20.

Hayat gazed out of the window, trying to distract herself from the unpleasing thoughts.

Their hushed words still echoed in her ears. Those secretive glances, that unannounced obscurity, that proximity between them in the kitchen. Everything she saw was taking a toll on her. Much to her dismay, she didn't even know what to feel about it, or even how to handle it.

Like there are moments in your life, you just feel an emotion so deep, so rooted, and you don't know why you feel it, or if you're even supposed to feel it. You just do, without any valid reason, without any understandable cause, without your resistance and control.

"Do you like ice cream?" She flinched at the sudden, deep voice, one of those evil and death.

She turned her face to him, blinking at him as he drove with one hand, wondering if her mind was playing tricks or did he really just asked her that.

Silence fell in the car again like a ghost, as if no voice so soft yet so deep reverberated in its hollowness.

He glanced at her when his question wasn't answered.

"I asked, if you like ice cream, squirrel," He repeated his question. She suppressed the urge to break out a smile at the way the word 'ice cream' sounded from his mouth. The word so soft and fluffy sounded like a death threat from him.

"Yes," She answered, intrigued to know what he was going to do after knowing it.

"What flavor?"

"Vanilla, chocolate..." She listed whatever first came into her head, and the images of sweet ice creams in her mind made her mouth water.

He nodded, making a U-turn. She leaned forward to see the cozy-looking cafes and shops at the opposite side of the road.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Was he going to buy her an ice cream?

He stopped the car at the end of the lane, parking where the few other cars and bikes were parked.

"I'll come back in a few minutes," He informed, unbuckling his seat belt.

"And don't try to run away with my car. I'll kill you the moment I find you," She scoffed at his switch of behavior as he exited his car.

Bipolar bastard.

She wandered her gaze around the car, trying to peek back at the trunk to see whether he had some gold or cash hidden that he was so protective of this damn car.

There was nothing besides the emptiness, chillness, and hollowness. Yet somehow, it was comforting, soothing. Maybe because his car smelled like him, that scent of woods and lavender mixed in an addictive, intoxicating combination.

She looked over at the shop he went in, finding him standing at the counter through the transparent glass walls, his lips barely moving after giving the order. She took in his perfect, tall figure. 6 feet in height- she was sure he had a few inches more. The White T-shirt that fitted him so perfectly like a second skin, the black leather jacket hiding his toned muscles, and the denim black jeans that hugged his thighs in a way that made all the girls in the shop gawk at him like hormonal teenagers.

She narrowed her eyes like a possessive lover, realizing there were indeed teenagers in the shop.

"What a shame. He's too old for y'all," She shook her head in fake disappointment, enjoying the flicker of the moment and smiling to herself at her childishness.

Even in the depths of darkness, she didn't lose her light completely. The situation she was trapped in was overwhelming, and heart-screeching. Yet, she carried a quiet strength enough to handle it. She knew she could handle it, despite feeling hopeless, and exhausted from everything, it was nothing new in her life to happen. She knew how to shine, not with the blinding lights, but with the glow of someone who has walked through hell and still managed to make it to the end.

She inhaled deeply, the chilled air of the air conditioner mixed with his scent invading her senses. She watched him exiting the shop with two ice cream cones.

She bit back a smile. She was going to have ice cream after a month. And to add the cherry on top, from the man she has complicated feelings for.

He opened the car door as she darted her gaze out the window, trying to play oblivious.

"I hope you had a good time checking me out," He stretched the two cones to her as she whirled her face at him wide-eyed.

"I was not checking you out," She blinked at him, her mouth agape in bewilderment.

"Sure, squirrel." He raised one of his brows, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

Could he stop raising his brows? He looks extra handsome doing that.

She glanced at his hand which held the two cones stretched towards her.

"Both for me?" She asked hesitantly, her hand rising just an inch from her lap.

"Both for you," He answered. And she felt her heart skip a beat and did a flutter, butterflies erupting in her stomach.

She cupped both her hands around the lower part of the cones. His fingers brushed against hers for a split second as he let go of them.

Now, there weren't just butterflies in her stomach. There was a whole zoo jumping and dancing inside her.

He didn't seem to recognize the small touch, nor did he seem to realize what it did to her.

The air which was too cool for her just a few moments ago now felt too warm, or was it just her skin? She felt the heat crept to her cheeks and down to her neck. It was as if he set her on fire, and she burned in his warmth.

-----

Warren let go of the blade, staring at the red trails of blood emotionlessly. His face, usually a perfect blend of smiles and warm gazes, was now empty, devoid of any expression.

The pain that he was so used to didn't satisfy his hunch for destruction. Only if he could do more than that.

He blinked at his cut wrists, a little above his nerve. And what if he would cut that nerve?

