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Rain splattered a canvas upon the tinted window of the car, an array of wet trails and crystal beads of rain droplets. He listened to its beat, the way drops of water drummed against glass. There was something soothing yet disturbing about it. The incessant rhythm paved way for his thoughts to stream into his unclear mind.

Lola rejected him. He huffed, slanting in his seat to rest his head upon the cold window. She did not reject him. She had just not said those words back. He had been a fool for being hopeful, for mistaking her softness and actions the past few months as growing affection. He was stupid for misinterpreting the light in her eyes when she sees him, an idiot for getting the wrong idea about their relationship. What had he been expecting? That she would say those words back with the same tone he had used?

The unsaid pleading in her eyes had been the first cut she inflicted on him. Her sudden stiffness incised another cut. Then the disappointment that those words have been spoken widened the slash. She had risen from the bed with mock amusement in her eyes. Silently, she slipped into her dressing gown and headed for the bathroom. His eyes followed her. He had been unsteady, hated the sweat the broke free, and feared the coming negative response.

"He said the same words." She paused by the bathroom's entrance, her tone low. "Three words that made me then crushed me. He said them when we fucked like you and I just did." In her eyes were stories she never spoke about. The little stretched of her lips intensified then came a sadistic laughter, the kind that went on for long and made her shoulders tremble which worried him. She had succeeded in dipping a sword in his wound, twisting it with no mercy. What was she trying to imply? That his affections and emotions are a sham? "So, Joshua, you are not in love with me. You are turned on by me."

And he had wanted to speak, defend his feelings. But is that what he should be doing? Defending how he feels? Do people defend their emotions? With Lola, it has always been confusing and complicated when it shouldn't be. What's holding her back? He's ready to give her and show her a lot. That guy from the past had been a liar but he is not. Are you sure? His inner voice asked. She knows nearly everything about him except from that and the other one. He desires to tell her but he does not know what to expect.

"He did not love me. You can't love me. It takes time." And she was gone.

She was under the rain, drenched by the cold water, her shoulders hunched and the way she hugged her body told him of how cold she was in the pair of crazy jeans and shirt. He jogged down to her, opening the jacket he held.

"You will catch a cold." He tried to hold the umbrella, which he had to struggle with the wind for, in between his neck and shoulder as he reached out to cover her.

Lola slapped his hand away. "You are late." She tried not to slur as she brought her eyes to his, her teeth chattering.

"Now is not the time to act stubborn." He threw the jacket over her shaky shoulders, pulling it to wrap her in its warmth. "Why are you under the rain?" The scowl on his face told of his displeasure. He brought the umbrella over them. A part of her face was covered with rain drenched tresses.

"I would not be here if you had come earlier." She slammed the key to her Porsche into his hand.

"I am sorry about that. I had to round up my work." Lightening danced in the sky. Thunder growled. "You could have waited inside." His eyes were trained on her. He smelt alcohol, strong and expensive. It was in her breathe and on her clothes, mixed with the whiff of pricy fragrance. There was something else he saw which she hid beneath the alcohol. A wounded soul.

"It was beginning to suffocate me." She spun around on wobbly legs just to almost slip. Out of reflex, he caught her. A hand shot up to stop him as she flattered on her heels.

"I don't need your help." She shrugged his hand off her shoulder.

She trotted but still wavered on her heels. It was as if she would fall in them. She has always been confident in them, marching with them on like they do not hurt her ankles. He had seen her a number of times rub her ankles after removing them. Then he had wondered why she wears them when they hurt her feet.

"Take me home. Take me to my mother." She said when he had the key in the ignition.

He gazed at her. She was drunk. It was in the way she talked, the way her head swung and how her eyes continued to fluster.

"How much did you have to drink?"

"Too much." She smiled then bit her lower lip and sighed. "I paid for everyone's drink." A tiny giggle exited her glossy lips. "I have not spent so much in a long time." She drew out the word "long" as she lifted a hand then dropped it like she had no control of it.

