Wifey?

Chapter 9 - Wifey?

Torin woke up naked.

The other side of the bed was empty and cold. Morning light cut across the sheets, catching on the wrinkles and folds left behind in the night. His back and neck burned in small, precise places—love bites and the thin stings where her nails had dug in last night. Every shift of muscle reminded him exactly what they had done.

For a moment, he lay there staring at the ceiling as fragments of the night returned in flashes: her hands, her hair against his chest, the heat of her body, the sheets twisting beneath them. He dragged a hand over his face and looked around.

His shirt was crumpled on the floor beside her dress. One pillow had fallen onto the carpet, its case pulled halfway loose. Her shoes were abandoned near the bedroom door, one upright, the other on its side.

He sat up, pulled on a pair of pants, and walked out into the living room.

The smell reached him first—coffee, butter, warm toast.

Gia stood at the stove humming. Soft, happy sound. She was already dressed in one of his shirts, sleeves rolled up, moving like she belonged there. Her hair was loosely tied back, a few strands falling around her face as she moved between the counter and the stove.

There were two plates waiting beside two mugs of coffee. His favorite jam sat open between them. Her bag rested against the wall, her earring glinting beside the coffee machine.

The sheer normality of it stopped him.

Behind him was the bedroom, still carrying every piece of evidence from the night before. In front of him, Gia was barefoot in his kitchen, wearing his shirt and making breakfast as though waking up here had been the most natural thing in the world.

He stopped in the doorway.

What the fuck.

She turned, saw him, and her whole face lit up. The change was so immediate that Torin almost wondered if he had imagined the coldness she used to show him. She crossed the kitchen in three quick steps, slipped her arms around him, and kissed him hard on the lips. When she pulled back, the smile was still there, soft and unguarded, as though seeing him standing in her borrowed shirt had genuinely made her morning better.

“Wash up fast. Breakfast’s almost ready.”

Torin frowned, but she was already turning back toward the stove, humming under her breath as she checked the eggs.

He went to the bathroom without a word. Cold water ran over his face, dragging him fully awake. When he looked up, the marks on his neck had darkened overnight, standing out against his skin. He touched one absently, then looked through the open doorway toward the kitchen.

Gia was still there.

When he came back, she had already set everything out. Two plates of eggs and toast sat on the table, steam still rising from the mugs beside them. His coffee had been poured the way he drank it, right down to the amount of sugar. How does she know? It's a mystery.

That bothered him more than it should have.

Gia sat across from him, watching him with an almost ridiculous brightness in her eyes. She nudged his plate closer, then settled back with her hands around her mug, looking pleased with herself when he finally picked up his fork.

“You know how to cook?” he asked.

She shrugged, but the smile never left her face. “Yeah. How do you think I lived alone? Outside food’s too expensive. My channel couldn’t cover it before. But with you here now… I can.”

Torin ate slowly.

She watched him take each bite with the quiet satisfaction of someone who had cooked specifically for him, not simply because there was food to be made. Every few seconds her gaze returned to him, warm and almost embarrassingly fond, before she caught herself and looked down at her coffee.

This was the same Gia who had once looked at him as though his existence personally offended her.

Now she was wearing his shirt, feeding him breakfast, remembering his coffee, and looking at him like she had somehow woken up with exactly what she wanted.

One night, and she had flipped completely. Torin couldn't decide whether it amused him or unsettled him. He finished the last of the eggs and pushed his plate away. Gia immediately reached for it, already looking ready to clear the table.

He stood before she could. “I’m going to collect rent.”

Gia looked up at him, bright and strangely pleased, as though he had told her he was coming home rather than leaving.

“Good luck, honey.”

Something ugly twisted in his gut. He smiled anyway, blew her a quick flying kiss, and walked out.

The second the door clicked shut behind him, the cringe hit full-body. His shoulders jerked once in the empty hallway, and he stood there for a second with his face twisted in disbelief before forcing himself to move.

Whatever the hell had happened in that apartment, he was not thinking about it now.

His old place looked exactly as he had left it.

Dust had gathered along the edges of the floor and furniture, and the faint brown stains near the kitchen were still there from months ago. The place smelled shut-in and stale, nothing like the warm coffee and butter he had just walked away from. In the corner, the baseball bat leaned against the wall where he had abandoned it, its handle worn smooth from years of use in his golden years.

He picked up the ledger from the table and opened it.

Names filled the pages in cramped handwriting, followed by amounts that had become increasingly familiar. He ran his finger down the list until he found Brask.

2A.

Still unpaid. His mouth tightened. He closed the ledger, slipped the keys into his pocket, and took the bat from the corner before locking the apartment behind him.

The second-floor corridor was quiet.

Too quiet, maybe, but Torin had spent enough time in the building to know when people were hiding and when they simply didn't want to get involved. Doors stayed shut. Curtains twitched behind glass. Somewhere farther down the hall, a television murmured through a wall.

He stopped outside 2A.

The number was scratched and peeling, barely hanging straight on the door. Torin shifted the bat in his hand and knocked once against the wood with its heavy end.

The sound rolled through the corridor. For a moment, nothing happened. Then came the faint scrape of a lock. Torin's grip tightened.

The door opened.

The door opened, and Leena appeared with the same carefree look she always wore when she saw him, as if his presence was nothing more than an inconvenience she had already learned to ignore.

“What is it?”

Torin held out the rent notice.

She glanced at it, then at him, and tore the paper cleanly in half. The pieces fell between them. Her expression hardened into a familiar little smirk.

“You forget what happened last time? Brask isn’t here. So leave before he gets back.”

Torin looked down at the torn notice. Then at her. Something in him had already decided he wasn't going anywhere.

He stepped through the doorway. Leena's face changed.

“Hey. Where are you going?”

Torin didn't answer. He walked past her into the apartment, following the same noise that had been leaking through the walls and filling the corridor for weeks. The television blared from the corner, loud enough to shake the cheap glass in its frame. He had heard the old tenants complain about it more than once.

He raised the bat. The first swing smashed through the screen.

The television exploded inward with a sharp crack, glass scattering across the floor as the music cut into a burst of static. Leena recoiled, staring at the ruined set.

Torin brought the bat down again.

Plastic snapped. The screen collapsed. Another blow sent pieces skidding beneath the furniture until nothing remained but a mangled frame and a thin hiss of electricity.

He lowered the bat and looked at her. The arrogance was gone from her face.

“Pay the rent.”

He turned and walked out, leaving her frozen among the broken pieces. By the time he reached the stairs, the corridor had gone completely silent.

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