Unspoken Love (Behind Closed Doors)

Morning After Hell

Damn. Another day, another fucked-up morning.

The sunlight seeps through the curtains, stabbing into my eyes like a goddamn spotlight, and my first thought is: Can someone turn that shit off?!

Groaning, I drag myself out of bed, still in my pajamas, already reaching for a cigarette like it's some kind of lifeline.

The moment I step into the kitchen, a voice booms through the apartment like an explosion.

"GOOD MORNING, VIETNAM!"

I flinch. Hard. "Jesus fucking Christ, Jake, why?!"

My older brother grins at me from the counter, completely unbothered by the murderous glare I shoot in his direction.

"What are you even doing here?" I mutter, rubbing my temples.

Jake smirks. "Living. You know, it's my house too."

I roll my eyes and collapse into a chair, my cigarette dangling between my lips as I flick the lighter. He does the same, and for a moment, we sit in comfortable silence, thick with smoke and unspoken words.

Then, because he's Jake and he can't help himself, he starts with—

"So—"

"No," I cut him off immediately.

He gives me that look. The one that means he's not going to drop it. The one that makes me want to punch him in the face. "I just wanted to ask how you are," he says, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm fine."

A lie. One I'm terrible at telling.

Jake doesn't buy it. "This about that manager at your job?"

My whole body tenses.

"What? No... what manager?" I stammer, too quickly.

His expression shifts, the teasing dropping away. "Clara." His voice is softer now, cautious. "Come on. I'm your brother. I see the way your eyes used to light up when you talked about him. And now? It's like that spark's just... gone."

I force myself to glance at my reflection in the kitchen window. Pale skin. Dark circles. Hollow eyes.

I look like someone who hasn't slept in months.

Flashback

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Jason's voice still echoes in my head, sharp and venomous. I had never heard him that angry before.

"Did I just see you flirting with that customer? You little fucking bitch!"

I shrank back, but he stepped closer, towering over me.

"I thought you loved me! I really did!" His tone shifted so suddenly, so smoothly, into something worse. A chilling, quiet calm. "You bitch."

My voice was shaking when I finally spoke. "I wasn't flirting. He made a joke, and I laughed, that's all. I love you, I swear—"

Before I could finish, he was inches away, his hand wrapping around my throat.

"You're mine," he hissed, his fingers tightening. "So fucking act like it."

Present

I snap back to reality, my breath coming faster than before. Jake is still watching me, waiting for an answer I don't have.

"I'm fine," I lie again, my voice barely above a whisper. "Just a bad dream."

He doesn't believe me, but he lets it slide with a sigh.

A long silence stretches between us, thick with everything we're not saying.

I clear my throat, desperate to change the subject. "How are things with Rebecca?"

Jake snorts, taking a long drag of his cigarette. "She dumped me." His voice is flat. "Turns out she was a gold digger. Found someone richer and ran off with him."

"Fucking bullshit," we both say in unison.

We laugh, but it's a hollow laugh. The kind that covers up just how much everything hurts.

I stub out my cigarette, pushing my chair back. "I gotta go. Student's life."

Jake nods. "Want a ride?"

"Nah, I'll take a cab."

He shrugs. "Alright. Love you, little sis."

"Love you too."

—-

I step out of the taxi, rolling my shoulders back as I take in the campus. Coming in with style.

"CLARA!"

I don't even need to turn my head. I already know who it is.

I cut behind one of the buildings, where Amy is waiting, a cigarette already hanging from her lips.

"Hey, trouble," she grins, pulling me into a quick hug.

I inhale deeply, catching the faint scent of weed on her clothes. "You smell like pot."

"That's because I'm high as hell, girl," she giggles, handing me a pack. I take a cigarette, lighting it up.

We stand there, smoking and chatting, watching other students filter past. A few people stop to join the circle, passing joints, sneaking hits, the usual pre-class ritual.

And then—

"Drop it."

The voice is firm. Direct. The kind that demands attention.

I turn, exhaling a slow drag as I meet the gaze of a man standing just a step away.

Late thirties. Tall. Athletic. Sharp jawline. Too serious.

His eyes are locked on me.

"I said, drop the cigarette."

I arch an eyebrow, unimpressed. "And who the hell are you?"

"Your new professor."

Amy tugs at my sleeve, eyes darting between us. "Clara, let's just go inside."

I shake her off. "You go ahead. I'm not wasting this cigarette. I paid for it."

She hesitates, clearly torn, before sighing. "Alright. See you later." She pulls me into a quick hug. "Try not to get expelled."

I smirk, watching her leave, then turn back to the man still standing there. "Are you still here?"

His jaw tightens slightly, but his voice stays level. "Put it out."

I take another slow drag. "Lesson doesn't start for another ten minutes. Right now, you're just a guy. So, no, I don't think I will."

A long pause. He studies me, expression unreadable.

Then, finally, he exhales through his nose and shakes his head. "This is going to be fun, isn't it?"

He turns on his heel and walks away.

I take another drag, watching him disappear into the building.

Motherfucker.