Jimmie's
The first thing I registered was the pain.
Not the emotional kind—not yet. The physical. A heavy, slamming, head-splitting type of pain that made me grunt as I cracked one eye open. Migraine. Loud. Ugly. Punishing.
The second thing I registered for? The noise.
The streets outside my apartment were alive—drums pounding, voices chanting, whistles, and vuvuzelas blaring from every direction. Astria was celebrating. Of course they were. Republic Day.
I groaned into the pillow, turning my head away from the brightness that leaked through the blinds. The sound wasn't even coming from my block alone. The entire city was on fire with joy. From my second-story apartment, I could hear people dancing in the alleyway, children running and laughing, someone banging pots together in mock percussion.
It was all... too much.
I should've been out there too—dressed, polished, grinning by Eleanor's side like the loyal assistant I was hired to be. Making sure she hit her marks. Making sure the cameras caught her from the right angles. Making sure Devon...
Devon.
I winced at the sound of his name in my head. It hit like a blade. And I hated that it still did.
Dragging myself up, I slid off the bed and shuffled toward the small sink beside my kitchenette. My feet were heavy. My body felt like it had gone through a war I couldn't remember.
I turned on the tap and splashed cold water over my face. Once. Twice. Then a third time, longer. It dripped down my bare chest, off my chin, into the sink. The mirror in front of me showed a mess.
Gold hair—flat, dull, limp.
Eyes—once bright green and mischievous, now dull, shadowed with fatigue.
Lips—cracked.
Jaw clenched.
I looked like I hadn't slept in days.
Because I hadn't.
A beep echoed from the nightstand behind me—my phone. Probably another message. Maybe from Eleanor. Perhaps a work call. I didn't care. I couldn't. I was too drained. The weight in my chest hadn't moved for weeks.
Instead of checking it, I stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Warm, then cold—colder than it should be. The kind of cold that shocks your system. I slid out of my pyjama shorts and stepped into the stream.
The water hit me like a slap. But I welcomed it.
For a few seconds, I let my head fall back, eyes shut tight, arms at my sides as if the water could wash it all away—Devon's scent. His voice. His goddamn touch.
And Eleanor... I hadn't answered her messages. Not one.
The resignation letter I wrote three nights ago was still sitting in my drafts, untouched. Every time I thought of hitting send, I froze. I wanted to walk away. To disappear. But part of me still waited. For what, I didn't know.
No—I did know.
I exhaled sharply, still in the shower. But that exhale turned into a hiss when his eyes flashed behind my lids. Cold, golden, feral. And full of something I couldn't name. Something ancient.
I flinched and opened my eyes.
Ding-dong.
The doorbell rang.
Startled, I jolted. My first instinct was paranoia. I wasn't expecting anyone. I never really had guests.
I turned off the water, dried off quickly, and pulled on a clean pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. The doorbell rang again, longer this time. Impatient.
"Coming!" I shouted, voice raspier than usual.
I padded across the floor and yanked open the door, ready to snap—
And froze.
There she was.
The only human being who had made me smile without trying in weeks.
"Clementine?!" I said, half in disbelief, half in amusement.
My cousin.
"Jimmie!" she squealed in that high-pitched, sharp-mouthed voice that only Clementine could get away with. Her arms wrapped around me before I could breathe, tugging me into a warm, cinnamon-scented hug.
She pulled back a second later, eyes darting up and down. "Boy, you look like you've been run over by a dump truck and resurrected halfway through the process."
I rolled my eyes, smirking. "It's good to see you, too."
Her hair—ginger-bright and wild—was tied up in a half-messy bun, strands already escaping. She had the kind of beauty that wasn't traditional. Too sharp, too intense. But captivating. Her hazy, grey eyes held a thousand thoughts at once. Clementine always looked like she belonged to a different era. Like she should've been the muse of a haunted painter.
"Come in," I said, grabbing her suitcase and pulling it inside. "You didn't tell me you were coming."
"Do I ever?" she said, plopping down onto one of the two old sofas in my cramped living room like she owned the place.
"Of course not," I muttered with a grin, following behind her.
"I'm on break for a few months," she said, already stretching. "And since it's Republic Day, I figured I'd come see my favourite cousin and maybe slap some sense into him."
I chuckled. "You're just bored."
"Nope. I just figured you probably needed company. You know... since you have no friends."
I handed her a glass of orange juice and the only thing remotely edible in the fridge—some leftover cookies.
She sipped. Took a bite. Then gagged dramatically. "Cuzz... you trying to kill me? These taste like soggy regret."
I burst out laughing.
"Sorry," I said sheepishly. "Haven't been grocery shopping in... forever."
Her face softened. "Occupied, huh? Or do you mean hiding?"
I froze mid-step. "What?"
"I read about it," she said, voice calm but serious now. "The blog post about your abduction. It was taken down after a few hours, but I saw it. Tried calling, but you never picked up. I figured you were dealing with... stuff."
I sat down, rubbing my face. "I'm okay, Clem."
"Are you?"
I didn't respond. I didn't have to. She was watching me like she always did—like she could see through the layers.
"When did my loud, flamboyant, diva of a cousin become this shell?" she whispered, scooting closer.
"He's right here," I said with a soft smile.
She leaned her head on my shoulder. "You don't have to tell me everything. Not now. But just know... You have to fight this. You can't stay shut away forever. You don't disappear after trauma. You live through it. That's the fight."
I looked down at her, truly taking her in. Twenty-four and already speaking like someone twice her age. When did she grow up?
But how could I tell her?
About Devon?
About that night, about what happened— something more primal than the abduction itself, about the rejection, about the fire in his eyes and the way my soul had cracked under his roar? How could I say I think I'm mated to Eleanor's husband and not have her think I'd lost it completely?
"Hey. Don't go zoning out on me now," she said, smacking my arm playfully.
I pinched her cheek, like I used to when she was ten. "You're the sweetest cousin in the world."
She grinned. "Damn right."
I stood up, stretching. "Alright, let me grab my wallet. We're going down the road and getting some real food in this house."
She cheered behind me, grabbing the remote and flipping on the TV. "I call shotgun on snacks and music!"
I was almost at the bedroom door when I heard it.
His voice.
Devon.
Confident. Smooth. That low, manly timbre that always made my skin prickle.
I halted mid-step, my breath caught in my chest.
The sound flooded the apartment. The national broadcast. He was on screen, giving his Republic Day speech.
I turned slowly, drawn to the living room like a moth to flame. Clementine was already whistling.
"Damn. That President is fine. I mean—damn. What I wouldn't give to be a flag on his podium."
I didn't hear her.
My eyes were glued to the screen.
Devon looked... regal. Presidential. Like the man the world saw him as.
But something was off.
His eyes.
His stance.
He looked... in pain. No one else would notice. But I knew that look. I'd seen it in the mirror.
He gripped the podium. Hard. His knuckles were white. His breath was shallow.
My heart was pounding now. No... thundering.
Then—silence.
Gasps.
Eleanor's scream.
The President collapsed.
On national TV.
Devon.
Falling.
Unconscious.
My hand flew to my mouth. My knees weakened.
"Oh shit..."
I remembered the passage I read at the vintage shop a week after escaping captivity:
"To reject the bond is to deny nature. It causes pain… madness… death."
Had I just...
Had I just killed him?
My eyes widened. My chest locked.
"Oh God... what have I done?"