I don’t know what he is.
I don’t know what this is.
I only know that nothing in my life has ever made me feel this unsteady and grounded at the same time.
And that scares me more than being taken ever did.
Rook
The bathroom door stays shut.
At first, I tell myself she just needs a few minutes. Then an hour passes. Then two.
Steam curls out from under the door, carrying the faint scent of soap from her second shower, but also the scent of something sharper. She’s scared and confused, and I’m hating every fucking second of it. I hate that I can’t comfort her. I hate that I’m probably handling this all wrong.
I could read her mind if I wanted to. I could let myself get inside her head and hear everything that’s rolling around there. But I just…can’t invade her privacy like that. No matter how badly I want to.
I don’t move from where I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, hands braced on my knees like if I shift, the whole situation might fracture again.
I don’t knock. I don’t speak. I don’t try to coax her out of the bathroom.
I give her space. I learned a long time ago that hovering doesn’t help. It just reminds people they’re not alone when what they need is the illusion of it.
Eventually, I stand and step into the hallway, grabbing the tray of soup and bread and bottles of water I ordered earlier from room service. I could’ve ordered anything off the menu—burgers, pizza, steak—but I decided to go with something light. Something that doesn’t ask a lot of her.
I set it down outside the bathroom door.
“I have a tray of food out here for you, Kylie. You don’t have to talk to me,” I say quietly. “But please, eat something.”
I’m only met with the sounds of her soft breaths. They’re no longer tight and stifling like before, and I only hope that means she’s no longer crying.I pray that means she’s not crying anymore.
Eventually, the door does open, but any hope I have is deflated when she shoves the tray away with her foot and shuts it again.
Outright refusal, that’s what Kylie Moon is giving me right now. And while I wish that weren’t the case, I can’t blame her. I can’t fucking blame her at all.
I’ve made a real mess of this entire situation.
I leave the tray there anyway. Just in case she changes her mind.
Thirty minutes or so later, Kane knocks at the door. Cal’s with him. Both of them look like they’ve been running. Their jackets are half-zipped, eyes sharp, scanning the hallway out of habit.
“How is she?” Kane asks, keeping his voice low.
“In the bathroom,” I say. “Still.”
“Well, shit.” Cal grimaces. “That’s not great.”
“She asked for space,” I reply. “She gets it. Pretty sure she deserves at least that much from me after all this shit.”
Kane studies me. “And you?”
I shrug. “I’m still pretending to breathe.”
That earns me a snort.
“Have you told her everything?” Kane asks, and I shake my head.
“Not yet.”
