Page 21 of The Editor’s Choice

He doesn’t waste time trying to recapture my wrist. Instead, his long fingers snake around my throat, squeezing the sides gently at first. The surprise must be evident in my eyes because his are nothing short of fire, becoming damn near explosive from the look on my face as realization comes over me that he is in total control here physically. I’m far from scared, though I probably should be, and do my best to rub my thighs together to ease some of the pressure that has built between them.

“A word of warning, darling. This is a game you don’t truly want to get involved in. I’m not a man you should want to be with,” he says, sending chills down my spine before the pressure is gone from my throat and he’s off the bed entirely, snagging his shirt and heading for the living room.

“Wait! What the fuck do you mean?!” I yell, mind spinning from the sudden shift.

He takes his time to respond, still only giving me his back. “I’m just not a man you would want to be with, Jade. I don’t think I’m exactly what you have pictured in your head,” he explains, slipping the shirt over his head and down over his body in one smooth movement.

“That’s not for you to decide! Even if I did want to be with you, it’s not your place to make that decision for me,” I pout, beyond confused. “And nobody said I wanted to be with you like that anyway,” I continue, purely out of spite. Although, if I’m being entirely honest with myself, I’ve gotten used to him being around, even imagined what it would be like to be with a man like Roman.

But I’ll be damned if he gets to call me out on it, especially just to tell me it’s never going to happen because it isn’t what I should want.

“I can see it, Jade,” he provides, making his way toward the front door. “It was just written clearly across your face.” His eyes rake my body, head to toe, then back again. He’s out the front door before I can form a single word to throw back at him, leaving me standing in the living room feeling beyond stupid and utterly embarrassed.

I reach for the candle on the coffee table and throw it at the closed door, imagining it to be his back. It does nothing to ease the anger flooding my veins as the candle drops to the floor, shattering.

Leaving the problem for later, I grab the bottle of wine from the island, taking a swig before collapsing on the bed again. In the morning, I’ll be beyond miserable, but that’s a problem for another time.

***

When I wake midday, my first conscious thought is about my curtains. I’m pretty sure I left those open last night, too drunk to care about the consequences, whether those be peeping Toms or the sun blinding me whenever my alcohol coma allowed me to wake up. They’re closed now though, leaving me puzzled.

Groaning, I roll over to the opposite side, doing my best to fight the growing nausea as my stomach churns. Between the nausea and busting headache, I’m fairly confident I would feel better if I actually had been hit by a bus last night.

When I’m finally able to open my eyes, I see a vase full of sunflowers on my nightstand. It’s an arrangement of sunflowers and black roses, to be exact. Sitting up, I see the note laying in front of the vase. It’s handwritten and messy, like it was done quickly.

Apologies will never be enough for my behavior last night. I came by this morning to check on you and try to explain. And apologize. I was out of sorts and you didn’t deserve that.

I closed your curtains, hoping the sun wouldn’t wake you too early. I know you’re not really a rose kind of girl, but I hope you like them with the sunflowers.

If you want to talk, you know where to find me.

-Roman

I stare between the note and the flowers for several minutes before the connection really sinks in that he took time out of his morning to do this for me. Even after how last night ended up.

Forcing myself up out of bed, my feet are running for the bathroom before my brain has time to catch up. The drinks from last night are violently expelled from my body, leaving me exhausted and sore.

I opt for a long shower, throwing up a couple more times while the hot water runs over my aching body. I brush my teeth three times in the shower, scrubbing every inch of my mouth to rid it of the taste and feeling.

All the while, thoughts of Roman run rampant through my head. Memories from the beginning of our time together up until last night. I click off the water, wrapping a towel around my dripping body before heading to the kitchen for an ice water while my coffee brews.

I just can’t seem to make sense of anything that happened last night. Things were perfectly fine. Then they weren’t. At the thought, I glance over to see the candle has been cleaned up. Embarrassment snakes back into my bones, making me want to shrink and hide, even from myself.

As the drip from the coffee machine lulls me into a more relaxed state, a new thought hits me. How did Roman even get into my apartment this morning? I don’t exactly remember locking the door, but it’s a hardwired habit, I think.

I lift my foot, turning it to see the bottom. It’s completely smooth and free from any cuts or traces of blood, which would have been there if I had tried to lock the door after throwing the candle. Maybe I did just leave it unlocked last night after all.

Chalking it up to a weird, drunk night full of stupid decisions, I pour the coffee and add the creamer and sugar. When the first sip hits my soul, I smile, content, as the warmth creeps out through my entire body.

I settle into the couch, laptop by my side, ready to put in a full day of writing for the first time since Emily’s murder.

Chapter Thirteen

Roman

After the short trek home from Jade’s apartment last night, I tossed and turned in bed for hours, replaying the night over and over. Everything had been so perfect, up until it suddenly wasn’t anymore.

I had every opportunity to take things further but something just felt… off. When my hand slipped around her throat, the surprise that lit up her eyes, it was all too much. She’s too innocent, even if she did seem to enjoy it as the surprise wore off.