Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
“Just admiring a good-looking man,” I rasped.
Malik’s eyes flared with heat, and his nostrils flared. We stared at each other for a good minute before he ripped his eyes from mine, snatched his bag from the chair, and stormed back to the bathroom. When the door shut behind him, I leaned over and gripped the edges of the table. Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep, calming breath, willing my body to cool the fuck down.
Malik was not going to fold for me overnight. I knew that. But it sure as fuck didn’t stop me from hoping. I’d been head over heels for the man for so damn long, I didn’t know what it felt like to not want him anymore.
Sighing, I pushed off the table, then lifted the lids off our food. Malik came out just as I was sitting in the armchair. It was uncomfortable as fuck, and I grimaced. But it would do since I couldn’t exactly sit on a bed and try to eat my steak. That was just a disaster waiting to happen.
Malik stepped out of the bathroom in a pair of gym shorts and a plain black t-shirt. Without a word, he walked over and grabbed his burger before taking a seat on the bed. We ate in silence, and eventually, Malik grabbed the TV remote and began flipping through channels until he settled on SpongeBob.
“Didn’t peg you for a guy who watched this,” I said, surprised by his choice.
Malik grunted. “Doesn’t require a lot of thinking to watch. And my mom used to always put it on for me when I was little. Using it to keep myself engaged and calm became a… coping mechanism of sorts.”
I chewed on my bite of steak, my eyes on the television screen, but I wasn’t actually paying attention to it. I was pondering the little piece of himself he’d let me see.
“You were angry as a little kid, too?” I finally asked.
Malik nodded, not removing his eyes from the TV screen. “Mom tried anger management classes for me, but it didn’t work too well. She tried therapy, too, but that went about just as good. So, she did her best to just come up with her own coping mechanisms for me. Cartoons that were simple and maybe even a bit stupid worked.”
We continued eating in silence for a little longer as I thought over his words, thinking back on what I remembered from the single psychology class I’d taken in college. I hadn’t taken it because I wanted to take it. The college had forced me to take some bullshit elective to “broaden my horizons” because it would look great on my college transcript.
I only went to college because Anatoly and his family made me. Not because I wanted to. But Anatoly wouldn’t let me move up the ranks and become his second if I didn’t have a college education behind me. He wanted to make sure I would be highly respected in our world since I hadn’t been born into his family—had only been a kid they found starving on the streets after my mom skipped out on me and my dad drowned himself in the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
I glanced at Malik. He’d set his plate aside and was calmly focusing on the TV while twisting the draw string of his shorts around his finger. He unwound it, then did it all over again.
Was it possible Malik had anxiety? Sure, everyone had anxiety in some form, but was Malik’s overwhelming enough that his manifested in bursts of rage?
“Has your mom ever had you speak to someone about anxiety?” I blurted.
Malik swung his head toward me, his brows furrowing over his dark eyes. “What? No. I don’t have fucking anxiety, Rurik.” And there it was—the anger. And now that I thought about it—yeah, anxiety made perfect sense. Every time Malik was faced with a situation that made him uncomfortable, backed him into a corner, or left him feeling like he didn’t know what choice to make, he became angry.
I shook my head. “I’m pretty sure you have some form of anxiety, Malik.” I held up my hand when he opened his mouth to no doubt bite my head off. “Before you go chewing me up and spitting me out, anxiety isn’t always panic attacks. Sometimes, you just get… mad.”
He frowned then, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Without a word, he turned back to the TV, but that confused yet thoughtful look didn’t leave his face.
Maybe—just maybe—I might be able to make some headway with the beautiful man now that we were possibly getting to the root cause of his explosive personality.
8
Malik
The floor was fucking uncomfortable. I’d slept in a lot of shitty places since joining the Ghost Born MC and while I’d been in the military, but this floor took the cake. There was no blanket. No sheet. Just me, my clothes, and two fucking pillows. I’d been down here tossing and turning for what had to be a good hour, and I couldn’t even begin to fall asleep.