Venom & Vows

Chapter 2: Let Me Help You

⚠️***Lies***⚠️

The antiseptic stung with each dab, but the discomfort was secondary to the vulnerability Nithi felt as Napha tended his wounds. His ribs ached, exposed beneath his shirt.

"I can do it myself," he muttered, tugging his shirt higher.

"Shut up," Napha snapped, her concentration unwavering as she cleaned the gashes. Her handcrafted glass earrings, shimmering like captured starlight, swung gently. A testament to a sleepless night of crafting, a night that had left her feeling unwell. Nithi knew better than to scold her; the joy on her face when she finished them had been worth more than any scolding. Their meager finances rarely allowed for such indulgences, but seeing Napha create something beautiful eased any guilt he felt.

He noticed the unshed tears welling in her eyes. "Napha," he said softly.

"Almost done," she replied, her voice cracking slightly, the pretense of nonchalance thin. She finished bandaging his ribs.

"Napha," he repeated, his worry evident.

She hurried to the trash, discarding the bloody wipes, her movements brisk. "I'm done," she said, a little too quickly.

"Napha, we need to talk," Nithi said, sinking back into the couch, a sharp pain reminding him of his injuries. He winced, a groan escaping his lips as he sat up straighter.

Napha started towards her room, but his words stopped her. "Nong Napha, sit," he said, his voice firm yet gentle.

With a pout, she dragged herself back to the couch, slumping into the cushions, arms crossed. "I don't want to talk," she mumbled, her cheeks flushed.

"I know, but talking helps. Less stress, less chance of getting sick," Nithi explained, echoing the doctor's advice. He knew Napha hated this, hated the doctor for even suggesting it.

"Less chance of me getting sick, less chance of you getting hurt," she muttered, her voice barely audible. His heart ached; he understood completely and would gladly bear any injury to spare her.

He changed tack. "I have good news," he said, presenting the information as a birthday gift. "Mongkol's given us a year to pay him."

"Don't do it," she demanded, flatly.

His eyebrows shot up. Relief, not this. "Don't do… what?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"Mongkol's a greedy man," she said, her voice tight. "Don't do what he wants."

"But—"

"No," she interrupted, her voice firm. "Promise me."

"A year is a long time," he argued.

"My brother is not a thug!" she snapped, her voice laced with fierce protectiveness.

"And I'll never be," Nithi swore, the words catching in his throat. Napha flung her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder. The ache in his ribs was nothing compared to the pain tearing at his heart. "I will never be as heartless, as cruel as them," he promised, returning her embrace. "I'm only your brother, and that's all that matters."

"Promise you won't do it," Napha whispered, her voice choked with tears.

After a long, heavy silence, Nithi nodded. "I won't," he lied, the lie a bitter taste in his mouth.

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The rising sun cast long shadows across the living room, its rays piercing through Nithi's eyelids. His discarded blanket lay on the floor beside the couch, kicked off in the dead of night. Despite the winter chill and a temperamental heater, he preferred the cold. It numbed him, a kind of self-imposed hibernation. He stood, rubbing his aching back, and headed to the bathroom, his bare feet icy against the tiles.

He had no appetite. The impending scolding at work was bad enough, but nothing prepared him for the Captain's words: "You're being demoted."

Nithi's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. No, no, no. He needed this job, the money a desperate shield against the loan sharks. Demoted? He'd be back to square one, living in a cramped, airless room, forcing Napha to sacrifice her own space for his failings. Unacceptable.

"Captain," he pleaded, hands raised in a gesture of desperate supplication. "Give me one more chance, please."

Sompong, the captain – a large man with a bristly chin – shook his head, his expression unyielding. "Clean your desk now," he ordered, his voice sharp and dismissive.

"Sompong, sir, I won't disappoint you again, I promise!"

"Will you say that to the man who had to cover for you?" Sompong countered, his voice devoid of sympathy.

Nithi lowered his head. The death of that man weighed heavily on his conscience, but the looming threat of the loan sharks was an even greater burden. He couldn't lose this job, not for Napha.

"Captain, I beg you," he bowed, desperation etched on his face.

"No!" Sompong snapped, his annoyance evident. "Unless you can revive the man who died because of you, you can forget about it!"

A single tear traced a path down Nithi's cheek. Defeat felt insignificant compared to the crushing weight of responsibility for his sister. For her, he would continue to plead.

Sompong began to speak again, his words harsh, then hesitated, his voice softening slightly. "Besides, I don't think you really have what it takes, with your… blind—" He stopped abruptly, realizing he’d crossed a line. There was a difference between being a boss and being a bully.

Then, a voice cut through the tense silence: "Dad!" Thanit, Nithi's best friend, the man who had inspired him to join the force, suddenly arrived.

"What?" Sompong asked, feigning innocence. "I stopped myself before finishing."

Thanit's hand rested on Nithi's shoulder, a gesture of comfort that felt woefully inadequate. "You shouldn't have even thought about it," Thanit scolded his father, the words laced with years of frustration. His father, the man who relentlessly sought to mold him into perfection, was far from it himself.

Sompong clicked his tongue dismissively. "Aye, aye. Alright, I'm sorry."

Hope flickered in Nithi's eyes. "Sorry enough to give me a second chance?" he ventured.

But the twist of Sompong's mouth dashed his hopes. "Sorry..." Nithi mumbled, his voice barely a whisper.

Thanit pressed on, ever the loyal friend. "Dad, come on. He'll never disappoint you again," he pleaded, though past experience told him this was a losing battle.

