𝐅𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 [𝟏𝟖+]

21

Life happened and I became MIA but I swear I'll make up to you guys with more updates this month or the next one. 5.8K words, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Don't forget to comment please!

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Multiple heartbreaks had immunized me to falling for Cyrus despite falling into a routine with him.

He had never made a move on me after he had broken the damn shower and sprained my wrist. I wanted to blame it on my menstrual cycle, which had been painless as always. Still, Cyrus had been very cooperative — at doing everything except fucking me. He had let me blast my playlist on speakers on the highest volume, let me cook for us, and let me practically move into his house; my beauty products occupied all the cabinets in his bathroom and bedroom, my preferred spices were stocked up in his pantry, and my clothes and footwear filled the major part of his closet. For all his bossiness and asceticism, he never complained, not even when I bulldozed into his space like a storm invading silence.

Albeit late I had realized Cyrus wasn't just a sacrificing person, he was also an adjusting one, which made me resent the idea of some strange woman reaping the benefits of having him as her life partner.

Strangely, I had to fight the urge to hug him for no reason, kiss him in public, crawl onto his couch, and cuddle with him on the uncomfortable couch he slept on. For whatever senseless reason, I liked having him around me, having him call me Wild One, having him look at me like I was the wild horse only he could tame and take care of. And some days, I even regretted my photography job — missed working as Cyrus' assistant, if I was being honest.

If a mere change in my job role left me with an indescribable gap, I truly didn't know what the end of this twisted arrangement had in store for me. I dreaded to think of the extent Romeo would go to hold me captive. Marcus, Romeo's bodyguard, who had made a full recovery, put me on high alert as it was whenever he was around me.

With Romeo's lapdog's hawk-like eyes following me around, work was becoming a nightmare. But behind closed doors? I had Cyrus all to myself. I had all of him, even when he didn't touch me. It was like we forgot the reason for this arrangement, long crossed the line of fuck buddies, and started to share our personal spaces like we were roommates. Or maybe even friends.

And I was seeking solace from the truth that Cyrus was my friend in prison.

Just as actively as I was trying to lure him to my bed.

In a voice so soft he could scarcely hear him, I asked, "On a scale of 1 to America, how horny are you?"

"Antarctica."

"Blue balls, huh? You're miserable." I grumbled, devastated that he was making me anti-hedonistic.

As if he hadn't heard me, he took his laptop, a cigar, and a lighter and stalked onto the balcony, leaving me alone in his room. He would smoke a cancer stick at least once a day on the balcony while I stayed away from him, mostly because I hated seeing him smoke it. Though the fact that Cyrus was very susceptible to health hazards because of his organ donation rattled me, I didn't ever voice my concerns for his health though, scared that he would start bringing up my rap sheet of drugs. But I did hope someday I would make him stop that unhealthy habit.

Traversing towards his bookshelf, I pulled it open to grab the photo album. My eyes caught a strange folder that he had replaced with the photo album. Taking it out, I read the first page and then read the entire file because I was shamelessly invasive.