Breakfast is almost normal without Denise at the dining table. She must be preparing for work. I add more syrup to the mini pile of pancakes on my plate, a sick smile playing on my lips at the amount of sugary stuff I’m eating. I’ll work it out at the gym later. Darius looks up from his newspaper, then at the pancakes. “How’s it coming with the house?” I take a sip of my coffee, all black, no sugar, before answering. “Okay.” Apparently, renovations take half as long as building a new house. “I’ll be out of your hair soon,” I say with a fake laugh. “No, man. I like having you here.” So I can hear the screams of his wife as he beats the shit out of her. No, thanks. In silence, I stir the content of my cup and Darius resumes reading. My hands wrap around the mug, the heat warms my palms and probably melts my senses because I hear myself speaking out of turn. “I thought you said it was a one time thing,” I mutter, meeting his gaz
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