Sompong remained firm. "No, I've made up my mind." His son's unhappiness seemed to hold no sway; tough love was his unwavering policy.

Thanit shifted tactics. "But who'll lead the investigation now? You're already swamped. Let Nithi handle it – my good friend, he's perfect for it!" He tried to buy Nithi some time, a desperate attempt to salvage the situation.

Sompong nodded, as if considering, but the flicker of understanding quickly died. "Thanit, you could handle an extra case, right?"

The blood drained from Thanit's face. Nithi whirled around, fury blazing. His best friend, his college buddy, had stolen his case – the case that was his lifeline, his ticket to a better future. Betrayal was a gross understatement.

"Nope, I'm already buried in arrest reports," Thanit stammered, scrambling for an excuse.

"Nithi can finish those before he leaves," Sompong declared, turning and walking away.

Demotion. Betrayal. The sheer injustice of it all crashed down on Nithi. Not only had he been demoted, but his friend had stolen his promotion, leaving him to pick up Thanit's slack. His luck couldn't possibly get worse.

Thanit shot his friend a look of profound guilt before hurrying after his father, desperately trying to undo the damage he'd inflicted.

"It's not his fault," Nithi said wearily, settling into his former desk – now, his former desk. "Don't hate him for trying to help." But the resentment simmered beneath the surface, a bitter taste as he began his last shift, relegated to the first floor, handling petty misdemeanors – thieves, Karens, the whole gamut.

Time seemed to warp. One moment, Nithi was immersed in his report; the next, the station was eerily silent and dark, the end of his shift having slipped by unnoticed. He looked up, startled by the empty desks and extinguished lights. A quick scan confirmed he was alone. Since his demotion, access to most files was restricted, but — he hadn't clocked out, so technically he was still a detective, wasn't he?

He typed into his computer: N I G H T L I G H T. The name Mongkol had given him. A website materialized, showcasing a nightclub boasting unique cocktails and a vibrant music scene. The reviews were overwhelmingly positive – suspiciously so, Nithi thought. Were these ratings genuine, or simply the product of inebriated patrons? Frustratingly, his attempts to uncover the club's ownership proved fruitless; no details surfaced, no matter how many sites he searched. A full background check was impossible without a name.

"Let's just get the blueprints," he muttered, resigning himself to a less-than-ideal approach.

The clock blinked at 10:21. Nithi checked it twice while the agonizingly slow printer wheezed to life. The station's antiquated equipment was a constant source of frustration; not for lack of funds, but a glaring lack of priority. He stared intently at the printer, as if sheer willpower could accelerate its sluggish progress.

His concentration was so complete he didn't hear the creak of the printing room door. A tall figure, Thanit, materialized behind him, a mischievous grin splitting his face, his hands poised to startle Nithi. Just as Thanit was about to act, Nithi spun around, papers in hand. He jumped, scattering blueprints across the floor, some landing at Thanit’s feet.

"Come on!" Thanit grumbled, kneeling to gather the scattered sheets. "Did you really have to turn so quickly? You have the worst timing!"

"You scared me," Nithi snapped, though his friend's penchant for pranks was well-known. This time, though, his response wasn't enough.

"No, you were scared because you're up to something," Thanit said, holding up a section of the blueprint. "Aren't you?"

"NightLight?" Thanit repeated, his eyebrow arched in suspicion. He held the paper aloft, the title clearly visible. "Since when do you go to nightclubs?"

"I don't!" Nithi retorted, lunging for the paper and finally wresting it free. "And it's none of your business!"

Thanit planted his hands on his hips. "Oh really? Should I tell my dad about this then?" The blatant blackmail hung in the air. Nithi rolled his eyes; friends got away with murder, or at least, with blackmail. But this was different. His recent demotion flashed before his eyes.

"I'm working on a case," Nithi lied, the words barely convincing even himself.

Thanit crossed his arms, unconvinced. "Are you mad at me? About earlier?"

"What?" Nithi asked, feigning ignorance.

Thanit launched into a flustered explanation, confessing his well-intentioned but disastrous attempt to help. "You know I was only trying to help, right? I didn't mean—"

"No," Nithi scoffed, the single word laced with more emotion than he intended.

"Really?" Thanit pressed, his skepticism visible.

Nithi took a deep breath, the frustration bubbling to the surface. "It's not your fault," he admitted, "but…" The unspoken truth hung heavy: Thanit had stolen his promotion. How could he not be mad?

Thanit's hands went up in an apologetic gesture. "Sorry, krub," he mumbled, a sheepish grin playing on his lips.

Nithi looked away, muttering, "It's whatever," his grip tightening on the blueprint. This was his chance.

Snatch!

Before Nithi could react, Thanit had snatched the blueprints right back.

"Hey! Give those back, you brat!" Nithi lunged, but Thanit was too quick, his laughter echoing as he dodged Nithi's attempts to reclaim his papers. "I won't forgive you if you keep stealing from me!"

"Sharing is caring!" Thanit taunted, his grin widening. "Don't you wanna be caring? Haha!"

"Stop it!" Nithi snapped, his annoyance finally boiling over.

Thanit's teasing abruptly ceased. "Let me help you," he offered, surprising Nithi with the unexpected sincerity in his voice. "With your 'case'."

Nithi's initial refusal was immediate, a vehement shake of his head.

"Come on!" Thanit pleaded, his dramatic flair softening into genuine remorse. "Let me make it up to you. Please?" The sincerity in his plea, however over-the-top his delivery, finally broke down Nithi's resistance. Reluctantly, he agreed.