A sad smirk made its way on his lips, almost deadly, menacing. It would be a favor to everyone around you. His subconscious mocked.

"Why are you such an embarrassment?!" His mother shouted, making the boy flinch.

"I-I didn't do anything, Mom. He hit me firs-"

"You could have just ignored it. Seriously, I'm not fond of being called to your school all the time." His mother snarled, frowning in disappointment and disgust, as if he was a dirty trash and she couldn't even stand the sight of him.

"You both are just ridiculous. Useless kids. Can't ever let me be in peace." She cursed him and his sibling both in unison.

He only lowered his gaze, staring at the ground, his eyes brimming with tears, his lips quivering, his body struggling to not shake.

"That man is living his life and I'm stuck with his two bloody kids," She muttered, loud enough for him to hear, her tone carrying the displeasure she had for him as she eyed him as if he was a beggar at the door as if he wasn't her son and she wasn't his mother.

He gulped down the lump in his throat, clenching his jaw, fisting his fingers as the words betrayed his control.

"You should've left us too then," He gritted out in subtle anger which was overpowering his resistance.

"What did you say?"

He looked up at her, her eyes were angry, mad. His were furious and red.

"I said, you should've left us too." His mother clenched her teeth, her jaw twitching at his sudden rise of voice against her.

It was the first time he spoke to her in such a tactless way, but not the first time he wanted to do so.

Those words finally came out of his mouth that day which were stuck in his throat for years he had known himself.

"You ungrateful brat, how dare you speak to me like that? I gave you shelter, food, education, and everything you have right now." His mother shouted, but he didn't flinch this time, didn't cower this time. Instead, his eyes turned more red, his nails digging into his palms with lethal force, his body shaking with fury. He didn't know where did that courage came from, but he was too outraged to care for the inconveniences.

"And I didn't ask for any of it. Fuck, I didn't even ask for this hell of a life too then why you gave me one?!" He spat loudly, right in the face of his mother who stood tall in front of his mid-length, 14-year-old height.

"Go back to your room this very moment-" His mother started, raising her perfectly trimmed brows in warning but he cut her off.

"And you go back to fucking your Boss behind dad's back-" He didn't get to reach the end of his sentence before a sharp, hard slap met his face.

He closed his eyes, remembering the past. It was the day everything changed for him, it was the day his life took a 360 turn, it was the day of his doom, the day he became 'Warren'.

The power those blades held to make him forget about anything was losing their ferocity, but he still needed them. Those blades were his companions, stayed with him for years, ruined him but also comforted him, took him away from those dark shadows when he was in dire need of escape, made him feel when he was too numb and made him numb when he felt too much.

He exited the bathroom after dressing his cuts. He walked up to the closet when his eyes fell upon the reflection in the glass. He stared at his shirtless figure in the mirror, his toned abs and broad chest painted in different shades under the dim light of the room as his eyes scanned the cuts on his body, his arms, and right below his abdomen, conveying the untold, unheard, horrible stories of his past, of the years which were the most dreadful in his life.

He heard the sound of a car grating against the ground with a loud honk. He sighed, taking out a long-sleeved hoodie, throwing it over his torso, and stretching the sleeves to his wrist to make sure none of his cuts were visible.

He took his time to organize the mess in his room. He knew Tiger was inside by now but he wasn't excited to see him at the moment. He was too much in his head, he wanted to avoid interactions for a while.

-----

"You could only find this much?" Tiger asked Warren as they sat on the couch in the lounge, a laptop opened in front of them with the screen showing very few details of their secret mission.

"For now, yes," Warren answered, knowing the information he found was not enough, it wasn't even close to enough.

"Nobody knows a thing about it, even in the clan, besides DK. Not even AK knows about it," Warren explained.

"AK only knows about the business matters of his father," Tiger added.

"DK has quite a power. I wonder how AK hasn't given in fully to his demands yet," Warren tilted his head, subconsciously staring at the screen.

"AK knows the weakness of his father while he doesn't have any," Tiger answered, folding his hands on his chest and leaning back against the headrest.

"I doubt that," Warren chuckled.

Tiger stared at the ceiling, "She backstabbed him. She's not his weakness anymore."

Warren nodded in understanding. A moment of silence passed by them as they both were consumed in solving the miseries and hurdles of their way in the mind.

"There must be someone who knows about it," Warren signed.

Tiger didn't reply in anything as the silence came again, mild and unflappable. But then, as if in queue, they looked at each other in sudden realization.

"I know about the things even you don't know about,"

"Hayat. She knows about it, definitely," Warren uttered with half-wide eyes.

"Will she tell us though?" Warren squinted his eyes in confusion and uncertainty.

