not to you.”
“It’s what people like you do,” they hiss, clinging to the cruel notion.
“No, it’s not. That’s what people like Kingston do. But there is no universe in existence where I will ever let that piece of shit speak for me, or allow myself to be thrown into the same bag as him. He’s an asshole, and trust me, karma will be coming for him.”
Qiang snorts in disdain and steps back, shaking their head in derision. “Karma walked out the door before he was even finished with me.”
Everything in my body screeches to a halt because in that simple statement, I can feel the vastness of their pain. I may not have the whole comprehensive picture, but I can see how it stretches in jagged pieces far beyond what the eye can see.
“Fuck, Qiang. I’m–” I start to say, but I realize a second too late it was by far the worst thing I could have said when their face flashes with rage.
“NO!” They shout out at me, their eyes so glazed over with pain and anger I don’t even know if it’s me they’re seeing anymore. “Don’t you dare stand there and fucking pity me. It was a statement that the universe isn’t fair enough for karma, not a crack for you to insert your pity,” they spit out.