Page 15 of Two days, One Pucking Night

The awkwardly positioned fire alarm above the kitchen counter goes off. The jarring sound spurs my footsteps. I rush to open the large panel to the far right that opens to a terrace, allowing the crisp night air inside. Returning to the kitchen, I bypass Xavier, turning off the stove, dumping the burning pan into the sink, and pouring water over it.

“Are you okay?” I ask, turning to face him. He seems more zoned out now than he did earlier, if that's even possible.

“Yeah,” there’s a hitch in his voice when he responds as if he is asking himself the same question. Xavier leans on the island and runs his hand through his hair. The simple movement knocks down the large bottle of Hennessy on the island’s edge.

He reaches for the fragments on the floor. Blood covers the tiles. “Don't touch it.”

I walk toward the back of the island, into the pantry, and take out the first aid kit.

Xavier remains in the same spot. I rush back, sweat clinging to my skin as I struggle to catch my breath.

He slowly rises to his feet, looking at the kit in my hands like it has somehow offended him.

“Let me see,” I beckoned, taking hold of his hand.

He forcefully pulls away from my grasp. “I’m fine,” he growls.

“You’re bleeding.” I ignore him, reaching for his hand again.

“It’s a small cut, Sofia.”

“Let me see.”

“I said I’m fine, Sofia. I don’t need a child trying to fix me,” the words are sharp, blunt, and filled with unbridled rage.

Anger I’m unable to grasp or place. An anger I know I’m not deserving of, especially when my only crime is trying to help him. Hurt washes over me, flames twisting around my stomach and my lungs. I push the first aid forward, gliding it over the counter toward him. “Since you’re so good at doing everything yourself, go ahead. Dick.” Irritation bubbles inside me, leaving me feeling raw, tender, and exposed.

With my back turned to him, I step back in the direction I came. I’m smart enough to know when I’m not needed, even smarter to know when not to accept disrespect.

“Wait.”

I feel his hands wrap around the exposed skin around my waist. His bloodied finger is raised upward. Blood drips from it, making my stomach churn with discomfort. He pulls my back flush against his chest, cocooning me in the heat of his body. He leans down, his liquor-scented breath on my neck.

“You’re right.”

“Xavier.”

“I’m sorry, princess.”

My resolve weakens at the bass in his voice and his use of what I now assume is his term of endearment.

“It’s my shit. It has nothing to do with you. I just had some news … bad news, and I lashed out.”

“Of course, it’s your shit,” I grit the words through my teeth.

“You didn’t deserve that side of me.”

“No I did not. Do not disrespect me.”

“I understand, I’m sorry.”

I turn my body around, facing him, my hands pressed against his chest. “What happened?”

Xavier’s body tightens, and he bares his teeth for a brief moment. “I got a pretty fucked up message from someone in my family, and it got to me.”

I feel the ripples in his muscles as he struggles to get the words out. My irritation softens at the mention of his family. I, of all people, know how they can press, probe, and push us into versions of ourselves we no longer recognize.

“I won’t deny any help you offer.” He uncurls his arms from my waist, raising his bloodstained hand.

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