Rules He Breaks
1443 Words
The morning after the storm felt too bright.
Sunlight pushed through the curtains like it had no idea what happened in the dark last night—how close we stood, what he confessed, what neither of us could take back now.
I didn’t sleep.
I spent hours replaying the moment his forehead touched mine, the tremor in his voice when he said he wanted me, the way he walked away like each step hurt.
When I finally made my way downstairs, the house was quiet. Too quiet.
It felt like he was avoiding me again.
But this time… I knew better.
He wasn’t avoiding me because he didn’t want me.
He was avoiding me because he did.
The kitchen door swung open as I turned the corner.
Ethan froze mid-step, a mug in his hand, steam curling into the morning air.
His eyes lifted to mine—slowly, deliberately—and something electric snapped between us. A full second passed before either of us spoke.
“You didn’t sleep,” he said.
My chest tightened. “Neither did you.”
His jaw flexed, like he regretted allowing that much truth into the air.
He set the mug down and straightened his shoulders. The mask was back on—cold, controlled, pretending nothing happened.
“We need to talk.”
I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms. “About last night?”
His silence was an answer.
He exhaled. “About what can’t happen again.”
A quiet laugh escaped me. Not mocking—just… exhausted. “Ethan, you said you wanted me.”
He didn’t deny it. He just closed his eyes for a second too long.
“That was a mistake.”
“No,” I said softly. “It was honest.”
His gaze snapped to mine.
Something cracked there.
A warning. A plea. A war.
He stepped closer, each move stiff with restraint.
“Maya… I’m older. I’m responsible for you. Your father trusted me with—”
“Not with my life,” I cut in. “With my safety. And guess what? I feel safer with you than anyone.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“Then tell me what the point is,” I challenged. “Tell me what you’re really scared of.”
His breath shook—just barely—but enough for me to see it.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he shifted the conversation like he was grabbing the closest weapon.
“There are rules in this house.” His voice dropped, steady but strained. “And I need you to follow them. For your sake… and mine.”
“Rules,” I repeated. “New ones?”
“Yes.”
I raised a brow. “Let me guess—Rule One: Don’t get too close to you?”
His jaw tightened. “Rule One: Don’t come to my room at night.”
My throat dried.
His eyes flicked away, like saying the rule out loud affected him more than he wanted me to notice.
“Rule Two,” he continued, “don’t touch me unless it’s necessary.”
A slow, unsteady breath escaped me.
Necessary.
The word burned.
“And Rule Three,” he said quietly, “if I tell you to step back… you step back.”
I swallowed. “And what if you’re the one who steps forward first?”
His silence said everything.
Something in him snapped then—just a flicker, a flash of something raw and unguarded. A truth he couldn’t bury fast enough.
He turned away.
“I’m trying to protect you, Maya.”
“From what?” I whispered.
He hesitated at the doorway. His shoulders rose, then fell.
“From me.”
The words sliced through the air, clean and sharp.
He didn’t look back.
He just walked out.
I stood there, staring at the empty doorway, my heart pounding too fast.
He thinks he’s protecting me from himself.
But all he’s really doing…
is proving how badly he wants something he’s terrified to touch.
I stayed in the kitchen long after he left, my hands pressed against the counter, my heartbeat refusing to settle.
From me.
Those two words clung to me like a bruise.
He thought he was danger.
He thought he was the line I shouldn’t cross.
But the truth—the one he couldn’t admit—was that he’d already crossed it. Last night. In the dark. The moment he whispered he wanted me.
I turned toward the hallway, ready to follow him, to make him say the rest of the words he swallowed—
—but then his voice drifted back before I even took a step.
Not to me.
To someone else.
I instantly froze.
The kitchen door was open just enough for his voice to slip in from the foyer.
“Aman, I told you—now isn’t a good time to visit.”
Aman.
His cousin. One of the few people he tolerated. Someone who knew Ethan better than most.
Ethan kept his voice low, but tension threaded every word.
“No, she’s fine. She’s adjusting.”
Pause. A sigh. “I said she’s fine.”
Another pause.
Aman must’ve pushed too hard, because Ethan’s tone suddenly dropped into that quiet, sharp warning he only used when he was seconds from losing his calm.
“She has nowhere else to go.”
My breath caught.
“And yes,” he snapped softly, “I am responsible for her. Someone has to be.”
There was a long moment of silence. Then—
“I don’t care what it looks like. She needs me.”
My heart stuttered.
Ethan rarely expressed anything remotely emotional, especially not out loud.
But then he added, voice lowering:
“And I need her safe. That’s all.”
Safe.
Not wanted.
Not close.
Safe.
He always chose the version of the truth that hurt the least.
For him.
Not for me.
I moved without thinking, stepping into the foyer just as he hung up the call.
He turned.
Our eyes met.
His breath caught for half a second—barely visible, but there.
“Maya,” he said carefully. “How much of that did you hear?”
“All of it.”
Something flickered in his expression—panic, regret, something else tangled beneath it. He straightened, as if preparing for impact.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You need me safe.” My voice wasn’t loud. Just honest. “Not close. Not anything else.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s not what I said.”
“It’s exactly what you said.”
He stepped forward, but I lifted a hand.
“Don’t,” I whispered.
For once, he listened.
“If I’m so fragile,” I continued, “why did you tell me last night that you wanted me?”
Pain flashed through his eyes. Real pain.
The kind he couldn’t hide, not even behind his walls.
“Maya… you were scared. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“No,” I said softly. “You were thinking too clearly. That was the problem.”
His breath hitched.
He looked away—only for a second—but it was enough to tell me the truth he refused to voice.
He wanted me.
He just hated himself for it.
When his eyes returned to mine, they were guarded again.
“I made rules for a reason,” he said. “Because if I don’t—”
“You’ll touch me,” I finished.
Quiet. Certain.
He didn’t deny it.
He didn’t blink.
He just swallowed hard.
“You should go to your room,” he said roughly. “Get some rest.”
I shook my head. “No.”
His eyes sharpened. “Maya.”
“I’m not hiding in my room like a child because you’re scared of yourself.”
He exhaled shakily, like he couldn’t hold his control much longer.
“You’re pushing me,” he warned.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Because you keep running.”
Silence crashed between us.
Then slowly, painfully he reached for the doorknob behind him, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
“If I don’t run,” he said in a low, torn voice,
“I’ll break every rule I set.”
He opened the door meaning to walk out, to get distance
but before he could step through it, he looked at me one last time.
His voice came out like gravel:
“You don’t know how close I am… to giving in.”
And then he walked out.
Leaving the rules behind him… trembling.
- Writer