Silence clambered in on them. He felt her slit stare on him as he drove through the rainy night, the roar of her engine receding behind them.

"You will be fine." He assured her, worry in his eyes with a slight curve of his lips.

There was something about the way he looked at her that crumbled her defences, which pushed forward her helplessness and made her break into tears. She turned away as the water fell more. Tiredness, which she had not given much significance to, coursed through her. It was not the kind that wanted her to take a physical rest but the kind that wanted her to give up on everything, take a break from life and put an end to everything. Just maybe it is then she will finally have peace. Her sobs were muffled under her trembling chilled fingers, the tears hot against her cold skin.

She disliked how he saw her vulnerable again, the walls almost crumbling to the ground, revealing the real her. The Lola that cries a lot. The one that's scared of identified demons. The one that's nearly losing her mind over her conflicted feelings and a past that never fades. The one that wishes she sleeps and one day wakes up to nothing. No pain. No psychopath ex. No nightmares that steals her sleep. Oh, she really wanted to tell him, tell him a lot but there was so much she was scared about and a lot she cares about.

Joshua pulled to the side of the road. The wiper screeched against the windscreen. The head lamp lit the road ahead. Cars zoomed past them, water spraying behind them. He gazed ahead for long, listening to the melody of the torrent that regale the night. "It's okay." His voice had managed to filter through her muddled mind. "Let them out. It is high time you stopped holding them in."

And she cried. This time dropping her hand from her mouth. She cried for what had happened to her, who she was, what she was going to lose, what she's going through and what she has but cannot receive.

And the revolt in her stomach sprung to her throat. She leapt up and was quick to jump out of the car to the road side where she expelled the content of her stomach. He was by her side even though he was disgusted by the sight of her vomit. He held back her damp hair. It was then he saw the knot on her forehead, bruised and big like she had banged her head against a hard surface. Worry flooded him. Questions swamped his mind yet he held them back and was there to give her a bottle water from the car to rinse her face and wash her mouth when she requested for it.

The housekeeper, Mama Dee, was by the entrance to receive them. She collected Lola's nude heels from Joshua and passed them over to the petite maid who stood behind her. Mama Dee's eyes were soft and smiling as she greeted them.

"Thank you." Lola said to Joshua, shrugging off the wet jacket to the maid who held out her hands to it. The temperature from the heater warmed the interior of the house. Just what they wanted after getting soaked by the rain. She had been in the rain for so long which she liked but catching a cold might be inevitable.

"You sure you will be fine?" Joshua asked, his eyes on her exhausted face.

There was the need to hug her, tell her she will be fine. Everything will be alright. She can talk to him, tell him what scares her the past one week. It was so easy to startle her. He had noticed how she checks if the doors are locked and if the curtains are well drawn before they go to bed at night as if someone would be watching from outside. A thing she does not do. She has become hyper vigilant. There is an air of helplessness around her, like no one can save her from whatever has trapped her. Most part of her night have been spent on her laptop working and working. Her sleep has been cut short by consistent nightmares she does not speak about. Sometimes, while she struggled in the sheet, her sweat sopping the pillow, she mutters incoherent words he had tried to pick. There are times she wakes up crying. It feels so good that she takes refuge in his comfort at times. Whatever it is, they will sort it out.

"This is my home, babe."

"I am just worried."

"That's nice of you." She patted his cheek. He caught her hand and kissed her palm.

From his peripheral view, Joshua caught the silhouette of a plump figure. His heart jumped in his chest and he winced inwardly at the unexpected confrontation he would have with his mother in-law who never liked him.

"Lola." Her mother called, voice filled with joy bounced across the massive expanse. The living room reminded him of a football field, one he had played on during his childhood. A luminous chandelier which was like thousands of raindrops plummeted from the high ceiling, enhancing the lightening and beauty of the room. His had a ghost of a smile on his face when the image of the cramped house he grew up in with little to no electricity flashed in his head.

