Intoxicating

Gods & Monsters

AN: last minute decision, I named Leia's mom's boyfriend Greg since he does have such a huge part in this chapter. I didn't want to have to keep writing 'Leia's mom's boyfriend' over and over lol.

Timothée's POV

I didn't waste a second. Seeing him on top of Leia sent a surge of anger through me I hadn't felt in a long time. I lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him back.

"Get the fuck away from her!" My voice was cold, sharp, vibrating with fury. Something inside me snapped, and it was like I blacked out as I charged towards Greg. My fist shot forward, landing squarely on Greg's jaw with a force I didn't even know I had. Greg staggered back, clutching his face in shock, but I didn't let up. Every instinct told him to protect Leia, to make sure Greg understood he'd crossed a line he'd never be able to come back from.

Troy and Blake rushed in, pulling at me, trying to stop me before things went any further, but my focus remained on Greg, unwavering. "If you ever lay a hand on her again, I swear to fucking god you'll wish you hadn't," I screamed, my voice furious, barely recognizing myself in that moment. I raised my fist over and over until Troy and Blake finally got ahold of me.

"Timothée, come on, man. Stop!" Troy said as he pulled me off of him.

Leia's POV

I sat on the floor, frozen in shock, my back pressed against the wall as I stared at the scene before me. Greg lay sprawled out on the floor, blood streaking down from his nose, his face swollen and bruised from Timothée's blows. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the horror of it all-Greg's labored breathing, the raw anger in Timothée's clenched fists, and the smears of blood on his knuckles.

Timothée's heavy breathing filled the room as he slowly straightened, his gaze shifting from Greg's battered form to me. His expression softened the moment our eyes met, the rage in his face replaced by a flicker of concern and regret. He took a hesitant step toward me, his hand slightly trembling as he wiped the blood from his knuckles onto his shirt.

"Leia..." he murmured, his voice low and uncertain. He reached out as if to comfort me, but then he stopped, as if unsure if he even should.

I felt my heart pounding, a mixture of gratitude and fear coursing through me. I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat as my hands shook in my lap. I couldn't believe what had just happened; I couldn't believe Timothée had fought for me like this.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. We just looked at each other, the silence heavy with everything unsaid. Finally, Timothée took another step forward, kneeling beside me and gently placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice breaking through the fog of my shock.

My heart pounded as I stared down the hallway, willing her door to open, for her to come stumbling out, take one look, and finally understand. But as the seconds dragged on, it was just silence.

Of course. She wasn't coming. She was so passed out, she hadn't even heard the yelling, the sounds of punches landing, or the chaos unraveling right in her own living room. I swallowed, disappointment thick in my throat, a familiar ache settling in my chest. I'd let myself hope, just for a second, that this time would be different-that she'd wake up and be there for me.

Timothée bent down and helped me to my feet, his hands warm and steady as he guided me up. Just as I found my balance, his eyes drifted over my face, and I saw the exact moment he noticed the welt on my cheek-the spot where Greg had struck me. His gaze darkened, and he reached out, gently brushing his fingertips over the bruise. The touch was feather-light, but I still flinched, a sharp sting shooting across my skin.