"She will. I'll handle this," Tiger fell back onto the couch, closing his eyes.

"Alright," Warren got up, closing the laptop and wearing his jacket which was tossed on the headrest before, "I'm going out for a while,"

"Dinner?" Tiger looked at him without any moment.

"Oh, look at you being so husband material," Warren cooed mischievously, earning nothing but just a deadly glare back in return.

"I'll eat outside. Don't worry, boyfie." He winked, exiting the hall the very next moment because he would have been buried 6 feet down under the ground if he hadn't.

-----

Bad decision? Bad luck? Or just a bad night? Call it whatever because it seemed like neither his life nor his luck was with him that day.

His fingers were clutching the glass too tightly, watching her sway her body in between the loud, freaky crowd in the middle of the dance floor.

The music was blasting through the big speaker, the colorful lights dancing on the cheery, drunk people, glowing them under different shades of blue, yellow, and red as they moved and swayed like there was no tomorrow, while a few were passed out on the couch, few busy in eating other faces off, and a few just casually drinking and chatting among themselves on the stools.

She was there, drunk again, partying with her few friends as they all danced among the crowd in unison. He sighed, tearing his gaze apart while taking a sip from his drink, the toxic liquid burning down his throat.

Another day he tried to get his mind cleared and got it more fucked up.

Shit life.

He tried his best to not look at her, but how long his resistance would've worked against his longing for her, how long his brain would stop his heart?

She was wearing a one-shoulder bodycon dress which reached her mid-thigh, revealing her smooth legs that could hold traffic. The black dress fitted her body perfectly, showcasing her hourglass figure-her small waist and the alluring blend of those Indian curves.

A tug pulled at his chest, urging him to drop that glass and run to her, spin her around, and take her in his arms again, feel her against him again, kiss her, and tell her how much he loves her, how much he missed her, how much he craved her, and just how much he wants her back. But he didn't, he couldn't. He stayed glued to his place, watching her from a distance as she enjoyed herself to the beats of blasting music, wishing she wouldn't spot him, wouldn't see him.

A few minutes drifted by in blue, with her still swaying herself off amongst her group of friends and him simply dazed by her beauty, love, and longing.

A guy came to her with a drink of glass, leaning into her as she stopped moving, whispering something in her ear. Warren looked away, turning in his stool and pouring the liquor for himself before that flame of jealousy could take over him, and he burned the whole place with the same fire.

-----

Tiger walked into the room, finding her curled up in his bed, covered in the comforter like a fluff ball.

Did the sight of her in his bed pleased him? No. Of course, not.

He walked up to the bed, sitting beside her sleeping figure. His one leg on the mattress and one touching the ground.

She stirred in her sleep, her face contorting in pain as her legs moved slightly, but her features soon relaxed as she went back into her deep slumber again.

He kept gazing at her, things going on in his head which didn't seemed to unravel in his logics. Nothing makes sense to him when it's about her, he doesn't know what was the reason he bought her the ice cream, didn't know why he brought her to Tara to dress her, didn't know what the tug he felt when she looked at him with those eyes, as if she didn't liked it there, as if she was hurt, and he couldn't put his finger on as to why that pain on her face bothered her. He wanted to lighten up her mood, and she seemed pleased to have those ice creams.

He wondered what he was going to do about the matter at hand. How will he ask her? Or even if he did, would she tell him? Her life was already on the knock, will she risk it more for him? She probably wouldn't, but he had his ways, and there's nothing wrong in trying.

A strong breeze swept through the window, causing the wooden doors to flap noisily, swaying through his silky raven hair. The wind, cool and refreshing, moved on to caress her body, and she shuddered involuntarily, feeling its touch against her skin.

He grabbed the edge of the comforter cautiously which was just above her abdomen. Tugging at it with cautious pull to not wake her up, he stretched it up to her shoulders, fixing it around her neck.

She turned sideways, the same subtle hint of pain appearing on her face. Her hand stretched slightly, colliding with his thigh.

He paused for a moment, his breath stuck in his throat. Her fingers caressed his thigh, squeezed it just a little, thinking it was a pillow as a small, indiscernible frown played on her beautiful, glowing face. He exhaled, grabbing her hand to get it off from him.

But luck is not always on your side. It wasn't on his side either. Before he could do what he intended to, she hugged his thigh, snuggling her face in his skin as his hand remained in the air.

Burying her forehead and nose in his tough muscles, her shoulders relaxed comfortably, hugging him to sleep.

Meanwhile, he was having a hard time deciding where to keep his hand, and more of a hard time figuring out the fireworks erupting inside of him. The night was chilled, breezes were seeping in through the window, and the room was cool like ice yet he felt himself sweating, burning, and melting.