"Oooh m-my god. How can a person do something like that? Gutless son of a bitch," Brian thought to himself. Scarlett was completely slouched back into the single armchair, staring at the ceiling. Brian sat quietly on the couch next to hers, Love asleep in his lap.
"U good?" he asked. Scarlett didn't even bother to lift her head. She just shook it side to side without looking up, signaling no.
"Keep what I said between us. I don't want to hear it from anyone else," she managed to say with difficulty.
"Who else could I even tell?"
After sitting in silence a little longer, Brian straightened up to leave, but Scarlett lifted her head. "Don't leave me like this, let's stay together tonight."
"I've got work tomorrow, and Love's out of diapers and formula. We need to go home." Scarlett didn't insist after hearing his answer. "Alright," she said, leaning her head back again.
Back home, Brian couldn't get what she'd told him out of his head. Tossing and turning in bed, he thought endlessly. Even before all this, he had the habit of talking to himself, but never this kind of overthinking. Unable to sleep, Brian sat up, went downstairs, and lit a cigarette. Sitting on the chair in front of the door, he watched the passing cars, counting them like a game to distract himself. A memory of his childhood popped into his mind.
"Those were the days. Elementary school, middle school, high school… and now we've ended up in this shitty mess," he muttered to himself. He smoked without pause, like it was his last cigarette.
The next morning at work, he was unusually calm. He was acting like he was the only one in the world who'd suffered, yet Scarlett's words had carved themselves into his brain. He reminded himself he wasn't the only one who'd gone through hell. There had to be people who'd suffered worse. That thought motivated him. He mingled with his coworkers, and during his smoke breaks, it made him happy that Scarlett, not Michelle, came to mind. He didn't have feelings for Scarlett—yet. But maybe he could. Knowing she'd been through heavy shit like him, her words kept echoing in his mind: "Damaged ones always find damaged ones." And another line—"The side I lost was you"—kept resurfacing, and the more he thought about it, the more he agreed. After everything, could he really feel something for a woman again? There was only one way to find out.
When he got home, he asked Virginia to stay until night, offering to pay her twice his daily wage for just that one day. Virginia asked why, and he told her he had a date, dressing up for the occasion.
"Do you think she's the right woman?" Virginia asked.
"Sorry, come again?" Brian frowned, not following.
"Love is the sweetest baby in the world, and if the person you're going out with excites you this much, it must mean there's something serious going on. So, do you think she's the right one, honey?"
Brian stayed silent for a couple of seconds, sipping his water, thinking it over. "I guess we'll find out," he said with a smile before leaving. Before walking out the door, he reminded Virginia to call him in case of an emergency.
He hopped into the car, checked his waxed hair in the rearview mirror.
"You really are a goddamn monument to handsomeness, Brian," he told himself, starting the engine. He began driving, forgetting entirely that Scarlett was at work and he'd never called her.
"Ah, fuck," he muttered, but there was nothing he could do now—he had to go.
Inside the bar, his eyes wandered around, unable to focus on one person. Scarlett was nowhere to be seen yet, so he savored the taste of his beer. He exchanged glances with a couple of women, his confidence peaking again. That's when he noticed a man at a nearby table staring at him hard. At first, Brian looked away, but when it happened a few more times, his guard went up. A fight could break out any second. Adjusting his pockets, he stood up, still feeling the man's eyes on him as he headed toward the restroom. Even while washing his hands, he kept glancing at people through the mirror, scanning for any threat. After drying his hands, he returned to his barstool—and the guy was still staring.
He considered asking the bartender, but thought, Why bother? Instead, he got up and walked straight toward the man's table.
Now I'm gonna break your damn face, he thought.
Sitting down across from him, Brian was met with a smirk.
"Well, I didn't expect you to actually come over. I knew you were looking, but I didn't think you'd be bold enough to walk up."
"You've been staring right at me, man. You got a problem?" Brian replied, leaning forward, eyes locked.
"I'm not great with people, kid. Sorry. But since you're here… what are you drinking?"
"Nothing. I just wanted to know if you had an issue with me." He kept sizing the man up, looking for ways to take him down if things went bad.
"Hahaha… problems, problems… isn't that the biggest issue in all our lives?" the man said.
Brian just stared at him, trying to read what the hell he meant.
"You're right, man. Life's got enough problems. So keep those looks to yourself and leave me alone." Brian stood to go, but the man grabbed his hand.
"Come on, let's keep this chat going at my place," he said.
And then Brian got it. Ah, fuck. He's gay.
"You gay, man?" he asked.