There are times he actually forgets he knew hunger, what it was like to wear the same clothes for years until they are worn, patched a number of times and small for him and what it feels like not to have the basic needs. Those days they had gone on without food and just water. He sometimes forgets the hungry kid he was who stole just to have something in his stomach, the nights there were no blankets but torn old wrappers to keep him warm. Yet, despite everything, they all tried to find joy and light in what they had. They lived everyday not sure of what the next day would bring. He had faced death many times and have been saved possibly by luck like some suggested or God like others said. Such periods of reminisce brings tears to his eyes or make him cry. Just like those instants, water gushed into his eyes. As Lola rushed to her mother, he took his leave and stepped into the cold he had already forgotten.

"What's the knot on your head?" Cynthia asked as she gave her daughter a robe to wrap her cool body in. "Did you hit your head or what?"

Lola sipped the hot coffee a maid had brought upon her mother's request. She had been with Anthony. They had met again like they did on many other days. After days of not picking his calls and not replying his messages he had called with a private number and threatened her.

"If you do not get that pretty you to this place, I promise you, Lola." He had grinded out. "You will be in prison by tomorrow night."

And she had gone with fear in her heart and anger in her body. She had been detached and grim-faced when he talked but her aloof attitude did not put him off. Instead, he smiled more and was optimistic she would come around. That mad man! Beneath that cool attitude he displayed was anger. Anthony is not as tolerant as he appears to be. It takes a bit more to make him snap and he would. She was sure of it.

"You are beginning to care about him." He had said when he brought up Joshua.

"Is that a bad thing to do?" She asked over the cold plate of food in front of her. He had his staff prepare lunch which she had not touched. He was unbothered by it for he ate and enjoyed his meal.

"He does not worth it. He is not even who he appears to be." His words came out with spite for the man he spoke about.

"I know that." She held his hot gaze.

"You sure you know?" Anthony sipped his wine. "He used to be a cultist and is an ex-con."

She smirked. "Old news, motherfucker!"

He stared long at her. "You love him right?"

She smirked. "Does the realisation hurt you?"

"You don't know him. There's more to him than meets the eyes." Anthony got up, his demeanour calm but his tensed body said otherwise. He drew a chair close to her and sat in it. "I love you remember. I loved you. I still do. I won't be here if I do not." He whispered to her.

She boiled with anger in her seat. It seared her and could burn him if he does not move. Her grip on the fork was hard. And an image flourished in her head. A picture of her stabbing him in the neck with the fork. "Do not mix love and lust together you sick bastard!" She dashed out from the chair, angry tears spilled from her eyes.

He smiled, like he understood how she feels and he loves that she feels miserable and ensnared by him. "Have I not shown you my love in many ways?"

"By hurting me! What you did to me five years ago is not love! I still have nightmares that have gotten worse because of you. Do you want me to tell you how you rile me beyond what I can handle? You are a psychopath running on the street. How did I get into the damn mess?"

"Fate, baby." Everything about him made her sick in the stomach. His smile. The way he talks and walks. His laughter is no music in her ears. "It has been destined that we would meet and still be here today. What happened that night." He stood to his full length, brought his knuckles to the smooth skin of her cheek that's covered in mild makeup. "Would not have happened if you had just given me what I wanted. It was easy, Lola."

Her chest singed. She slapped his hand away. "Get that filthy thing off me!" Her scream was loud and it echoed through his dining room. Her ribcage closed. Air flow was nearly impossible. She gave him a blow then stormed past him just to be yanked back by her hair. She shrieked as he pushed her forward against the mahogany centre table.

"I fell." She lied. "I slipped at the club."

"No wonder you look terrible and stink of alcohol." Her mother wrinkled her nose.

Lola belched as she kept the coffee away. She looked at her mother with watery eyes. It's now or never. If she does not do this, she might lose her sanity soon. "He's back, mummy. He's back."

"Who?" Cynthia's smile did not waver, her eyes were confusion. Lola stared long at her mother who gasped out after a while then dropped next to her. "That's not possible." But the honesty in her daughter's eyes conversed a different message. She saw dread Lola has never spoken about or shown. A strong will to protect her daughter no matter what surged through her. "Do not worry. He won't touch you."

