AllFreeNovel
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Danger.
Malik is danger.
I step on the broken glass, my boots crunching the pieces into dust on the darkened floor.
Hopefully it doesn’t leave a scratch, I think as I head toward the stairs.
Malik’s nonchalance is irritating. More than I thought it’d be. His ability to brush me off is offensive.
Maybe it’s time I play a prank of my own.
I race up the stairs, my fingertips gliding across the iron railing as I make my way to the second level. The shower is still on, with the door only opened a crack. I pause, leaning on my toes as I peek inside.
I feel like a damn creep.
The deep shower makes it impossible to see much. But then he shifts, his head tilting back as his fingers run through his dark tresses. His arms flex with the movements. I watch as the water glides from his hair, down his toned back, and over the rounded globes of his ass.
Holy hell.
I feel a thump between my legs, and swallow through my suddenly parched mouth.
He is so fucking perfect.
Why does he have to be my brother? Why does he have to be such a terrible person?
I blink, shaking my thoughts from my head at his last words.
I don’t cuddle.
His mocking voice in my head makes me snarl. What a fucking dick. My nostrils flare as I stomp off to his bedroom, not even caring about my torn shirt at this point. It floats against my sides as I walk to his door. It's shut, as it always is. I've never been in here. Never had the guts. I don't even know what it looks like, actually. I just know that this dark, tall door looks ominous.
Frightening.
A chill breaks out along my spine as I press my hand on the cold knob. My fingers shake as I turn the knob, and a gust of Malik hits me in the face. I can't help but inhale, breathing in the scent of pine and water and smoke and so, so much Malik.
My mouth fills with water.
Not only that, but his room is shockingly clean. Like, not an article of clothing on the floor. Not a slightly opened drawer in his dresser. No dishes on his nightstand. His bed is made.
Like, what? How is a teenage guy cleaner than I am?
I walk up to his bed, running my fingers along his black comforter, the king mattress oversized and tall, sitting on a huge wooden frame. The Gothic-looking headboard is tall, a nearly midnight dark wood as it sits against the wall. The entire bed looks overwhelming and gigantic. I walk up to the nightstand, jumping up so I'm able to sit on the edge of the bed. The heel of my boot balances on the edge of the frame as I lean forward, pulling on the handle of the nightstand.
A box of condoms. A knife. A Bible.
Wow, good combo.
A smirk lifts my lips as I grab the handle of the knife. It's not the one he keeps on him. This one is more like a dagger, old and heavy. The handle looks brass, small, with deep carvings making it look like a historical object more than anything else.
I press my finger on the tip, watching the pad whiten a moment before the blade pierces the skin. Blood drips down my knuckle, and I press my finger against his comforter, watching as it seeps into the fabric.
Lifting the blade to his headboard, I run it across the wood. It's thick. Not a hollow, cheap wood that you find at IKEA.
I sigh. Poor Malik and his bad attitude.
My hand shoots forward, and the blade plunges into the wood. I drag down, watching the dark wood turn to light as it starts shredding beneath the blade. I start carving into the headboard, a smile on my lips as I listen to the water continue to run in the shower.
I shift on the mattress, getting comfortable as I make my art on Malik's bed.