"Hahaha… I wouldn't say full-on gay. I'd say I get whoever I want," the man replied, leaning in with a sly grin.
Brian pulled his hand back. "I'm not gay. Try another door." He left the bar, lighting a cigarette outside.
"Damn, almost started a fight for nothing—dude was just checking me out," he muttered to himself. But then he realized he hadn't seen Scarlett at all. Instead of asking the bartender, he just called her. No answer. He tried a few more times, but it went straight to voicemail every time: "Hi, I'm Scarlett. Not available right now, leave a message."
That voice kept bouncing around his skull. He headed straight to her place, riding the elevator to the 12th floor. She opened the door with a plastic tiara on her head, quickly yanking it off and tossing it aside.
"Hi. I know I showed up out of nowhere, but I was worried about you. What you said yesterday has been echoing in my head. Can I come in? Let's keep talking."
Scarlett stared right into his eyes, debating whether to let him in. Brian thought, She's probably high again, that's why she's acting like this.
"Come on in," she finally said. The place looked exactly like it had yesterday—untidy, with the same drugs still sitting on the table. But she didn't seem high this time.
"You look go—" Brian began, but Scarlett cut him off.
"What do you want?" she suddenly asked, standing with her hands on her hips, mouth slightly open, eyes wide and fixed on him.
"W–what do I want?" Brian stammered. Scarlett nodded as if to say yes.
"What the hell do you mean, what do I want? Don't you remember what you said yesterday? I came to talk."
Scarlett sprawled back onto the couch and motioned for him to join her. "Sit."
Brian sat, but after a short silence, he tried to make small talk. "Why aren't you at work?"
"I quit."
"Why? You just started—something happen?"
"Yeah. I just don't want to work there anymore."
"Why?" Brian still couldn't understand her cold demeanor.
"Because I don't feel like it," she replied flatly.
"Alright," Brian said, standing up. He walked toward the door, but the fact that Scarlett didn't even tell him to stay shocked him. At the doorway, he stopped, glanced back—and saw her glued to her phone, scrolling through TikTok. That indifference burned him.
He slammed the door shut and walked slowly back toward her, both hands in his pockets, swaying as he moved.
"You asked me what I wanted when I came in, didn't you?" Brian began.
"Yeah," she answered without even lifting her head, still on her phone.
Brian's temper snapped. "Yeah? You messing with me? Yesterday you were saying all this deep shit, and today you're like this?"
She kept chewing her gum, eyes still on TikTok. That pushed Brian over the edge. He grabbed her hand, yanked her up from the couch, and shoved her against the wall.
"I've been calling you from this goddamn phone and you won't answer, but you can watch your stupid TikTok videos without a break! What the fuck are you trying to pull?" he snarled in her face.
Scarlett didn't break eye contact—she didn't even look scared.
"Get your hands off me," she said coldly.
"Your other side, my ass," Brian shot back, referring to what she'd told him the day before.
"Brian, I don't want to keep you somewhere you don't want to be. Please, just go."
"Somewhere I don't want to be? What the fuck are you talking about? If I didn't want to be here, do you think I would be?"
"Then why did you come?" she asked. Brian still had her pinned.
"Because I want you. Not just sexually. I want that toughness, that confidence, that hunger in you."
"Get the fuck out of my apartment, Brian."
The words hit him like ice water down his spine. Without saying another word, he left.
"What an idiot I am. I believed—again—that a woman actually wanted me. Just a few drunk words, that's all. 'The side I lost was you' my ass. Fuck off," Brian muttered to himself at home. He couldn't sleep, Scarlett's reaction stuck in his head. Deep down, part of him was relieved. He wasn't even sure if he had feelings for her, and a relationship between two volatile, unpredictable people would've been a disaster.
Days passed in routine—work, home, caring for Love, the occasional outing together. But inside, Brian was boiling over. Every day, he played scenarios in his head, looking for a way to really hurt that couple. Beating them up or stalking them outright was too risky—if he got caught, it was over. He could lose custody of his daughter, or worse, end up in prison. And if Love went to Michelle… no, that wasn't even an option.
He called Vivian, venting all his hatred toward her daughter. Vivian, though Michelle's mother, understood Brian. She knew how selfish, cold, and cruel Michelle's actions were.
"Don't do what you're thinking, Brian," she warned.
Brian sat in silence, right hand over his head, slouched deep in thought. Then he straightened up. "Don't worry. I'm not going to attack them," he said, ending the call.
