Tiger walked into the room and found Warren sitting outside her crib with his back attached to the wall, his knees bent to his torso, and his hands resting on them. His lips stopped moving as soon as he saw him entering, making Tiger wonder for a moment what he was talking to her about.
"You're back," Warren sighed, getting up from the floor.
Tiger's eyes instantly went to her when he was at a distance when he could see her. She looked at him, the accusation still there, just a bit tamed down.
And the heaviness crept back in. He thought it would leave him now that he had killed her assaulter. But it just took her eyes to meet his again, and it was back.
He was feeling something. It was as small as a grain seed, yet its intensity was terrible. It made him feel. And he hated it.
He hasn't felt something like that for years. Hell, he hasn't felt anything at all for years. What was it that was bothering him so much? Why was she affecting him so much? Why did her pain make him loathe himself?
Just what this girl was doing to him?
Tiger looked at Warren, who had his black coal eyes narrowed at him.
"What?" Tiger asked, in the same monotonous, uninterested tone.
"Nothing," Warren shrugged.
An awkward silence fell between them. Well, awkward for Warren, because Tiger was walking towards the bed the very next moment.
Warren glanced back at her, pointing his thumb behind at the door, motioning that he'd be going back to his room.
Hayat blinked up at him, not wanting him to go just so soon. She feared that she'd hate Tiger more if she was alone with him when she wouldn't have anyone to distract her from the fact she couldn't fully hate him.
She leaned her head back, resting it on the wall. The sting in her leg was a constant disturbance, it was painful whenever she did even a slight movement.
Unaware of the eyes on her, she closed hers, trying to find peace in the chaos her life had become abruptly.
It has been almost a month. For almost a month, she did everything to run away from there, but her every move was taken down, and her every effort went in vain.
She wanted her normal life back. Nothing more, nothing less. She wanted to feel good in herself again, wanted to go to university again, wanted to hang out with her best friend and bench mates again, and wanted to be in the comfort of her small apartment again.
She just wanted to be herself again.
A knot formed in her throat as her lower quivered, tears forming behind her closed eyes, hanging at the edge of her eyelashes.
And when the weight got too much, a lone drop of tear betrayed her resistance and escaped from the corner of her eyes.
She quickly wiped it away, sitting back straight. But what she didn't expect was to see him standing in front of her, just outside her crib, his head almost touching the ceiling.
His fox-like eyes, which seemed black rather than natural whiskey brown in the dim light of the room, were fixated on her deeply.
She gulped, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his eyes that pinned her to the wall behind her.
"Can you walk?" He asked, his voice carrying the same unusual softness as when he wrapped his jacket around her, yet intimidating and collected.
She blinked at him. She wanted to answer, or even shake her head to say no, but her anger towards him refused any response to him.
"Just try to come out. I'll carry you to the bed." He said after not getting an answer but a cold, accusing stare from her.
Carry her to the bed? For what?
Her eyes widened slightly when an image so disturbing crossed her mind. Her body tensed as she glared at him, frowning, and it was clear on her face that she wouldn't hesitate to throw a straight punch at him if he tried to do anything.
He sighed, realizing what she was thinking of him. And he didn't like it too much to be perceived as such by her.
"I'm not going to do anything to you. The floor's cold. Just sleep on the bed." He offered.
"And why do you care?" She asked, her tone so angry, hinting at the suspicion and accusation.
That made him question. Why does he care? Did he actually cared?
"I don't. If something happens to you, the blame will be on me. I can't let that happen. Also, you can't die without completing the business you're brought here for."
His unapologetic, harsh words pierced through her heart like a sharp knife, wounding her weak heart more. Was that the only reason he came back earlier than he was supposed to be? Was that the only reason he held the gun at Nike? Was that the only reason he put his clothes around her when hers were torn apart? Was that the only reason why he showed even a bit of concern? Was that all? Was it nothing at all?
