Kissed her back

Chapter 6 - Kissed her back

Three months passed.

Once a week, the camera came out. Gia would arrange the lights, check the framing, straighten his collar, and tell him where to sit. Torin sat where she pointed. He answered every question the way she wanted, smiled when she told him to smile, lowered his eyes when she wanted him to look broken, and never argued when she made him repeat something because the first take didn't feel emotional enough. He learned quickly what made the comments explode and what made people feel sorry for him. By the end of the first month, strangers were calling him inspirational. By the second, Gia's channel was growing faster than either of them had expected.

The tenants stayed quiet. There were no more late-night knocks, no more people waiting in the hallway with those thin smiles. Even Brask kept his distance. The officer still came sometimes, usually when Gia was home. Whenever she stepped into the kitchen or went to another room, he would find a reason to stand close to Torin, lowering his voice until the threat was almost a whisper.

“Keep your fucking hands clean. You touch her wrong and I bury you.”

Torin only nodded. He never gave the man a reason to think twice about him.

The clinic Gia had chosen was the kind of place most people never saw unless they had money or knew someone who did. Everything was quiet and spotless, from the polished floors to the machines that hummed softly behind glass doors. The doctors spoke to him with calm confidence, never mentioning the cost, and the physical therapists pushed him harder than he thought his damaged leg could take. At first, every session left him sweating and shaking. His knee burned during the exercises, his muscles cramped, and more than once he had to grip the rails while his injured leg trembled beneath him.

But he kept going.

Week after week, the weakness began to disappear. The exercises became heavier. The distances became longer. First he walked with support, then with a cane, then without either. He stopped thinking about every step before taking it. One morning, halfway across the rehabilitation room, he realized he had crossed the entire floor without favoring the injured side.

He kept walking.

By the time the doctor signed the final clearance, the limp was gone. His leg carried his full weight again. The stiffness that had followed him for years was finally reduced to an occasional ache, something he could almost forget if he wasn't paying attention.

That afternoon, Torin walked out of the clinic on two good legs.

For the first few steps, he almost found himself waiting for the old pain to catch him. It didn't. His stride stayed even. His weight settled naturally from one foot to the other, and for the first time in years, there was nothing to compensate for.

He returned to 1C expecting to find Gia filming or sitting in front of her laptop, probably editing another video. The apartment was unusually quiet when he opened the door. No music played from the speakers. The ring lights were switched off, and the television was dark.

He took a few steps into the living room before he noticed her.

Gia was sitting on the floor beside the sofa with her knees pulled tightly against her chest, her face buried in her arms. Her shoulders were shaking with quiet, uneven breaths. One of her phones lay on the carpet beside her, screen still glowing, while an untouched glass of water sat on the coffee table.

Torin stopped.

He had seen Gia angry, arrogant, excited, bored, and perfectly comfortable pretending for a camera. He had never seen her like this.

He set the hospital papers down quietly.

“What happened?”

Gia jerked her head up. Her eyes were red, mascara streaked beneath them. She wiped at her face and glared at him, but the anger didn't have its usual bite.

“Leave me alone, pig.” Her voice cracked. “Do your work. Don't come near me.”

Torin stayed where he was. After three months of careful steps around her, he knew one wrong move could ruin everything. Still, he walked closer, slowly, and crouched a few feet in front of her.

“Talk to me.” She shoved his chest, but there was barely any strength behind it. “I said leave.”

He didn't argue. He went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and brought it back. She ignored it. He made her coffee the way she liked it, with too much sugar, and left it beside her. Then he brought a small plate of the fruit she always ate while filming.

She knocked it away. The plate hit the floor, sending pieces of fruit rolling across the carpet.

Torin simply sat down a few feet away and waited.

After a while, her crying slowed. She wiped her cheeks and looked up at him through wet lashes. For several seconds she just stared, as if trying to decide whether she could let him see whatever was underneath.

Then she moved closer, climbed into his lap, and buried her face against his neck.

The sobs came harder.

Torin went still for a moment, then rested one hand lightly against her back. He didn't speak or push her away. He just let her shake against him until the crying slowly began to fade.

After a long time, her voice came out small and broken against his skin.

“He was cheating. The whole time. Because I wouldn’t… because I was busy with the series, with you. He said I was cold and stopped being fun.”

Torin’s hand moved slowly up and down her back.

“I’m sorry.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him. Tears still clung to her cheeks, her eyes searching his face as if expecting to find the disgust she was used to seeing.

He stayed quiet. Steady.

She leaned in again, slower this time. Her lips met his, soft at first, then harder, desperate, tasting of salt and leftover coffee.

Torin kissed her back.

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