He left the house in a rush—it was Friday night, and he had two days off. He needed to blow off steam or he'd explode. With Love in tow, he drove aimlessly. Scarlett crossed his mind again, but he felt no sadness. "I gave her a chance—she lost it. Her problem," he thought as he drove.
Without meaning to, he ended up near Theo and Michelle's place. Their cars weren't there, lights off. At 8 p.m., they weren't likely to be sleeping. He watched for a while, then started the car to leave—until he opened the glove compartment to grab a spare pack of cigarettes and saw Michelle's old phone. He'd stashed it there the last time he'd been watching them.
He unlocked it, checked iCloud. Her location was across the city—at least an hour's drive in this traffic.
"I shouldn't… I shouldn't!" he whispered to himself. Then he glanced in the rearview mirror at Love, fast asleep. She always dozed off during drives.
"Fuck. Fuckkk…" he cursed silently, his body tensing. He wanted to slam the steering wheel but feared waking her—if she cried, it could take hours to calm her down.
He sat there for five minutes, elbow propped against the car door, hand on his head, muttering to himself. It wasn't like before—this time it was as if someone else were in the car with him, arguing back.
"I can't. I shouldn't. What if I get caught?"
"But what if you don't? You could learn terrifying things about them."
"What if they call the cops?"
"What if Michelle gets custody?"
"OFFFFF FUCKKKK!" he screamed silently inside his head. Anyone watching would think he'd lost it completely.
Finally, he got out of the car, pulling a cap low over his head. Moving cautiously toward the house, he scanned the area—quiet. Being a detached home made things easier. He circled the property, testing doors and windows—locked. But then he spotted it: a second-floor window, half open.
How to get up there? He noticed bricks stacked in the neighbor's yard. He hauled eight of them over in three trips, stacking four on each side. His first attempt collapsed, but the second held. He managed to pull himself up to the roof, squeezing through the open window.
Inside was a home office—laptop, piles of documents, company letterheads. He picked one up, read it by phone light. "What the fuck is this?" he muttered, setting it back. "This idiot's still living off family money—what's with the company papers?" he thought, meaning Theo.
"Ah, I should've fucked Irene—that'd be a better punishment. Piece of shit," he muttered.
He searched the room thoroughly—nothing. The upstairs bedrooms came next. In one, his hands shook. The thought of his ex-wife in bed with someone else hit him harder than ever. The images wouldn't leave his head, no matter how much he shook it off. "Ah, fuck it," he said, stepping back out.
The first floor was sparse—a sectional couch, a TV, otherwise bare. Even the kitchen cupboards were empty. Big house, open space, but little of value. At the entry, the living room lay to the right, dining area and kitchen to the left, stairs to the upper floor in the middle. There was a small half-bath downstairs, a full bath upstairs, and ensuite bathrooms in the bedrooms.
He'd risked everything and found nothing. Empty-handed, he prepared to leave.
"Isn't the ice cream so good?" Michelle asked as they walked toward the car.
"Yeah, but ten bucks for two? Fucking robbery," Theo laughed. The two had been out enjoying themselves, weaving through the crowd hand in hand. But Theo noticed Michelle's face—she seemed distant.
"You good?" he asked. Michelle didn't react, just kept licking her ice cream, eyes fixed ahead.
"You good?" he repeated.
"Wh–what? Sorry, didn't hear you. Say that again?"
"I said, are you okay? You seemed lost in thought."
"I'm fine, just zoned out," she replied.
"Brian? Or Love?" he pressed. Michelle turned to look at him. She wanted to deny it but knew she couldn't.
"Both," she said.
Theo tried not to show his disappointment. He understood her clinging to her old life, even if it hurt him. "Come on, tell me what's on your mind."
Michelle was quiet for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Brian scares me. I know he can't hurt us anymore, but first… I feel guilty about what I did to him. Second, he wasn't like this before. You know that."
"Yeah, I guess."
"He never got into people's business, wasn't quick to anger. Now look at him. And we—we made him this way." Her eyes were glassy.
"And I keep thinking about Love. I love you endlessly, Theo, but how can a mother—how can anyone—leave their own child? I live with that guilt every day," she said, tears spilling now. "I can't take it anymore. Even though being with you makes me happy, these thoughts push me to the edge. I can't take it anymore, Theo. I just can't."
Theo held her close in the street as she cried against his chest. Theo wasn't a monster. Just like Brian, he was a man in love. "I'll always be here for you, my love. Until death, until death do us apart."