Was she expecting more? She was.
Deeper in her heart, she knew what she was feeling. And she even knew just how wrong it was. But then again, feelings are natural. The more you try to control them, the more they grow. And you might try to sabotage them, destroy them, and when you think you've almost succeeded, an arrow thrashes at you, piercing through your shield. And you realize, you didn't succeed. You were just telling yourself you did.
That's the exact thing she felt at that moment. She thought she was doing good at controlling herself, she thought she was close to winning, but now that his words had cut right through her heart, twisting, churning, making it bleed, she realized she didn't even come close to what she thought she did.
"I don't want to." She replied curtly.
He squinted his eyes. Don't want to what? Not sleep on the bed or not sign the papers?
"I'm not sleeping on the bed." She cleared.
"Why?" He breathed out, there was a tinge of subtle frustration and desperation in his voice.
"How do I know you won't do anything to me when I'm asleep? It would be more easy on the bed to take control, wouldn't it?" It wasn't her speaking, it was her furiousness, her frustration, her sensitivity that over-surfaced her rational and sane mind.
And then she saw it in his eyes—anger. His brows knitted together in a tight frown, his jaw clenched, and his features tensed.
He looked away for a moment, his chest rising as he inhaled a breath as if to control himself, his eyes wandering to different objects in sight before settling on her again, making her wonder if she had hit the nerve.
He walked in, bending his head just slightly. She tensed up but refused to show it on her face.
He was intimidating, very intimidating.
He bent down to her level, right in front of her, making her more anxious. She knew he wouldn't do anything to her, but she was still scared of him in a way she was never scared of any man.
"If I wanted to force you, I already would have. I am a lot stronger than you, squirrel. Your resistance would've worked nothing against me. But have I done anything to you yet?" He whispered the last part, and she had a hard time understanding if it was just her or did he really sounded so pleading, so desperate to prove his sincerity to her, to make her believe in him, to have her trust him.
She searched his eyes, and she saw nothing but the truth glistening in his orbs which his words profusely conveyed.
"I can't walk." She muttered, still lost in his beautiful brown eyes, those coffee strokes, and the very strange warmth they contained today.
He tilted his face ever so slightly, making her snap back to reality.
She blinked, parting her lips to repeat herself but he spoke up.
"I'll carry you." He leaned closer to her.
She flinched back, tensing up again. He acknowledged her hesitation.
"You are not doing this on your will. It's a need. God won't be mad at you for this." He uttered, and his words, though very collected and tight, washed over her like a comforter on cold nights.
"You won't be able to get up." She said, earning a sigh from him.
"I can manage, squirrel." He circled his one arm around the middle of the back, and one under her bent knees, pulling her towards himself.
She felt her heart pacing up, thumping against her ribcage so loud and wild as if it would come out any moment. The intoxicating scent of wood and lavender invaded her senses as her side touched his hard, muscular chest, bathing her in his addictive natural fragrance.
He got up so effortlessly with her in his arms as if she weighed nothing more than a feather. His arms were protectively wrapped around her, securing her from any fall as he made his way out of the crib, slightly bent because of his tall height which goes over the ceiling.
Yeah, she wasn't jealous. Nor was she admiring his tall figure.
Her eyes scanned his perfect handsome face, the proximity making her mind whirl in a haze.
His jaw was so sharp it could cut someone's hand with its sharpness. He had long, big eyelashes which cast shadows on his cheeks as he moved in the dim light of the room, he had a straight nose, and his perfect pair of lips were naturally pinkish red with a full lower lip, and just a slightly thin upper lip.
Nothing she hasn't seen before. But today, tonight, he looked much more heavenly, to the point it made her question if he was even real. And she was completely, utterly, and peacefully lost in his unrealistic, terrible beauty. Her heart was fluttering by just looking at him.
Damn this man. She was supposed to hate him. And she did. But not for the reasons she was supposed to.
