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Me:

Whatever it is,I’ll get to it after I un-fuck my mind because it’s been a shit show since the doctor’s appointment.

In my office, I sit down and briefly make eye contact with Titus before I cover my face with my hands.

I can’t remember a time when I’ve ever cared about somebody being okay as much as I worry about Delilah.

It happened against my will and now I can’t get away from my need to know nothing and no one is harming her.

Even with my parents, I’ve always maintained a certain amount of distance when it comes to their wellbeing. Because at the end of the day, they have each other.

But Delilah keeps revealing parts of me I didn’t know existed. I didn’t know I could care about someone more than I care about myself. I didn’t know I could hold someone all night and pray she didn’t wake up, so the moment didn’t have to end. I didn’t know I could feel anything other than nothing when it comes to a woman. And I didn’t know how much I could hate the fact that I love her?—

The reluctant revelation gets drowned out by the sound of glass crashing against tile.

Titus cocks his head as I open a drawer and pull out the gun I just stowed.

“Stay,” is my only command before I leave and head for the kitchen.

It’s the only room with tiles on the first floor.

I’m around the corner, hammer cocked and aimed in front of me when I hear footsteps hitting the staircase behind me.

“What was that?” Delilah whispers.

“Delilah, go back upstairs.”

“Why?”

I shut my eyes for a split second and empty the air in my lungs.

“Because you don’t fucking run toward danger. Go upstairs and let me handle it.”

Delilah frowns at the clipped words and descends the two remaining stairs.

“Go the fuck back upstairs,” I repeat through clenched teeth.

“No.” She folds her arms across her chest and tilts her head.

“Somebody is breaking into the house. Go upstairs!”

“Somebody is breaking into the house and you’re yelling at me instead of figuring out who it is.”

Just then, Titus trots down the hall at the sound of her voice and nudges her shin with his nose. Undaunted, they both size me up.

“I can’t fucking do this right now,” I murmur, walking away. She can stay there or not. I don’t care anymore.

Another crash disrupts the silence before a feminine grunt touches my ears.

As soon as I clear the corner leading to the kitchen, the only thing I see is pink. Abrightfucking pink Afro walking through the wreckage she made of my back door.

I know before she looks up exactly who the woman is, and another wave of irritation washes over me.

Indigo Carmine.

Twenty-seven.

Cosmetology student.