33
Seoul
"He kissed me," I’d said, lying without compunction.
What? He kissed me? What the fuck was wrong with me?
Why did I say that? I could smell the shit about to hit the fan the moment the words left my mouth.
After Rome stormed out of the hotel room with Han's card, it dawned on me these petty games were no way to seek retribution for the Thailand blonde.
I was only making things worse by trying to avenge my ego.
We’d agreed long ago men were off limits.
He was probably losing his mind right now, and I wanted nothing more than to let him simmer like I’d suffered on the way to Seoul after seeing the photos and articles about his latest cheating scandal.
Particularly after seeing his desperate tweet attempting to make things right for Piper.
What about me? Who was going to make things right for me?
Where was my tweet of apology? My public redeclaration of love?
I was deeply conflicted. He needed to hurt the way he'd hurt me.
Holding her hand out in public? Knowing he'd be papped?
Knowing he could never hold my hand in public?
Yet he jumps and gives the privilege to a total stranger?
I growled and punched myself in the head repeatedly.
It was forever left to me to be the bigger person.
Always the more forgiving. Always the one to forget and move past things that frankly nuked my world.
I snatched the robe off and flung it with a childish petulance onto the floor.
Sick to the back teeth of feeling this way.
Once dressed, I texted his security that I was on my way, but he stopped me.
Joel was being firmer than usual. He said Rome wanted to be alone.
That he'd been raging in his room. That the hotel manager had visited due to multiple complaints.
Only the threat of eviction convinced him to calm down.
Now the guard had been instructed to deter me if I tried to come over, and he was not a weak-willed man.
His salary depended on it. There was nothing more I could do.
I'd have to wait until he was willing to see me, which probably wouldn't be for a while.
We were headed to the Philippines in a few days, and I decided I'd catch up with him on the ride to the plane.
That way he'd have a few days to cool off.
***
I awoke to a wake-up call from management.
Apparently Rome was leaving the tour due to stress.
He was expected to return by the South Africa leg in Cape Town at the earliest. My soul plummeted.
What had I done? There was no way I hadn't provoked him to this point. He was leaving? What about the fans? The ones who’d paid to see him specifically?
I jumped up, washed my face and brushed my teeth, convincing myself I had to make things right.
I sprinted to his room, but having forgotten my phone, just beat on the door without relent.
No answer. I ran back to my room and called his security, and he assured me Rome hadn't left yet. I nearly shit myself with relief.
After an hour or so, I ran back to his room in hopes that he would answer, and he did. He just wouldn't open the door.
"Rome, open up."
"What's up?"
"I wanna talk."
"I've got nothin' else to say, bro—"
"Would you just open up?!"
"Rafe..."
"Please, baby…” I whispered. Please."
He yielded. The door opened and he stepped aside.
He was wearing the same clothes from the day before—white graphic tee, ripped jeans, giant boots, except today he looked awful.
Had he slept at all? His hair was mussed and there were dark circles forming under his eyes.
The room was dark, since he had drawn the drapes closed, and it reeked of cigarettes.
"Hey..." I uttered, deep-chested and out of breath from my run.
He chucked his chin at me, looking dispirited and thin, letting his hand slide heavily away from the door handle.
I caught a glint of the rose ring I’d gotten him a couple of years ago on his birthday.
He was likely wearing it out of habit, not for any sentimental purposes.
I shut the door as he sat on the foot of the bed to check his phone.
"You had somethin' to say?" he uttered, refusing to meet my eyes.
"You’re leaving?" I was at a loss for how to approach him. He was heated. I could feel the steam from across the room.
"M'sure you've heard...that's why you're here, right?"
He got up and lifted his brows in a way that reminded me of a shrug. He walked over to a cord atop the desk and plugged it into his phone.
"I guess you're right."
"What's good, then? Speak."
"I just...I just don't want you to go, I guess."
He sat back on the foot of the bed with his hands in his pants pockets, staring at the carpet. I backed against the door and slumped to the floor for a much-needed seat.
"How long?" I asked.
"’Til I feel better, I guess."
"Y'okay?"
"I will be. Just as soon as I can get away from here."
"And away from me?" At that, he shrugged—his annoyance poorly veiled. "Rome...you mad at me or something?"
"M'not mad. Just...tired."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, tired is all. Just done, Rafe."
"I know how you feel."
"Do you?"
"I'd like to think so."
