Chapter Two: Lines We Don’t Cross
789 Words
Jimmy didn’t come home that night.
I knew because I didn’t hear his footsteps in the hallway, didn’t smell the familiar mix of smoke and whiskey that always lingered after him. The house stayed unnaturally silent, like it was watching me, waiting.
I told myself I was relieved.
I wasn’t.
Morning came with pale sunlight filtering through my curtains. I lay awake long before my alarm, staring at the ceiling, replaying the image of blood on his knuckles. The way his voice had changed when he told me to go upstairs. Sharp. Protective.
Like I belonged to him.
I pushed the thought away and got dressed quickly, choosing jeans and a long-sleeved top. Normal clothes. Safe clothes. As if fabric could protect me from my own thoughts.
Downstairs, the kitchen was empty—until I heard movement.
Jimmy stood by the counter, pouring coffee.
He looked untouched by the night. Clean. Calm. Dangerous in the way only men like him could be. His black shirt clung to his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up, veins visible on his forearms.
My heart betrayed me instantly.
“Morning,” he said without turning.
“You came back,” I replied.
“I always do.”
The words settled between us, heavy with meaning.
He finally looked at me. His eyes swept over my face, lingering for half a second too long. “You didn’t sleep.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I did,” I lied.
He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his presence—warm, solid, overwhelming. He smelled like soap and something darker underneath. His gaze softened, just barely.
“You shouldn’t lie to me,” he said quietly.
I swallowed. “You shouldn’t disappear without saying anything.”
His jaw tightened.
“I was handling business.”
“Business with guns?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
The air shifted.
He leaned against the counter, folding his arms. “This life isn’t for you, Sofia.”
“You live under the same roof as me.”
“That doesn’t mean I want you anywhere near it.”
There it was again. That tone. Possession disguised as protection.
“I’m not a child,” I said.
His eyes darkened. “That’s exactly the problem.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and dangerous. I hated how aware I was of him—every breath, every movement. Hated how my body reacted when my mind screamed no.
“I’m leaving today,” he said suddenly.
My chest tightened. “Where?”
“Does it matter?”
Yes.
But I didn’t say it.
Instead, I nodded. “Okay.”
He studied me like he was searching for something beneath my skin. “Stay inside. Lock the doors.”
“I always do.”
He hesitated, then reached out—stopping just short of touching my shoulder. His hand hovered there, fingers flexing, like he was fighting himself.
“You’re not alone,” he said softly. “No matter what.”
Before I could respond, he stepped back.
The distance felt like punishment.
Later that afternoon, I stood by the balcony, watching cars pass below. The house felt emptier without him, and that realization scared me more than anything else.
I tried to distract myself—music, a book, anything—but my thoughts kept drifting back to him. The way he looked at me. The way he avoided touching me like it would destroy us both.
By evening, rain had started to fall.
I heard the door open.
Relief rushed through me before I could stop it.
Jimmy entered, wet hair, tense shoulders. He froze when he saw me in the living room.
“You waited,” he said.
“I live here,” I replied. “I don’t have anywhere else to be.”
Something unreadable passed through his eyes.
“You should get a place soon,” he muttered.
“Why?” I asked softly.
He stepped closer again, stopping just inches away. The space between us felt electric. Forbidden.
“Because if you stay,” he said, voice low and strained, “this house will ruin you.”
“And you won’t?” I whispered.
His breath hitched.
“That’s what I’m trying to prevent.”
For a moment, I thought he might touch me. The air was thick with it—want, restraint, fear. Then he stepped back sharply, like he’d been burned.
“Go to bed, Sofia.”
I nodded, my heart racing.
As I walked away, one truth settled deep in my chest:
Jimmy wasn’t just protecting me from the world.
He was protecting me from himself.
And I wasn’t sure how long either of us could hold the line.
- Writer