They got into the car—Theo driving, Michelle resting her head against the window, staring out as Akon – Lonely played on the radio. She cursed herself silently for what she'd done to Brian and Love. It wasn't because she didn't love Theo—she did, deeply. But turning her best friend, her "brother," into her worst enemy, and abandoning her daughter for him, was a wound she couldn't escape.
Theo parked in front of the house. The bricks Brian had stacked earlier were gone—he'd put them back to cover his tracks. Theo unlocked the door, stepped inside, taking a deep breath after the intense emotions they'd just shared. He hung up his jacket and headed to the kitchen for a glass of cold water, drinking like he hadn't had any in days. Michelle came in and hung up her coat. "Pour me a glass too, baby. I'm just gonna hit the bathroom," she said, disappearing down the hall.
Theo poured her water and started upstairs—
"Where you going? You just got home. Come sit in the living room for a bit," a voice said from the dark.
Theo turned. Sitting in the shadows of the living room was Brian.
"You sick fuck," Theo said quietly, more shocked than angry.
"Why the gloves?" he asked. His voice was tight.
"Didn't have them when I came in. Found them here. Figured it'd be smart not to leave fingerprints." Brian sat sprawled on the couch, arms spread, looking unnervingly calm—like he'd planned this to the last detail.
"What do you want? You know this is a crime, right? You could go to prison for this."
"Come on, Theo. No need to call the cops like a little kid. I just want to talk." He smiled—but not a normal smile. His head tilted slightly down, eyes narrowed, peering up at Theo.
"Fine. Talk. Go ahead." Theo dragged a chair from the kitchen, straddling it backward, arms resting on the backrest. "Tell me, I'm listening." He kept his eyes locked on Brian, trying to show he wasn't afraid. Brian noticed and smirked.
"Was it worth it?"
"Was what worth it?"
"Stealing my wife. Trying to take my daughter. Is Michelle worth all that to you?"
"What would you have done?" Theo shot back. When Brian didn't answer immediately, Theo went on, "I get it. You've been through hell—"
"You don't understand shit! Acting like you do, you arrogant fuck," Brian snapped, cutting him off.
"Look, man, it's called empathy. I can't feel exactly what you feel, but I can imagine."
Brian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes still locked. "I'm not a monster, Brian. And I'm not who you think I am. I'm just a man in love. I know you hate me, and you have every right. But stalking people, breaking into their homes—that's a crime. If I call the cops right now, you're done."
"Then why haven't you? Go ahead—call," Brian challenged.
Theo laughed. "Michelle and I were just talking about this today. You never used to mess with people. Now you pick fights everywhere. Like with that foreman—didn't matter that you were wrong, you still went to his shed to beat him up. You're better than that."
Brian narrowed his eyes. "You been following me, you little shit?"
"Me? No. Hahaha… You think I'd waste my time on that? Especially with as much money as I have?"
"Money? Upstairs I saw debt notices. Your fridge is empty."
Theo clapped slowly, then got up, moving closer. He pulled his chair nearer so they were facing each other across the coffee table.
"I'd do anything for Michelle. Now get out of my house before I call the cops. I don't want to, but I will."
Brian grinned. "Don't want to? Bullshit. You're just scared that if you do, My child's custody will come to you—and you don't want that responsibility. That's why you'll never call."
Theo tilted his head. "Your child? Or mine?"
That was the breaking point. Brian jerked back as if he'd been struck by a boulder. His chest tightened, rage flooding in. "No… no, that can't be true. No! No! NO! THAT AIN'T FUCKING TRUE!" he roared, hurling himself at Theo.
The chair tipped, crashing to the floor as Theo fell back with Brian on top of him.
"You fucker!" Brian snarled, his voice shaking with fury. He swung wildly—left, right, left, right—his fists slamming into Theo's face with bone-rattling force. "SHE'S MY DAUGHTER!" he screamed.
Theo, desperate, swung the broken leg of the chair upward, smashing it into the side of Brian's face. The blow was so hard Brian's head snapped sideways, his body rocking back.
Michelle burst out of the bathroom at the sound of the struggle. She saw them grappling and rushed in, trying to wedge herself between them. "Stop! Please, stop!" she cried, her hands clawing at Theo's arm. But they were locked in, two bodies straining for dominance, neither hearing her.
Theo managed to twist, forcing Brian onto his back and mounting him. He rained punches down, his fists pounding into Brian's already bloodied face. Brian, stunned from the earlier blow, could only throw his arms up in a weak guard.
Then came an opening. In the chaos, Brian's right hand flailed and closed around the ceramic vase that had toppled to the floor during the fight. In one brutal motion, he swung it upward and shattered it over Theo's head.
