Game Over | 18+ ✓

VII

A/N: um... 😳😳😳

•••

"Whoever the fuck you are had better have a bloody good reason—" All the vulgarities I was going to spew died in my throat as soon as I flung the front door open.

Fucking hell. 

Irina stood there, rigid as a tree, glancing up at me with those glistening wide eyes she should've known would weaken me. My mind went blank for a good three seconds before loud cheers in the background snapped me back to reality.

I turned my back to her, heading back into the living room with the door left ajar. How could I make myself stand there, with her an arm's length away, and not pull her into my embrace, especially when she was looking at me like a goddamn puppy? I felt like I needed to punch a hole in a wall.

I heard her footsteps as she followed behind me while I switched the soccer game on my 65" TV off. I hadn't really been paying attention to it anyway, mostly just needing the noise to fill up the silence.

My breathing got visibly louder the more I felt her presence behind me. Fuck. This would've been a great time to light a stick had I not crushed my cigarettes earlier. I reached for the pack of gum on the coffee table and popped two in my mouth.

"You're fucking killing me here, Irina." I sat down on my couch, elbows on my knees, forcing myself to stare at the floor instead of her.

What is she doing here?

It had been several hours since we parted, with her reminding me that I had said I'd respect her decisions. Why the fuck had I agreed? It was too late, regardless. I didn't want to be the scumbag who never lived up to his word, even though every cell in my body urged me to go down on my knees in public and fucking beg her.

All the brief touches—her soft hands, our calves brushing each other's under the table, that damn curve of her body as I spooned her this morning—weren't enough. They weren't fucking enough.

Didn't she see how much effort it took for me to force my legs to walk away? I'd turned my back on her first, knowing I was gonna run after her if I had to watch her backview as she leaves. That didn't mean I didn't drive the car around twice hoping she'd still be standing at the same spot, questioning herself for her senseless, obstinate decision. But she was nowhere to be seen by then, and I thought maybe I was truly doing her a favour to get out of her life as she wished.

With the TV switched off, my apartment was dimmer than before since the only thing illuminating the room was the blue ambiance lighting in all corners of the ceiling and the view of the city skyline out the windows.

Her heels clicked on my marble floor with each step she took until they entered my vision, stopping right in front of my feet—toe-to-toe. Bloody red pair of stilettos with a bow on the front, revealing a peek of her toes painted in the same shade.

Is she trying to fucking torture me?

"Norman," she said my name in such a feather-light tone that it made it sound like candy in her mouth. Nonetheless, I couldn't glance up. I knew I absolutely couldn't. Even just staring at her feet had all my blood rushing down south.

I chewed harder on my gum, chewed it with my mouth slightly open, needing the sound of my teeth hitting each other to distract me from hearing the difference in her breathing.

"Norman," she fucking called my name again. Dear God. "You were right."

That had me snapping my neck up, only to realize her crotch was at perfect eye-level mere inches away. Too close for me to behave. I leaned back against the couch immediately before I'd risk impulsively pulling her in and taking a whiff.