He was just so breathtaking, she forgot how to breathe, drowning in his deadly ocean.
The hit back to reality was so hard when her body laid flat on the bedsheet, her head falling on the soft pillow as he removed his hands from her, his arms brushing against her skin with the movement, making her feel the toughness of his muscles more precisely.
She didn't realize that his embrace was more warmer than his eyes until then.
Was she disappointed? Did she want that moment to not end? Was she craving his scent and warmth already? Of course, she wasn't. Why would she?
She stared at the ceiling, denying the whirl of emotions that were engulfing her, which were overwhelming and disturbing at the same time.
She should not be feeling this, should she?
"Are you going to keep your legs like this the whole night?" He asked looking at her bent knees, tucking the comforter over her as she grabbed the edges, pulling it over her fully, sinking into the newfound warmth.
Not as warm as his chest tho.
Ugh. Not again.
She needed to get a grip on her mind. It wandered at most obnoxious places.
"It hurts if I move." She answered, her lips formed into a small pout, her big doe, hazel orbs peeking at him through her long, curvy eyelashes.
He was looking—staring at her.
She blinked at him.
He cleared his throat.
"Do you want me to help?" He asked, and it came out so soft, so distracted, she wondered if her ears were defective.
"Huh? Y-ye- No." She mentally face-palmed herself, pursing her lips in a tight line.
"Alright." He turned around, walking towards the doorway.
Where was he going? Where would he be sleeping? The question came into her mind, but before she could stop him to ask, he was out of the room, no more in sight, leaving her in the wide space alone.
She stared at where he had left for a few seconds absentmindedly. Nothing was in her mind, it was just blank, except a fluttering, tiny feeling that seemed to grow and get heavy on her chest with each passing moment.
She diverted her eyes, resting her face sideways, feeling the softness of the pillow while trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in.
It wasn't comfortable at all with her bent knees. She closed her eyes, reading herself to feel the pain as she turned her body sideways, including her legs.
A hiss escaped her lips as a strong, deadly pain surged through her injured calf. It was painful, really painful. But it was quite bearable now.
When she was comfortable enough, she snuggled in the softness of the pillow, the same scent of the woods and lavender hit her senses.
She breathed in, closing her eyes as the intoxicating scent engulfed her.
Lovely smell. Intimidating, yet soothing. Just like him.
She kept the struggle of sorting out her emotions to a side, somewhere in the space behind her back, and breathed into the warmth and coziness his scent alone brought her.
-----
"What? Really?" Warren exclaimed, his one hand holding his phone to his ear, listening to very shocking yet pleasing news, while his other hand was still on the keypad, not more fighting for the guy who died on the screen as the game ended.
He no longer cared. He was only intrigued by the news that didn't surprise him much, yet he had to act oblivious and astonished to know so.
"Alright. When are you guys holding the funeral thing and all?" He asked, knowing he won't go. He played with the slice of bread with the butter knife as he listened to Claire giving him details.
Tiger walked into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water before slugging down on the stool next to Warren.
Warren watched him with narrowed eyes which he didn't pay any heed to.
"Yeah, see you." He cut the call, turning his posture fully towards the latter while closing his precious device with his elbow.
"You killed him?!" He raised his brows at Tiger, seeming shocked. He was shocked at Nike being killed, not at Tiger killed him. Because it was just a random thing for the raven-haired guy to do.
"So?" Tiger took a sip of cold water.
"You said you were just there to talk." Warren reminded an amused and fascinated smirk playing on his lips.
"That's how I talk." Tiger glanced at him, his deadly words flowing out of his tongue with such ease that it was almost unrealistically inhumane.
"Seriously... Why did you kill him?" Warren tilted his face, an amazed chuckle leaving his lips.
"I warned him. He didn't listen. He prayed the price. Closure." Tiger sighed, biting on the buttered bread Warren kept for him.
