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He pulls the joint from his lips, his eyes shifting to mine, even as his head remains pointed toward the ceiling.
He doesn't respond.
"Where have you been?"
He shrugs.
I inhale, his strong, manly scent giving me butterflies. Like it's my first day meeting him all over again. Although this time, there isn't as much hate burning as there was then.
Stepping toward the bed, I walk until my thighs hit the mattress. "I haven't heard from you all week. Where have you been staying?"
"With friends."
With friends?
"Why haven't you come home?"
No answer.
"Do you… do you remember what happened?"
His lips pinch around the white joint as he takes a hit. Exhaling, his chest hiccups with a cough as the hit burns his lungs. Stubbing the joint into the ashtray on his nightstand, he utters, "You mean, do I remember that I killed my father? Yes, actually, in great detail."
I bite my lip, not sure how to respond.
He glances back up at the ceiling. "I remember everything. Took me a while, but I remember every moment of it."
I want to get on the bed, snuggle up next to him and help him get back whatever piece of himself he's clearly lost. He seems so… disconnected. Like he's lost himself in this battle and hasn't fully recovered.
I don't know how to help him.
"Do you remember… us?"
"Vividly," he tells the ceiling. Completely emotionless.
I blink. What?
"I don't… I don't know what to say." I take a breath, feeling guilty for wishing he could go back to being manic. Possessed. For just a moment, because at least then he showed me he wanted me.
Now he acts like I'm a stranger.
"Then say nothing," he says.
I frown, growing angry. "So, what? Now that you're back to normal, you want to go back to, what… hating each other?"
He swings his legs over the bed, giving me his back. "I want to go back to not knowing you, Vera."
My nose burns, and I can feel the sting of tears starting. "What?"
His back stiffens, his entire spine going rigid.
My knee presses against the bed, and I give his back a shove. "Talk to me, Malik! You go from acting like you want me, acting like you care, to not even wanting to know me? What the fuck?"
I expect a reaction. I want one. I crave the fight between us. I’m a fiend for his anger. I thrive on the madness. I want every inch of him.
He gives me nothing.
Standing up, he walks to the window, keeping his back to me. "I think you should leave."
