Romira

Chapter - 18

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Akira

Jesus!

He looks as beautiful as always though his eyes are red and he's stumbling as if he couldn't stand straight. I get a whip of strong odour. My eyes narrows in confusion before I realise what it's.

He is drunk!

I swallow hard, averting my eye from his beautiful face, "You are drunk." I state.

He scowls at me, commenting famous drunk line, "No I'm not," wavering a little, when he makes a move forward, "Okay, maybe a little." Slurring, he shows a space between two fingers as if defining how much.

What does he want now?

I fold my arm around me protectively. I need it around him considering I feel utterly defenseless against him, "You can't be here." I speak in my most stern voice I could muster up but I know it still comes as breathless as I am feeling.

His lips form a spiteful smirk, "Why not? Is that fucker still here?" He ices, his eyes cutting through me.

What the hell is he talking about?

I open my mouth to voice my thought but he's already staggered himself inside like he owns it, looking about.

Closing the door shut, I spin around reaching him in two steps, "What do you think your doing?!" I raise my voice a little hoping a response from him.

He can't come here whenever he feels like it.

He opens door of my room and peeks inside, stumbling, searching around for god know what.

When he still doesn't responds me, I grab his arms pausing him. "Are you-"

He turns to me like a flash, grabbing back of my neck pulling me to him with blazing eyes, "Why did you leave with that café fucker?!" He grits out through clench teeth.

Alex?

Is he talking about him?

How does he even know him?

"Answer me dammit!" He bellows, yanking me further.

My temper flares at his demand.

What does he think of himself? Am I some sort of toy to him?

He has no right to ask me any question.

No way in hell after humiliating me.

Gaining my sense I pushed him away, rather harshly. He falters back almost falling but stops himself by door's handle, "That is none of your business!" I almost shout at him.

He doesn't say anything for few seconds, just stares at me like a lost kid, with his confused dazed gray orbs and I get time to inspect his appearance, he is still in same dress but it looks dirty and wrinkled.

I gasp a breath in shock when I notice his right knuckles are bloody and look pretty cracked up.

Oh hell.

It must be hurting.

As if on instinct I reach forward taking his hand on mine to check it. He stiffens but doesn't pull away, "Let me see it." I say calmly, my anger resolves at his aloofness.

I draw him to lean on me, without any resistant as I try to take him to bed. He is heavy and damn hard.

It's probably his muscles.