"That's the only reason? Sure?" Warren asked, his lips formed into a teasing smirk, his black eyes shining with mischief.
"Or what?" Tiger looked at him disinterested.
"I thought you didn't care about her." It came more like a question than a reminder statement as Warren looked at him expectantly.
Tiger's gaze wandered to somewhere over Warren's shoulder, a strange void crossing his eyes in a flicker of a moment before it was gone completely, and his eyes were blank again.
"I still don't," Tiger answered, tearing his gaze apart from the latter and chewing on his breakfast again.
"Liar," Warren muttered under his breath, knowing he heard him.
And Warren got his answer when he didn't retort back.
-----
"Where are you taking me?" She asked with wide eyes as Tiger placed her in the passenger seat after carrying her from the farmhouse.
"Somewhere." He answered, closing the door with a thud as she scooted back flinching, watching him circle the car and settle himself on the driver's seat.
"Wear your belt." He commanded while starting the ignition as his car purred.
He glanced at her, motioning towards the belt behind her shoulder as she refused to wear the belt, and kept on glaring at him suspiciously with an angry pout and knitted brows.
He had abruptly taken her in his arms, not even letting her register anything and suddenly dumping on her that they were heading somewhere. And that somewhere is quite far so she needs to behave.
Frustrating as it is.
She didn't comply with him still, turning her face to the front, wanting nothing but to open the car door and run away. If only her leg wasn't injured, she would've shot him with his gun and ran away with his car.
Great idea. Just not a great situation.
"I said, wear your seat belt." He ordered once again, his voice deep and collected.
"I don't want to go anywhere with you." She answered, raising her chin while glaring ahead at nothing but distant bushes and greens.
His words from the previous night clouded themselves again, replaying in her mind like auto-play recordings. She felt the same unease, painful tug at her heart. The night was gone, so was his scent, and so was her escape.
"You think you have a choice, squirrel?" He tilted his head with a small smirk.
"Stop calling me that!" She snapped, her voice loud, her brows furrowed, her face frowned. The bitterness rolled off her tongue under the weight of her unresolved feelings.
She noticed his smirk fading, that little shift of expression which was almost blank, she would've missed it if she wasn't so perfectly attentive.
And the next moment, he charged himself forward. She gasped, reflexively flinching back.
His hand thrashed against the window, his face just inches apart from hers. She visibly gulped, searching his face with wide eyes.
He was close, extremely close.
"Don't you dare.." He leaned closer, her heart thumping wildly against her chest, she was afraid he'd be able to hear it if he came closer than he already was, "raise your voice against me." He whispered, his warm breath hovering over her cheek, making her skin feel tingles all over her body.
"I shouldn't raise my voice on you but it's all okay if you do, right?" She asked in a clipped tone, secretly pushing herself deeper into the seat to create a space between him and herself that wouldn't take away her breath, trying not to display the ruinous effect he had on her.
"You don't like it? I won't do it. Happy? Now wear the belt like a good girl and stop acting so feisty." His hand reached at the back of her head, taking the seat belt and stretching it over to her torso.
She let go of the breath she was holding, glancing at him secretly as he revved up the engine, the car purring beneath him. She noticed the tiny glint of satisfaction and pleasure on his face, almost unnoticeable, but on a robotic human like him, it could be considered as more than an expression. The car roared and started moving. And she realized it was the car which inspired such a look on him.
She wondered what else could make him react like that.
She kept catching secret glances at him, observing how he used only one hand to drive while his other hand rested on his lap, how his muscles moved while driving, how his fingers gripped the steering wheel, turning in the directions as the veins on his arms popped up, seeming more than inviting ever, how his eyes were focused ahead and the afternoon rays cast a soft glow on his handsome, ethereal face.
She gazed out most of the time, watching how the trees, tall buildings, houses, shops, playgrounds, and various lavish and usual pass by. It was after a month she was seeing the normal, usual life and surroundings. She wasn't a part of it, but watching people enjoy their normal life made her feel a little hopeful.
