Chapter 5
Rami's POV
As I walk away from Yasmine's house, I turn around to make sure it's still there. The simple structure stares back at me, blending in with the rest of the buildings and plants around it. You’d never guess it magicked itself here.
I nibble on my bottom lip incessantly, trying to wrap my brain around everything.
My hand flattens against the necklace Yasmine gave me that’s hidden beneath my shirt.
Still hesitant to believe in the strength she claims I possess.
She did say that it’ll take time. Perhaps patience is in order. Though I’ve never been great at that.
Taking a deep breath, I glance at my watch to see that several hours have passed as I ate and Yasmine read my cards. Grandma Julia isn’t expecting me home for a few more hours, so I still have time to kill.
A faint smile curls my lips as the small taste of freedom goes straight to my head, intoxicating. So I go to the only place in this town that doesn’t make me feel like an outcast.
The bell jingles as I open the door to the little bookshop. It’s off the main road, down a side street, with barely any signage. This bookstore would be easy to walk past. I have no clue how he’s able to keep it running.
“Rami, my boy! It’s been so long,” Abraham sings, coming through the door on the wall behind the counter.
“It’s only been a week,” I tease.
In his defense, that is a long time for me. Normally I’m here every few days. I rarely buy anything, but he lets me read whatever I want and hang out. He’s easy to talk to, doesn’t feel the incessant need to fix everything, and is willing to simply listen.
It’s my own little spot of heaven—pun intended—I crave so viciously.
When he finally meets my gaze, his entire face drops. His smile, his gentleness, his playful demeanor—all gone. He rounds the counter and is standing inches in front of me in two steps, startling me with his speed.
The gray along his temples sparkles in the incandescent light and stands in stark contrast to his brown hair. The muscles along his square jaw jump. That, along with his normally warm chocolate gaze that has darkened dangerously gives away his anger.
I take a small step back, my shoulders rounding, and I start to curl in on myself.
I don’t think I’d ever noticed how much bigger he is than me. It’s not like I’m small, but at 5’8” I’m taller than most people. At this proximity, though, he’s clearly several inches taller and his shoulders are nearly twice as wide as mine.
His large hand stops my movement by gripping my chin.
His touch is firm, but not painful. He forces me to meet his gaze.
I watch as those normally kind eyes narrow and his nostrils flare.
A mix of apprehension and arousal flit uncomfortably around in my stomach.
Never thought I’d be one to enjoy being manhandled, but I can’t deny how his possessive glare makes me feel.
“Who did this to you?” he asks, his voice dropping in tone. He sounds almost scary.
I try to jerk out of his grip, but he’s stronger than he looks. “No one,” I say in warning. “It’s nothing.”
“Rami,” he says, his voice softening. “You have a black eye and a split lip. I know it’s not nothing.”
With a loud exhale, my shoulders drop. “Noah and his friends,” I mumble.
This time when I jerk away from him, he lets me.
I wrap my arms around my middle, almost as if I’m trying to hold myself together.
Hesitantly, I glance up to watch him through my lashes.
One brow raises as he slightly tilts his head to the side, as if he’s listening to someone. But there’s no one there.
Turning my back to him, I continue my explanation. “I tried to outrun them, but Joseph and Isaac were waiting for me, and the four of them ambushed me.”
“Don’t they have classes?” Abraham asks, scratching the stubble growing along his sharp jawline.
“They finish early on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” I say. “They also sometimes skip classes to catch me off guard.”
Abraham turns quickly on his heels, a scowl furrowing his brow harshly and his fists balled tightly against his thighs. His head tilts to the side, and I swear he says, “Make them pay.” But that can’t be right. He said it too quietly to be said to me, and Abraham has always been more passive.
Using the freedom from his judgement, I wander through the aisles of his small shop. He has an entire corner dedicated to Bibles and biblical studies. They’re his bestsellers for sure, though I don’t know with any sort of certainty.
Behind a curtain is his secret stash of occult books he allows me to peruse.
None are for sale, of course. But he allows me to thumb through them at my leisure.
I wonder if Yasmine and Abraham would get along.
I place my hand over the necklace she gave me, hidden beneath my shirt.
I try to harness the strength emanating from the stones.
The faint sound of dishes being laid out makes me twirl around to see Abraham setting out a tray of jam, biscuits, and tea.
His face has now softened, looking more like the carefree caretaker that I’ve come to call my friend.
He lays everything just so. I can’t help the chuckle that bubbles from me; it’s a running joke at his expense that he acts like such a Brit for being an American.
He shakes his head at my antics, but he can’t hide the faint curl of one corner of his mouth. He told me once that everything is easier over a bracing cup of tea. And problems feel smaller when you’re eating jam and biscuits.
Okay, so he’s not wrong.
Abraham takes pride in each of these items. He grows his own herbs for his teas and makes his own jam and biscuits.
I sit on the stool in front of his counter as he pours us both a cuppa and I smear a huge dollop of fig jam on my biscuit.
“You know, in the South these are called cookies,” I tease, taking a huge bite of the buttery amazing-ness.
“And here I thought you were more worldly than these bumkins,” he bites back.
It’s our usual banter, and it feels like coming home after a long and miserable day. Here by Abraham’s side, I can always find that one bright spot of joy. I’ve never understood why he wasted it here on these people.