"Then why'd you do it?" he ground out, still refusing to meet my eyes. It took several moments for me to realize what he was talking about.
"I didn't."
That made him look at me at last, eyes like slits in the dim light. "What the fuck do you mean, you ‘didn't’?"
"I just mean that I didn't, alright? I just wanted to piss you off."
"Bro..."
"M'sorry. I didn't think you'd react like this! Actually leaving? Over a kiss…that didn’t even actually happen? With some of the shit you’ve done, Rome? Mate, that’s a bit dramatic."
He was speechless. My stupidity knew no bounds.
"I was just pissed ok, Rome? I’m sorry I lied, but I was so upset. I wanted to hurt you.”
“Christ’s sake, Rafe.”
“I wanted you to feel the way I felt after Bangkok. You fucked me over and I needed to get you back. I can’t believe it actually worked. Han never touched me." I buried my face in my hands and waited for him to speak again.
"Either way... this isn't good. We aren't good. We're drivin' each other mad on purpose."
"I wish I could take it back."
"Yeah, me too."
"Rome..." I whispered. I felt so alone. I wished he’d come across the room and reassure me, but that wasn’t in his DNA when he got this way. Trouble was, he probably still didn't believe me, and as always, I’d find myself apologizing and groveling for weeks on end until he let me back in.
"He didn't touch me, Rome, I swear."
"Yeah...you already said that."
“I wouldn’t let another man touch me. I know that’s off limits.”
“Yeah okay. Whatever you say, Rafe.” He was bone-chilling when he got this way. Unmerciful and genuinely callous. Like I didn’t know him.
“Roman, why won’t you fucking listen?! I just said it to piss you off!”
"Mission accomplished. And somehow, that makes it even worse, y'know?” He rubbed his forehead like a weary inquisitor. “Knowin' you lied specifically to upset me. That’s manipulative as fuck. So I dunno what to believe anymore. And I really don’t wanna be around you right now, if I’m honest." That cut deep.
"Fuck that. Believe me. I never lied to you before. And I won’t do it again, alright? I promise, alright?" I wept like a child, slamming my head against the door. "I didn't wanna hurt you—"
"Yeah you did. You just admitted you did—"
"But not really. I wasn’t thinking straight—"
"Right...well..." He got up and gathered his bag and phone. "Either way...gotta go."
"No, Rome, wait, mate..." I crawled onto my knees before the door.
He stopped in front of me, looking ready to plow through if I didn't move.
"You're not even gonna say goodbye?!"
"Why should I?"
"Because I fucking love you, you dickhead!"
He dropped his bag. That simple gesture held promise. I grabbed him around the waist and rested my face against his belly. I could feel the hard trappings of his belt buckle. He stroked the back of my head, dragging his fingers half-heartedly through my hair.
"Don't go..." I whispered, weeping up against his shirt. I could feel the warmth behind my face, the emotion welling, tautening my throat. He smelled like Axe, Gain, and weed.
"Baby..." I said, gazing up at him, blinking through the tears.
He looked down on me—small, fleeting glints of pity breaking through the rage like a reluctant dawn. I wrinkled my brow to gain more sympathy. That always got him. He thumbed away a tear that escaped down my cheek.
"I didn't wanna leave like this, Rafe. But now that everythin’s in place and the announcement’s been made, I have to go. At least for a little while. But I'll be back, babe." Finally, some assurance. But still not good enough.
"Not soon enough."
"We need a break from each other."
I couldn't argue with that. As we separated, he reached and grabbed his bag, but something within me broke. Like the shattering of a levee, all I'd been holding back for months broke free. I was convinced I’d never see him again.
God, I couldn’t move. It was no longer a voluntary decision to stay put.
I physically could not lift myself or adjust my feet to carry me away from the door.
Kneeling there was all I had left in my arsenal.
I took a shaky breath and tried to plead my case without sobbing. My voice was hoarse and pathetic.
"Rome...please...can we talk? Please?"
"I gotta go, Rafe. My flight departs in a couple of hours. I wish you’d come sooner—"
"I'll be quick—"
"Babe, no. We'll talk when I get back, alright? I promise."
"We won't, and you know we won't. You know you aren't coming back. You just wanna leave. You'd say anything to get me out the way," I spat. "I just wanna fucking talk! What the fuck am I supposed to do while you're gone?!"
"You'll be okay, babe. Just stop. I am comin' back! You're makin' it worse than it has to be—way more difficult!"