Slowly, something began to shift in his eyes, a look I remembered quite well. A mixture of anger and ugly possessiveness that landed us in disheartening arguments when we were together. I leaned forward, as if bracing myself for what was to come.
"Sud–" I began.
"Have you fucked him yet?" he blurted out.
"Excuse me?" Jaran asked, taken aback by the question.
"Don't do this, Sud."
"You should know he likes it when men dress up like whores." He sniffed.
"You fucking asshole," I said quietly.
"He likes to make you wear a bra, before watching you cum in your underwear and then smell it, like a sick pervert—"
"Sud!" I slammed the table, glaring at him.
"Khun Jaran!" the chef called from behind the counter. "Your order is ready!"
Hesitantly, Jaran rose. I could feel his gaze on me but couldn't bear to look at him.
"Khun Jaran!" the chef called again. He turned to her call, walking to the counter.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing!" I yelled.
"No one else ever tolerated it, remember? I was the only one. Sooner or later, he'll find you just as disgusting and you'll come running back to me, because I'm the only one who could ever—" I sprung up from my seat, snatching my magazines and marching to the exit. "Hey, pervert!" Sud called, rushing to me. "Don't you dare walk away from me!" He pulled me back, smacking the magazines out of my hand.
Something snapped inside of me when I saw the magazines littered across the floor. I had tolerated enough. There was pure rage burning in the pit of my stomach, I could only hear the ticking sound in my head, like a bomb, waiting to explode.
SMACK!
I landed the first slap across his face, followed by a harder punch and the whole restaurant gasped. Before he could recover, I had him by the collar, eyes wide.
He grabbed my hands and we locked into a tight struggle until he overpowered me, smacking me across the face hard, I was on the ground the next second. He towered over me, attempting to throw another punch when Jaran pulled him away and began to throw punches, pinning him on the floor. I rushed over and began to pull Jaran off Sud. He was ferocious, almost as if it was a personal vendetta.
"Jaran!" I called, grabbing him as he rendered punch after punch, blood splattering out of Sud's mouth and nose. "Jaran! Enough!" I yelled.
In all my years fighting and bickering with Jaran, I had never seen him so angry. He was almost unrecognizable. Finally, I got him off Sud, or rather, he let go, picked up all my magazines and turned to me with darkened wide eyes.
"Did he hurt you!" his voice thundered, husky and harsh as he reached to hold my face, I smacked his hand away.
"Jaran—"
"Did he!"
I shuddered at the tone of his voice. "No, it—"
"Let me see." He reached out again to hold my face and I turned away. "Let me see!" He grabbed my face, turning it towards the yellow lights.
He was out of breath, breathing heavily against my face. His hands were cold and shaky. His raging eyes slowly began to melt into tender concern.
"It's just a bruise, I can barely feel anything," I spoke in a mellow soft voice.
He nodded, slowly releasing his tight grip on my jaw.
Without saying a word, he took me by the arm and dragged me along. I had no words to spare. My eyes remained fixed at the back of his head as he hurried back into our apartment's building, straight into the elevator. From the corner of my eyes, I could see his red skin, he was still angry, still fuming. It scared me into silence.
"I... He..." I tried forming words, but there wasn't a particular sense I was trying to make.
"Don't," Jaran replied in a deep coarse tone.
My heart sank and I was rocked with embarrassment. I closed my eyes for a few seconds and bit the inner part of my lips. He knows. He knows. He knows. My heart raced with those same words. I was ashamed. For the first time in a long time, I was ashamed.
I reached over to collect the magazines and he moved his hand away. I did not try to collect it again.
"I—" I began to speak when the elevator doors opened and sent me back into a shell. He stormed out and I followed.
Wut, Pure and Nat were scattered around the seating room, loudly discussing when Jaran stormed into the house. Nat tried to rope us in, shouting his case over Wut's voice, bananas in his mouth, but Jaran was not slowing down. I passed them a weak smile, trying to hide my face from them as I moved to the kitchen. Jaran grabbed my hand, redirecting me to the stairs.
He marched straight to my room, threw the door open and led me to the closet.
"Where is it?" he spat.
"W... what?" I stuttered.
"The underwear."
I pointed to a drawer in the corner.
He dragged it open and took out one of the red bras. He took his shirt off, then his trousers, revealing a black well fitted Tom Ford briefs. I watched in confusion, trying to make sense of his actions. Next thing I knew, he slid the bra straps onto his shoulders, then struggled for another two minutes to hook it before giving up with a loud sigh. For another minute, we stood in complete silence. It was unnerving.
"It's just a piece of clothing, Kit," he said with a tone so gentle, it felt like someone wrapped me in a blanket.
"What?" my voice broke.
"You are not sick, and you are not broken. You should never apologize for liking something as trivial as a piece of clothing."
My eyes welled up.
Maybe because it was the first time someone had verbally told me it was ok to my face, or maybe it was all the pent-up emotion from my encounter with Sud. But his words made me feel like a weight was lifted off my back. I could not hold the tears back.
"Don't cry," he consoled with tender care. "Am I doing something wrong?" He moved closer. I shook my head. "Then why are you crying?"
"I... I... No one has ever said that to me." I smiled, struggling to look at him.
"Oh..." He exhaled. I chuckled and he joined me. "Well..." He swallowed. "That is a pity."
I looked into his eyes and noticed there were tears in his eyes too.
"It looks good on you." I pointed at the bra. He laughed and wobbled. "Whoa... are you okay?"
"Yes... ummm.... I'm good... I'm..." He stumbled and I plunged forward, catching him.
"I think you need to sit," I said, believing whatever adrenaline he had in his system during the fight was beginning to wear off and his brain was finally catching up.
"Go get Wut,' he demanded, breathless.
"Jaran?"
He threw up all over me and I gasped.
"Go get Phi Wut! Please!" he screamed.
"What's wrong!"
"Just go!"
Setting him down on the ground, I ran out of the closet.