He pulled over in front of a tall building, painted in shades of maroon and light blue. With its broad structure, big galleries, and windows for each flat, it looked expensive and well-maintained.
He drove into the parking lot, parking his car at an empty slot.
He undid his belt as she did hers, wondering why they were there.
Was he about to sell her off to someone? Was he going to lock her up in an empty room? Did he own a flat in that building?
Questions after question popped in her mind as she watched him circle the car and open the door of her side.
Was he going to carry her bridal style again?
Wouldn't there be people?
Wouldn't it be awkward?
He snaked his arm around her back and one under her knees, making her yelp in surprise as her one hand circled his nape.
"What are you doing? Put me down. There'll be people." She wiggled in his arms, ignoring the way her own heart didn't comply with her words.
"Stop moving, you'll fall. It won't be my fault then." He looked at her with tightly knitted brows, speaking in that deep, manly voice of his which instantly made her zip her lips.
He tore his gaze apart from her and started to walk towards the elevator.
"Push the button." He told her, she pressed her finger on the button it glowed with a red down-arrow, indicating the elevator was coming down.
She prayed in her heart for it to be empty. She didn't want to be caught in such a situation, let it by a stranger.
The doors split apart, as she eagerly bobbed her head upward to see if her prayer was answered, only for her temple to collide with his chin.
She stilled in his arms, not daring to look at him as her stomach did a flip, her heart strumming with a weird yet profound rhythm, her fingers unknowingly clutching his jacket.
She felt him exhaling a breath as he stepped into the lift, the doors closing behind them as he pressed the button for a floor.
The elevator stopped. So did her heart, for a moment. She felt herself tensing up, wondering for what purpose he had brought her there. Just what he was going to do?
She glanced at him, taking in his perfect, sharp jaw and the outline of his cheeks.
She didn't know when he stopped in front of a door until the door opened.
"Oh, you're here." She turned her face to the melodic, feminine voice.
A woman stood leaning at the door, looking at Tiger with a pretty, soft smile with a glint of curiosity and pleasure marking her features.
The woman was beautiful. More beautiful than her. And she didn't know why she was suddenly so self-conscious, comparing herself to a stranger.
"Did you organize the stuff, Tara?" He asked the woman in a flat tone.
What stuff?
"Yeah. Bring her in." The woman named Tara smiled at him wider, giving him the way to walk into the room. That's when Hayat realized she was still in his arms in the presence of a stranger. To say that it was embarrassing was an understatement. It was utterly displeasing for her. But could she complain?
He walked into the spacious room as she took in the beauty and fashionable interior.
He placed her on the couch, turning towards Tara as he considered her.
"I can't spend much time here. So, make it quick." Tiger informed her as she looked at him with a small lift of lips, a half smile, and a half smirk.
Hayat noticed the tension between them, a sense of secrecy and unsaid obscurity. She didn't give much thought to it, though her mind insinuated images her heart was unable to digest.
"Alright. Are you going somewhere?" She asked him with the same smile, walking over to the Television set and taking out a box from the drawer beneath.
"Yeah. I'll be back in sometime." He answered, not caring to inform about his exact whereabouts before exiting the room.
The woman walked towards her, bending down in front of her as she offered her a sweet, professional smile. Hayat looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and under-settled fear.
She was alone. With a stranger. Who had some stuff? Just what was happening?
"Would you please show me your leg?" The woman asked her kindly, opening the box.
Hayat squinted her eyes, not understanding her.
"Your injury. I will dress it properly." She chuckled, pointing at her legs. Hayat caught a glimpse of medical stuff in the box which Warren didn't have.
So that's why he brought her there? So generous for someone who claims to not care.
The time passed like a river's flow as the woman started dressing her professionally, cautiously.
"Are you a doctor?" Hayat asked her, her voice careful and curious.