We sit in amicable silence for several moments. The warmth of the peppermint tea fills me to my very soul, and I feel my lips start to loosen.
“I wanted to fight back, but the last time I did, Grandma Julia dragged me by my ear to each house, because they all still live at home, and made me apologize for hurting those boys. It was humiliating!” My voice steadily rises in volume until I realize I’m shouting at my only friend.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I reel in my emotions and try again.
“It’s easier if I don’t fight back, so I started outrunning them.
But yesterday they expected that and were waiting for me.
I’ve tried taking different routes home, but the last stretch is always the same.
I’ve tried varying the times, but they apparently are very patient.
Grandma Julia says they’re good boys and the only reason they would attack me is if I provoked them first. Believe me, I’ve tried explaining to her but she won’t listen to me. ”
“And what do the boys say provoked them?”
I glance up to meet Abraham’s gaze, shocked he asked a question. Normally, he allows me to vent and listens, rarely adding in feedback or questions. I guess today is one of the latter days.
“They claim I tried to hit on them. Because apparently that’s what gay boys do,” I say that last bit with a huge eye roll and finger quotes.
“After I supposedly make a pass at them, which I don’t, they attempt to cleanse me of my devilish ways by preaching the good word to me.
Which I apparently ignore and become violent, requiring them to defend themselves. ” Gaslighting to the max.
“Everyone believes them?”
“Yup. Because of my ‘Jezebel of a mother’, I must bear her sins, which is why I’m gay.
The accident doesn’t help my case either.
” My voice peters off until it’s barely a whisper, and I hate how weak I sound.
My fingers find those scars and run along them.
One shit situation spiraled into a shit-filled life.
None of which, honestly, had anything to do with my mother’s choices.
Abraham’s eyes bounce to my wrists, and he opens his mouth as if to ask about the scars, but then quickly closes it.
It’s a subject we’ve danced around, but never fully dove into, for a long time.
His lips pinch in tightly and he breathes deeply, wrestling with himself.
His expression returns to relaxed once he settles on the words he will say versus those he clearly wanted to say.
“The child shall not bear the sins of the mother.” Abraham’s words are both kind and wise, if only everyone were as gentle as him.
“Think I could get that in writing?” I joke.
“Ezekiel 18:20,” he quotes, and I stare at him in a new light.
“But…but…you have like witchy books and shit.” Can you say brain misfire? “I mean, what the fuck, Abraham. I thought you were my friend and you’re one of them?”
His stupidly handsome face remains soft, impassive.
“First off, breathe, Rami. I am your friend. I have studied many religions and occult magic because I have a thirst for knowledge. But I was raised in the church. If that affects your view of me and our friendship, then you’re not the man I thought you were. ”
The hurt on his face feels like daggers in my chest. And now I feel like the scum of the earth. I’ve insulted my only friend.
“I’m sorry, Abraham. Of course you’re right. I shouldn’t have judged.” I drop my forehead onto the counter with a loud thud. The pitiful groan that escapes me begs the floor to swallow me whole. “I’m no better than them if I judge someone for their choices.”
A warm hand presses against my back and rubs reassuring circles into my body. As my body relaxes into his touch, those strong fingers card through my long, blonde hair. It feels nice, and I find myself leaning into his touch.
“It’s okay. You’ve had a rough few days. It makes sense your response is more reactionary. Honestly, you’re my only friend too. I’m just the bookshop guy, no one bothers getting to know me.”
Sitting up, my eyes roam over his features as I stare at him like I’ve never really seen him before. The pain he speaks of shows brightly in his warm gaze and it calls to me.
The hand he had in my hair moves to cup my cheek, and I love how it feels there.
His strength and warmth fills me. When his eyes drop to my lips, they suddenly become dry and I have to run my tongue over them.
His eyes follow the movement of my tongue, and my stomach knots in anticipation of what I think is going to happen.
Abraham leans over the counter, and I freeze, too afraid to move. He pauses only a breath away from my lips, and I’m fairly certain I’m going to combust. As if he can read my mind, his soft lips press against mine and my brain loses its shit.
Oh shit. Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshit!
His mouth parts, and his minty breath ghosts across my lips, and I shudder. I willingly open for him and when I taste the sweet jam on his tongue, it’s like an electric current runs through me.
I jump back so fast. One hand is on my lips, the other is over my chest where my necklace is hidden. I can feel the warmth of the crystals there.
“I-I-I-I…” I stutter and then cringe.
Abraham looks as shocked as I do, his eyes wide and his shoulders bunched up. “I’m so sorry, Rami,” he whispers. “I don’t know what came over me.” His pink tongue darts out to lick his lips and I can see his pupils blow wide with desire as if he’s tasting me there.
“I can’t.” Those painful words feel like the final nail in my coffin.
My life here is bad enough without dragging a boyfriend into the mix.
I have to get out of here and a relationship will only succeed in doing the opposite of that.
“Abraham, you’re my friend. My only friend. I can’t risk that. I’m sorry.”
His head bobs up and down, causing a few stray pieces of hair to fall against his forehead and making him look a bit boyish. “I understand.”
His words may say that, but his face only appears hurt. That’s twice today that I’ve hurt him.
I thank him for listening and then dart out of his shop, not wanting to risk hurting him further.