The sound was sharp—ceramic cracking, then the dull thud of impact.
Theo reeled backward, stumbling into the coffee table, dazed. Michelle, caught in the momentum, was thrown sideways, hitting the floor.
Brian pushed up from the ground, planting his right knee down and his left foot flat against the floor. From that stance, he hammered his left fist into Theo's face again and again, each blow driving his opponent further down. His breathing was ragged, almost animal.
Michelle snatched up the broken chair leg and swung it hard, the wood catching Brian across the back. The strike jolted through his body, knocking him forward onto his hands. He rolled off Theo, groaning.
Now both men were down, blood streaking their faces, sweat glistening under the room's dim light.
Michelle was the only one standing. Her chest heaved as she looked from one to the other. "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" she screamed, her voice cracking with rage. "Breaking into our home, you son of a bitch?"
She flung the chair leg to the ground and dropped to her knees beside Theo. "Baby, are you okay? Look at me! THEO! I'm here, baby, I'm here!" she cried, cradling his head in her hands.
"I–I'm fine," Theo rasped, though his voice was thin and trembling.
"Come on, let's get you to the hospital." She started to stand—
—but Brian's hands clamped down on her shoulders from behind.
"What—Brian! Let go!" she gasped, but he dragged her backward across the floor. She kicked and twisted, but his grip was iron. He hauled her all the way to the dining area, shoving her down hard onto the floor and swinging a leg over her.
His hands locked around her throat.
"DO YOU WANNA KNOW HOW I FELT WHEN YOU LEFT?" he bellowed, his face inches from hers. His eyes were wide and unblinking, pupils blown wide with rage.
Michelle's hands clawed at his wrists, her heels scraping against the floor as she fought for air.
"I FELT LIKE DOING THIS!" he screamed, squeezing tighter.
Her face reddened, lips parting soundlessly as her body writhed beneath him. And then—suddenly—his grip loosened. His chest heaved as he toppled sideways, collapsing onto the floor beside her.
Michelle rolled over, gulping for air, each breath a ragged wheeze. Theo still lay on the living room floor, motionless except for shallow breaths.
"The ch–child… is yours," Theo croaked, his voice so faint it barely carried across the room.
Brian turned his head toward Theo, his chest rising and falling in sharp bursts. Normally, hearing those words—the child is yours—would have brought him relief. But right now, it was like they were coming from underwater, muffled and meaningless.
His eyes shifted to the kitchen. Slowly, almost methodically, he pushed himself to his feet. Each step toward the counter felt deliberate, heavy. His hand closed around a kitchen knife, the steel gleaming under the dim light.
Michelle's eyes widened. She was still sprawled on the floor, her voice hoarse from the chokehold. She tried to speak, but only a rasp came out.
Brian walked back toward Theo and dropped into a crouch directly in front of him. He brought the knife up, the blade pressing against the side of Theo's throat.
"Love… whose child is she?" His voice was low, but the tension in it was enough to slice the air.
Theo's chest rose shallowly, blood still seeping from the gash on his head where the vase had landed. His breaths were shaky, his face pale beneath the streaks of crimson.
"WHOSE CHILD IS SHE?" Brian barked, the blade digging harder into Theo's skin.
"She's yours," Michelle gasped from the floor, still struggling for breath. "I swear to God, she's yours!"
Brian didn't look at her. His gaze stayed locked on Theo. Theo's eyes, glassy but steady, didn't flinch. He tilted his head just enough to meet Michelle's gaze. In that split second, between them, there was everything—love, fear, guilt, and something neither of them could name.
Brian's head dipped, his eyes falling to the floor. The knife trembled slightly in his grip.
"That's a lie," he said, his voice almost calm—but under it was something jagged and dangerous.
He looked up again, locking eyes with Theo. His jaw clenched. In one sudden, violent motion, Brian drew the blade across Theo's throat from left to right, fast and deep.
A spray of hot blood hit Brian's face, painting his shirt in deep red. Theo's body jerked once, then toppled sideways onto the floor, blood pooling beneath him. His hands twitched weakly as his breaths turned into wet, choking gasps.
Michelle's scream tore through the room. "NOOOO!" She collapsed to her knees, sobbing so hard her whole body shook. She slammed her fists against the floor, the words spilling from her mouth between sobs: "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"
Brian staggered back, the knife slipping from his blood-slicked hand and clattering against the hardwood. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving.
His hands came up to clutch his head, fingers tangling in his hair. His eyes were wide, unblinking, as he stared down at Theo's dying body.
"I… I've killed him," he whispered.