Page 2 of Glass Jawed

Aarohi

This man is tall. Massive. Fury etched into every line of his face as he takes in the scene before him. His shoulders look like they could tear through the walls. His whole body vibrates with something feral. Something cold.

Tim is already off the bed, scrambling for the sheets, for words.

I don’t need the confirmation.

I already know.

Tim is involved.

Tim is taken .

Tim fucking lied.

I asked him. I fucking asked him if he was single. This son of a bitch looked me in the eye and said yes.

Anger rushes through me, hot and rising, shaking my limbs. I’m about to unleash all of it when—

The man looks at me.

Not like I’m a person. Like I’m something filthy. Like I’m... disposable.

His eyes sweep over me—over my bare chest, my naked legs—and all that heat drains from me in one brutal swoop. Because I know that look. I’ve seen it before. In boys at school. In relatives who thought my weight was a family disgrace. In the mirror, when I hated myself the most.

I scramble for the blanket, but it’s like I’ve already been seen, already judged, already discarded.

Tim’s trying to speak, but it’s useless. The man’s gaze snaps back to him—his face carved in betrayal, rage, and heartbreak.

Tim’s dick is softening fast under the weight of that disgusted stare. He’s pale. Mouth trembling. Tears welling.

But the worst part?

The disgust doesn’t stay on Tim.

It lands back on me and lingers.

Like I’m the one who ruined something sacred.

Like my body is the offense.

My whole body. Every inch of me. Laid out like a mistake.

And for the first time in years, I feel small.

Not just physically. Existentially.

Shame slithers under my skin, rotting whatever confidence I thought I’d earned back. My hand clutches the blanket tighter around me as I rise to my feet, legs unsteady.

He’s still staring. Not saying a word. Just looking.

Tim lets out a choked, pitiful, “Lucian—”

“Don’t cry now, baby,” the man—Lucian—says. His voice is somehow deceptively calm. “You’ve done it. Own it.”

Tim flinches like he’s been slapped.

So do I.

“Lucian—”

“Just...” Lucian’s hand shot up, trembling as he tried to steady himself. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

He paces away for a moment, his hands clutching his dirty blond hair tightly. “I need... I need to find the right frame of mind before I try to understand your reasoning behind fucking a woman when you’ve always— always —been fucking gay!”

He ends on a shout, and the word cracks like a whip. Echoing in the small apartment.

My head spins.

What the hell is this?

Am I—was I—some kind of experiment? A curiosity? A test subject?

My mouth opens, trying to find words, but nothing comes out.

“I wasn’t sure,” Tim stammers, wrapping a hand around himself. “I thought I was bi. I just—I needed to see—”

Lucian lets out a harsh, bitter laugh. It isn’t humor. It is heartbreak folded into fury.

He turns toward me, and that’s when his gaze fully shifts.

The grief disappears. The betrayal evaporates. And all that remains is disgust.

At me .

His eyes drag over my body like I’m not even human. Like I’m a mistake that has taken shape.

My eyes cower under the weight of his contempt.

“You absolute piece of shit.”

I don’t know whether that is for me or Tim, but I keep my head down.

“Baby, please. I’m so—”

Lucian steps closer. “You brought a random fuck into our bed!”

I force myself to look up. Just enough to gauge where the hell my clothes are.

Tim sobs. “I didn’t plan it, I just—I didn’t know how to talk to you about this. I’ve been confused, and—”

“Confused?” Lucian snaps. “You could’ve just broken up with me. Why? Why did you— fuck!”

Tim opens his mouth, but Lucian steamrolls him, every word landing like a slap.

“You didn’t just cheat, Tim. You’ve humiliated me.”

He turns slightly, his eyes dragging toward the bed. Toward the mess. Toward me .

“Christ...” His voice shakes. “Why is this homewrecking slut still here? Get out!”

Tim’s voice cracks. “Don’t call her that—she didn’t know. She asked. I told her I was single.”

He turns to me then, watching me as I scramble to find my clothes.

“Listen... hey. Can you... just leave?”

My eyes are uncharacteristically dry. So is my throat.

“I...” I croak. “I’m... yeah. Just...”

I get halfway up and pitifully crawl toward my cargo pants like I’m moving through sludge.

“Lucian, I’m sorry,” Tim begs, voice shaking. “This was stupid. I was scared. I know I’m not bi. I didn’t even... I couldn’t even get hard without thinking of you.”

My heart cracks.

The signs. I should’ve seen them.

Tim’s pinched face. His hesitation. His detachment.

Shit.

I really was just a stupid hole to experiment with.

Lucian laughs—sharp, short, hollow.

“If you wanted to fuck a woman,” he hisses, “you could’ve picked one who actually looked like one.”

The air leaves my lungs.

My head jerks toward him—and his gaze is locked on my bare chest.

A part of me had made peace with this. With my small breasts. My soft curves that didn’t curve enough. A part of me thought I was still feminine. Still... enough.

But right now?

I can’t summon an ounce of self-respect. Or dignity. Or fight.

I can’t move.

But I force myself to.

I stand to my full height, shove my legs into my pants. Bend to grab my tank top. It’s inside out. I wear it anyway.

I don’t look at either of them.

I can’t.

The room spins. My stomach churns.

Get out. Get out now .

Lucian is still yelling, unraveling behind me, but I can’t hear him anymore. My body has detached—checked out, floating somewhere above this mess.

Shoes. Phone.

Where’s my fucking phone—

There. On the kitchen island.

I stumble toward it barefoot, blinking back tears that have made their dramatic entrance.

I grab it with shaking hands, refusing to glance at the photos on the shelf.

But I do.

Lucian and Tim. Side by side. Laughing. Pressed together like they belonged.

Lovers. A life. A home.

And I walked straight through the middle of it.

Shoes on. Phone in hand.

I open the door and leave.

My dignity, stripped.