Once, my paranoid love

“Paul!” My voice sliced through the tension, and I arched my brows in a mixture of frustration and exasperation. “I don’t need your phony care. You are just like your mother, a fake person.”

My words hung in the air like a pendulum frozen at the apex of its swing. Paul’s jaw tightened, and his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes bore into mine, a mixture of anger and pain swirling within their depths. Without warning, he lunged forward, his hands finding purchase on my arms as he pulled me closer, perhaps more forcefully than he intended.

My breath caught in my throat as pain shot through her arms, and an involuntary whimper escaped my lips, “Aw!”

Paul’s grip slackened immediately, his anger momentarily replaced by concern. “Elena!” he exclaimed, his voice laced with anger.

His anger, like a dormant volcano, erupted anew. He grabbed my face, his fingers firm and cruel, forcing me to meet his gaze. His voice was raw, tinged with years of frustration. “You know what, Elena? You don’t deserve my care. You only know how to hurt my feelings.”

My heart pounded in my chest as his words hit me like a punch to the gut. I had expected anger, perhaps even a shouting match, but the depth of his emotions caught me off guard. I opened my mouth to retort, to defend myself, but his words continued to pour forth, holding her captive.

“When I punished those boys to look at you, to come and talk to you,” Paul’s voice quivered with barely-contained fury, “you didn’t like me to beat them. I know why, because you like to talk to them.”

“Just like my mother,” Paul’s voice cracked, a painful vulnerability seeping through the cracks in his anger, “who always tried to seduce other men.”

“But I won’t let you be like my mom. If I need to, then I will cage you at home. Did you hear me?” Paul rubbed my lips as his breath mingled with mine. My gaze locked on his eyes, and I thought, ‘If it is, then should I call it love or your craziness? I had an idea about his possessiveness toward me from his childhood.’

“If you are so crazy about me, then who is Nikita?” I asked.

“Ah, I don’t like her. I just keep her to make you jealous,” Paul said.

“Oh, that’s why you slapped me in front of her; you abused me?” I tightened my jaw.

Paul slowly avoided my gaze; it seemed my words started impacting him. He did not argue with me.

I took a deep breath and asked, looking at his blue eyes, “And you are totally wrong, Paul? I told you to trust me, but it was you who always hurt me. If you try to trust me and work on your therapy, I think our relationship would be better as well.”

“I am not mad,” Paul said.

“I didn’t tell you that you were a mad person; I said you have to trust people, and because of that, you need to go to a psychiatrist.” I said.

“Hump!” Paul loosened his grip and moved a bit to the edge of the bed. I blinked my eyes. I could not be rough on him if I wanted to, because my heart wanted him as well. Suddenly, Paul said while looking at the ground, “If… If you become my girlfriend, then I will go to the doctor at noon, and I promise no one will come between us.”

As I heard him, I felt my throat become dry. If Paul changed himself, then I would be happy because I also wanted him to change. I knew a little about his past; he had trauma from his father’s incident, then his mother’s selfishness; everything affected him badly. He did not have a healthy childhood, just like other kids.

“Yes… I will do everything you want.”

I spoke out; I finally spoke out what my heart wanted. I found myself unable to shake off the whirlwind of emotions within me. It was as if my heart had taken the reins, guiding me away from the bitterness of our argument and into uncharted territory.

In the ensuing silence, as the weight of our confessions still lingered, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of shyness creep over me. I sensed his gaze upon me, an almost tangible warmth that made my cheeks flush with a delicate hue of pink. My lashes lowered instinctively, a veil of uncertainty shielding my eyes from his scrutiny.

With a subtle shift of my weight, I began to turn away, my intention being to retreat from the intensity of the moment. However, before I could take even a single step, the world seemed to contract around me as Paul’s firm hand enveloped mine. The touch, unexpected yet oddly welcome, sent a rush of emotions coursing through my veins.

My fingers trembled slightly within his grasp, a combination of nerves and a strange excitement I couldn’t quite comprehend. Slowly, tentatively, I turned my gaze back to him, my eyes meeting his in a collision of emotions that transcended words.

And there he stood, Paul, with his stormy eyes that held both the weight of his past and the vulnerability of his present. The intensity of his gaze was enough to make my heart skip a beat, like a melody faltering before finding its rhythm again. His eyes were like windows to a world I was only beginning to explore, a world where pain and hope coexisted.

But it wasn’t just the depth of his gaze that captivated me. As my gaze traveled across his features, I couldn’t help but be struck by his rugged handsomeness. His jaw line was chiseled, strong yet not unapproachable, hinting at resilience earned through life’s trials.

My gaze lingered on his lips, and my heart picked up pace as I remembered his words. I found myself drawn to those lips, wanting to bridge the gap between us and smooth away the rough edges of their argument with a tender connection.

Suddenly, Paul pulled me toward him and grabbed my waist. Our hot breaths mingled as he pulled me. He asked me, “You promise me you won’t go out anywhere. You will stay in your room.”

I sighed and nodded. ‘Paul has some really terrible problems. I should do something; who knows when his mood changes again?’

“Yes, I will stay at home today.”

“No… Stay in your room. Don’t talk to your father.” Paul said with arching brows.

I arched my brows as I heard him. I said, “Paul, he is my father.”

“So what? I don’t trust him. Everyone is trying to separate us,” Paul said. I paused for a minute and kept my gaze locked on him. ‘I will do what he asks.’ I sighed and answered, “Okay, I will stay in my room. Though I am tired, I will sleep now.”

“Oh… Yes. You are right. Take a rest, love. I will come before you wake up,” Paul said with a smile. I looked at his smiling face and slowly moved my gaze. ‘His smile!’

I nodded while looking down. Suddenly, someone knocked at the door. ‘Did Paul lock the door? He is really a crazy person. What if it’s his mom?’

As I thought, I said, “Why did you lock the door, Paul?”

“Because I don’t like disturbances, and also because your father and my mom are home,” Paul said with a stern voice as he looked at the door.

‘Damn.’Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

I lightly pushed him and walked toward the door to open it. As I opened, I spotted Paul’s mom there. She smiled at me slightly and moved her gaze to Paul. She entered the room with a glass of juice. I narrowed my eyes when I saw her acting so normally. Then she said, “Elena, I just came to give you the apple juice, honey. You must be tired.”

“Juice?” My voice carried a note of incredulity, my gaze fixated on the glass Anne held in her hand.

Anne’s smile was almost too sweet, too perfectly timed. “Yes,” she responded, her tone light and carefree. Her eyes met me, a mixture of warmth and something else that I couldn’t quite decipher.

“Juice?” As Paul said, he took the glass and sipped. Anne and I looked at Paul.

“What are you doing, Paul?” Anne’s voice rang out, a mixture of shock and disbelief coloring her words. She took a step closer to Paul, her eyes wide with incredulity.

A bemused smile played on Paul’s lips as he took another sip of the fruit juice, the taste far from what he had anticipated. His casual comment cut through the air like a swift gust of wind, shattering the awkward silence that had settled in the room. He looked from Anne to me, a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“I thought you gave her poison,” Paul remarked with a raised eyebrow, his voice laced with a teasing edge. His gaze shifted from the glass to Anne, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes.