I Am Tired Of Being A Hero-Chapter 287: Clinging

"Anouk Sinclair." He could never remember whether he had repeated them in his mind or if he had said them out loud. So absorbed in Malik he had been, that he could barely do anything that day that was not Malik.

"Anouk. I like it."

The youth did not imitate any other conversation, he just leaned back on his palm and closed his eyes.

It was the first time that Anouk felt like his heart was being squeezed, he had just met this person and he felt spellbound. It was not love...it was more. Anouk could not understand it yet there was no fluctuation in the face of the youth.

Like he was just a stone on the road. Not worthy of being looked at twice.

For some reason, that particular analogy hurt him.

The next day, he had returned from a raid when he saw Malik standing in front of the building. The youth was so thin, his school uniform loose around him, a black blindfold covered his eyes and he held a silver cane. His appearance was like a lost sheep, like a poor, pitiful bird that he needed to protect.

He could remember how happy he had been when he invited Malik to his office, serving him banana milk and macaroons. The youth had drunk it without any expression and then looked up at him.

"You arrested Lestin, Your team has not transported him to the Heroes Association, right? I need you to release him." His voice had been gentle and soft, like he was not asking one of the top-ranked Heroes in the county to release a wanted criminal. Malik had stood up and walked to the door, pausing to leave behind a parting sentence.

"If you do it for me, then I will talk to you again."

Anouk felt that either he was crazy or he was going crazy. But no matter the neurologists, the psychiatrists, or even the healers he visited, they all told him that he was either under a mind control spell or had any kind of traumatic brain injury.

Anouk had been raised to always do what was right and yet all those convictions fell apart in front of those eyes.

He had turned and tossed on his bed that night, his heart pounding in his chest, the guilt twirling in his guts as he stood up and released the criminal back into the street.

It had been almost torturous; Anouk could not bring sleep so he had rushed off again. Thanking the heavens, that he had not been so muddled as to forget to put a tracker on the criminal; he had traced Listen to Oars Avenue.

The memory made Anouk tremble slightly. He had found him or at least what was remaining of him.

Anouk could still recall so clearly how the following days had gone. How he had locked himself up in his flat unable to talk to anyone, the guilt growing day by day. He could not tell anyone as the police and his team ran around looking for the traitor who had released Lestin and set wild dogs on him.

He could not tell anyone that he was the one, nor could he tell anyone of the youth that he did it for. He had thought and wrestled with himself until he had caught a fever.

He could not tell his parents because he was a little scared that they might notice something was wrong so he had ordered some medicine and food online.

Once. Twice.

The knock was polite, not like the hurried pounding of those who deliver things to him.

"Leave it there." Anouk had murmured his voice hoarse as he wrapped his blanket around him.

After ten minutes, he had gotten up from the couch, dragged himself to the door, and opened it.

Slightly long strawberry blonde hair cascaded down his back with a few curls framing his face, there was no blindfold this time, gem like green eyes stared at him.

"May I come in?" The youth had asked politely and Anouk had hesitated.

He wanted to shout angrily, he was so frustrated and upset but he had never been the best at showing his emotions.

"Should I go?"

Anouk had shaken his head and swung the door wide.

The youth had entered inside, Anouk hurrying after him to move the center table so it would not hurt him.

After moving it, he gritted his teeth, upset both at this situation and himself.

"Thank you." The youth had said but he did not sit.

He just stood there, staring at Anouk.

"You are sick."

Anouk glared at the youth before realizing that he could not see him, "En."

"If I had known that this would torture so, I would not have asked you to do it. I would not ask you to do something like that again."

Anouk’s head pounded, his fever making him feel groggy, "Why? Why did you do it? He was already going to jail."

The youth cocked his head but he did not answer his question, "And you why did you do it?"

Anouk wanted to sit down; he clenched and unclenched his fist.

The gentle expression on the youth’s face disappeared, "Anouk, I want a verbal answer."

"You..."

The gentle expression returned as if its disappearance was some kind of illusion that Anouk had conjured up in his feverish state.

"You are sick. I should not be having this conversation with someone who is sick."

He turned and Anouk reached out and held his hand.

"Don’t go." His voice was muffled. "Don’t go." It was as if he was not speaking about the present but the future as well.

His head was pounding vigorously causing his ears to ring. His whole body felt terribly heavy like he was a bottle of hot water filled to the brim, unbearably hot.

"Don’t go."

There was a deep yearning in his heart and it grew even more desperate as if salvation was within this person.

This Malik Patel.

Anouk could not restrain himself. That was their relationship. He knew it too well.

They had met 10 years ago and for 10 years, he had shamelessly been the one clinging on to him, desperately holding on to that hand and begging.

Don’t go. Don’t go.