"Yeah. I work in a hospital." She chuckled, cleansing her skin with the antibiotic liquid.
Hayat clutched the edges of the couch, suppressing a hiss as it pained slightly.
"Is he your friend?" She asked Tara after a moment.
"Tiger? Yeah."
A painful tug pierced across her heart, the air of the room suffocating her, she clenched her teeth, her skin burning with a weird sensation- anger, jealousy, and hatred.
Towards the woman? Towards him? Towards herself? She didn't know. She just knew she didn't like the idea of him being friends with any woman. For what reason? No valid answer.
Her dressing was done when Tiger returned after around half an hour.
"Want some coffee?" Tara asked both of them.
"Nope, we'll be leaving." He replied.
"Come on. Let me treat my guests. It would just take a minute." She looked at him with puppy eyes, making Tiger roll his eyes and plop down on the couch beside Hayat, keeping a good distance between them.
"Quick." He glanced at Tara, making her chuckle softly as she disappeared into the attached kitchen.
Hayat was looking at him. Hurt-the only emotion she could feel at the moment as it overpowered everything else.
As if sensing her gaze, he slowly turned his face toward her. Their eyes locked, the space between them shrinking into nothingness, yet it was suffocatingly vast with unspoken tension. Her heart pounded as she drowned in those foxy, whiskey-colored eyes, a shadow of doubt crept in. The insidious thought that those same eyes might linger on other women, might find them beautiful, invaded her mind. The jealousy hit her like a dagger plunged deep into her chest, twisting viciously, tearing every nerve apart one by one until she could feel her soul bleed. Each imagined glance, each possible admiration, was another twist, another cut, leaving her hollow and raw with searing, unbearable pain.
She couldn't handle the intensity of the emotions weighing down on her. She looked away from him.
"Can you help me get the sugar jar, Tiger?" Tara called out from the kitchen, her voice suddenly sounding so irritating and displeasing to her.
She lived here and needed help in getting the sugar jar from the cabinet. As if she called him every time she had to reach up.
Tiger raised from the seat, walking into the kitchen as Tara looked at him with a small pout, pointing at the cabinet which was just above her head.
Hayat scoffed, rolling her eyes. It was clear what that woman had for him. Since the kitchen was an attached space, most of its part was exposed to the hall area and could easily be seen by anyone sitting there.
Tara helped her, dressed her injured leg, and was kind to her too. She shouldn't be feeling such intense distaste for her. But the way the said woman was battling her eyelashes, acting more woman-like, tucking the strands of her behind her ear, smiling, gawking, and looking at him-it was enough to make Hayat grow bitter towards her.
Tiger turned to leave after helping her, but her hand gripped his.
"You can talk to me. I won't bite you, you know?" Tara said in a low voice, not knowing that the utter quietness of the room made her sound like an ASMR enthusiast.
Hayat tapped her foot against the floor, watching them with a frown.
"Go play with your boyfriend," Tiger spat, jerking away his hand from her hold.
"My boyfriend doesn't play with me anymore. Wanna replace him?" She turned fully towards him, closing the space between them, unaware of the ears listening to their each word, of the eyes, watching her with utter fury.
"I would rather replace your life with death. Want it?" He whispered, lowering his voice until it sounded like death itself.
Tara chuckled, turning around and resuming to make the coffee.
"I don't want to die yet. If I did, the first thing I would've done was to disclose you." She added the sugar as she spoke with a smirk.
"Dare to disclose anything about me, and I'll disclose you to your grave." Tiger threatened.
Hayat gulped. What did that woman know about him?
"Don't worry, honey. Nobody knows anything about you yet or about our relationship." She poured the coffee in three mugs, handing one to him.
Hayat inhaled a breath, looking down at the floor as soon as they stepped out of the kitchen, afraid that they'd see the hurt on her face, the reddening of her face, the unwanted layer of tears in her eyes.
What relationship? Was he more than friends with her?
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