"It's too late." A crystal globule dripped on Lola's cheek and she did nothing to wipe it away.

"No. It is not." Cynthia gripped her shoulders, assurance clouded her eyes which stared into her daughter apprehensive ones. Her eyes retained a lot of questions. How? How was he able to get out? She did all she could in her power, hired the best lawyers and they won the case. He was sentenced to prison on charges of rape and attempted murder. In her chest, her heart thumped. What if he hurts her daughter again? No! No! She cannot bear to see Lola live a traumatic life again. Lola is yet to recover from it. "I will do something about that. He will got back to that prison and never return."

"No!" Lola blubbered out. "I will be going with him. He will spend years and mine with be life imprisonment."

"Do not say that."

"Why won't I?" Tremors shattered Lola's body. Her temperature intensified. "He knows about Ava. This is my fault. My entire fault. He was right. I am to be blamed. I should have just given him what he wanted. He would never have...."

"Shhh" Her mother placed a finger over her lips. "Don't say that. It was not your fault. You gave him your consent which he was crazy and idiotic not to oblige to." Her eyes perused her daughter's rocky body. Lola's fingers convulsed. "Lola, for how long have you been having these kind of thoughts?"

"Weeks ago. I can't sleep well. The nightmares are worse." Words rushed out muddled yet Cynthia could pick them. "It is as if he's everywhere, watching me. Everyone's laughing at me. Sometimes, there are voices in my head." She gripped her hair, pressing her palms against her ears as if to block out some noise. "They just do not go away when I want them to." Everything she felt rained on her face. Her eyes were shut tight. Fingernails sank into her hair, biting her hair scalp.

Cynthia swallowed. This is not good. It is no good sign. She reached out for Lola, taking her twitching hand into her comforting and warm grasp. The energy that rushed through Lola emitted from her like heat would from an engine. "When is your next appointment with Dr Ben?" Her calm eyes held her daughter's bloodshot and steady one into place.

"Next week." Lola sobbed.

"I will call Dr Ben and book an appointment with him tomorrow." She spoke like she would to a child she was giving an advice to.

"I don't want that!" Lola jumped back with an alarming cry. "I am tired of those appointments! For how long do I have to be on medication and therapy? For how long do I have to be considered mad?"

"Lola, calm down and please do not talk this way."

"Stop telling me to calm down!" Her strident shrill filtered through the chink of the walls, alarming people around the house. "Stop it! You should all stop it! Lola, Calm down! Lola, calm down!" She chanted, pacing the room. "I do not want to hear those words anymore."

Cynthia knew what might come next. This might not turn out to be good. She has to do something. She cannot watch her daughter go through the same episode again. Before those nosy maids begin to come in, she better do something. She scrambled to her feet, surprised her wobbly legs would carry her. She ignored the pain in her left knee and rushed to lock the door.

"Alright, I won't." She returned back to her, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "Where are your pills?"

"Those fucking pills!" Lola gritted, sitting down again. Her knee swayed from left to right, breathing audible.

"Where are they?"

"I don't want them! I don't. I hate them!" She threw a hard look at her mother. Sweat painted her forehead. The air conditioner did nothing to cool her skin.

"I know. But you have to use them. Lola...." She swallowed back the lump in her throat instead tears sprung to her eyes. Her baby! Cynthia's throat stung. Oh God. Water gushed to the brim of her eyes. She lowered her head into her palm to calm the strong waves of emotions. What should she do? What is she going to do?

Cynthia knelt down before her daughter, closing her hand around Lola's quivering ones. "Let's try the techniques Doctor Ben taught you in therapy."

Lola's jaw tensed. "I...."

"You learnt a lot from the therapy. Try them." She encouraged, rubbing Lola's hand soothingly which was aimed at pulling her daughter's attention from what was about to trigger her outburst. "First, you need to let go of the heated energy inside you." Her voice was tender, like a caress in her daughter's ears. "By think about something else. I will help you with that?"