Chapter 100

Chapter 100
Neema rushed forward. “Quinton? Oh my God. What happened? Are you hurt? Who did this to you?”

“I’m fine,” Quinton said quickly, trying to catch her hands before they reached him for further inspection. But the moment his hands came up, her gaze landed on his cut knuckles, and she went stiff. 

“What did you do?” The question came out low, as though she hadn’t intended to voice it out loud.

Dread began to pool in his gut as he looked into her searching gaze. “Neema…” He trailed off and then tried again. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Apparently, that was the wrong answer to give because her glare only intensified. “Quinton.” Her tone dropped lower than he’d ever heard it. “What. Did. You. Do.”

Realizing he was left with no other choice but to confess the truth, Quinton took a deep breath and told her the truth. “I found Jerome and beat the shit out of him before he broke free and ran.”

Neema stepped back as though he’d slapped her. Her eyes were wide, and she looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “W-what?” she whispered.

“He deserved it.”

“You found him?” She interrupted, voice rising. “You beat him up?”

“He had it coming!” Quinton snapped. He’d known this was coming the instant his brain hadn’t been fogged with anger, but dealing with it was still difficult. Quinton didn’t want to be angry with Neema, but the angrier she got, the more Quinton thought she was defending her ex, and that ignited rage in him. “After everything he’s done.”

Neema’s eyes dropped back on the busted knuckles; she grimaced. “You should have let the police handle it.”

“I wanted to handle it!” The truth burst out of him without control or preamble, his chest heaving. “He’s done too much, Neema. I couldn't just let it lie when he burned your cafe.”

“But you don't even know if he was the one!” she shouted, hands shaking. “You don’t have proof! You don’t have anything but your anger! What would have happened if Jerome were stronger than you or had a gun? What then?”

Quinton’s jaw tightened. “He leaked a video of you to the public to ruin your life. Who else would do it?”

“You are guessing!”

“Then what was I supposed to do?” Quinton threw his hands up. “Watch you fall apart again? Watch everything explode while he hides? You think I’m going to stand by and let him hurt you again?”

“No,” she said fiercely. “I think you’re supposed to call the police. I think you’re supposed to let the system deal with him. I think you’re supposed to talk to me before you go hunting someone down like… Like some vigilante!”

He scoffed. “The system? The same system that couldn't find him, and he continued to terrorize you?”

“Yes!” she yelled. “Because even if the system is slow, it’s still the law! You can’t just beat up my problems!”

The hallway went silent.

Pain stabbed through Quinton’s chest. He opened his mouth, closed it, and tried again. “I wasn’t beating up ‘your problems,’ Neema. I was protecting you.”

“That’s not protection,” she said quietly. “That’s violence. And it scares me.”

Those three words hit him harder than Jerome had managed to. He stepped forward instinctively. “Neema…”

“No,” she whispered, stepping back again. “I need space.”

Quinton thought the room tilted under his feet. “Space?” he repeated, barely breathing.

Neema nodded, tears filling her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. She ran a hand through her short hair. “I never expected this from you, and I realize I don't really know you. Didn't know you would explode and turn violent.” She shook her head on an exhale. You can’t choose violence and expect everything to be okay later.”

“I did it for you.”

“Did you? Did you really?”

Quinton felt his heart lurch painfully.
He’d thought losing his temper would hurt Jerome. He’d never imagined it might cost him Neema.

She wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the floor. “I don’t feel safe with the way you’re reacting to things. I need time to think. I need… Space.”

His throat closed.

“Neema, take a breath and think about what you are doing,” he pleaded.

But Neema only shook her head. “I woke up alone in a cold bed because you thought it was better to go and beat up my ex. I’m not breaking up with you,” she murmured. “But right now? I can’t do this.”

The world cracked around him. Slow. Deep. Real. Then Quinton stepped back, his chest hollow. “I never meant to scare you.”

“I know,” she whispered. “And that’s the problem.” Then she turned and walked away.

For some reason, Quinton didn’t chase her. He couldn’t. Because she was right. He’d acted irrationally. 

And he was terrified, utterly terrified, that he’d ruined everything.