The pot hissed faintly, steam rising from the dented tin balanced on the make shift fire The smell of the beans filled the house with it's earthy, heavy, almost metallic smell.
For once, it wasn't cold from the can.
Iyisha sat cross‑legged on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes flicking from the flame to Malcolm. He crouched by the fire on the fire place, stirring with the tip of a knife. His shoulders were tense, as if even beans required a soldier's vigilance.
Finally, he scooped some into a battered tin bowl and set it in front of her.
"Eat."
"Sorry," she whispered, eyes stinging as they watered. The beans in front of her suddenly felt like a weight, too heavy to swallow. "You're the only reason I'm still alive," she admitted, voice breaking.
Malcolm just looked at her, unreadable.
"Eat."
She watched him eating steadily, every bite methodical. She forced each spoonful into her mouth, even as it sat heavy in her stomach.
Later, when they fixed their makeshift beds, they chose to stay in the living room. She curled on the sofa, eyes drifting to him as he cleaned the guns with practiced motions, feeling more and more like dead weight herself.
"Did you get the toll?" she asked quietly.
He nodded.
"Two bottles of liquor." Then he went right back to wiping the rifle.
Liquor. Of all things, that might actually buy them safe passage.
If only she could buy her own worth so easily. Her chest ached.
"Would you… kiss me?", she swallowed hard.
His eyes lifted to hers with no expression on his face. The emptiness of it made her tear up, because it felt like he didn't need her anymore.
He sighed before setting the gun aside. "Sleep," he said quietly.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again, feeling more sorry about everything.
He sighed once more, running a hand through his hair.
He didn't say anything more. Just set the rifle aside and dragged his bedroll closer, settling on the floor by her sofa instead of across the room.
The shift was quiet but deliberate. Close enough that she could hear his breathing, feel his presence.
But it wasn't enough. Not for the hollow gnawing inside her.
"Please," she whispered, voice breaking. "Can you… kiss me."
His eyes lifted to hers, unreadable. She wished he would refuse, wished he would tell her to sleep again. But after a long moment, he pushed himself up, leaned in, and pressed his mouth to hers.
It wasn't passion. It wasn't want. It was steady, grounding — the kind of kiss that told her he understood why she'd asked, even if he didn't approve.
Her chest ached harder. Because she knew it wasn't about love or desire. It was pity, a quiet mercy given because she had nothing else to offer.
But Iyisha refused to leave it at that. She kissed him deeper, trying to show him she was more—that she could do more.
She felt him hesitate, his breath hitching, before he finally kissed her fully.
Relief washed through her as she pulled him down, his body settling onto hers.
The heat of him, the weight, the tingling rush that spread through her made everything else fall away until there was only the kiss and the fire of his body against hers.
A moan escaped her as she kissed along his jaw and neck.
But Malcolm stiffened above her.
"Enough," he groaned, the sound edged with pain.
She curled up again, feeling smaller, her mind spiraling into overthinking—convinced he didn't really like her, that maybe she was just a burden he tolerated.
"Iyisha…" His voice was rough.
She blinked at him, waiting.
"Do you want a kiss?" he asked finally, low and uncertain.
Her throat tightened.
"Yes," she whispered, nodding quickly, tears still wetting her lashes. If she could make him want her, maybe she wouldn't feel like nothing.
He pulled her into his lap and kissed her more firmly, and she melted against him, almost thankful for the way he reacted. As if in giving him pleasure could prove she wasn't useless.
They kissed more, her lips trailing along his jawline and down his neck, drawing a groan from him as his grip on her tightened, pulling her harder against him.
She could feel him, hard and insistent against her, his arms tightening on her waist but never stopping her—if anything, pulling her closer, grinding into her enough that she gasped at the press of him.
Then his mouth found hers again, and they sank back into the kiss.
Pleasure sparked low in her belly, making her shiver. Every push of his hips against hers drew another ripple through her, heat flooding as she arched up to meet him, lost in the rush of sensation.
Her hands traveled over his chest, feeling the hardness of muscle, down to the ridges of his stomach, the faint hint of abs beneath his shirt.
He flinched when her fingers brushed near the V of his pants, catching his breath.
He caught her wrist to stop her but after meeting her eyes, seeing the need written there, he slowly let it go.
Her hand slid lower, pressing against the hardness straining his jeans. The size of him made her moan softly, the sound trembling from her lips as her body tingled hotter.
"Iyisha…" Malcolm moaned, her name breaking from his lips as she caressed him, her touch drinking him in, lost in the charged atmosphere and the raw look in his eyes.
Her fingers moved to the button of his jeans, starting to slip it open before he caught her hand again and stopped her with a groan.
He groaned, catching her wrist.
"Stop." His voice was rough, like gravel. He shoved to his feet, pacing once before running a hand through his hair. Every motion screamed restraint, as if moving was the only way not to break.
Iyisha sat flustered, face burning, fanning herself as shame curled in her chest.
She nodded quickly, but inside she wondered if they really couldn't go a bit further or if it was simply that he didn't want her that way.
Maybe because she was useless.
"Okay," she whispered with a forced smile. Her voice was faint, the word trembling into the air like it barely belonged to her.
As she curled back onto the sofa, a single tear slipped down her cheek.
She pressed her face into the cushion so he wouldn't see. Better he think she was asleep than see how useless she really felt.
And in the silence, she hated herself more than the world outside.