Chapter 4
Not My Type
Isla
I opened my eyes to see the room drenched in an orange hue, the late afternoon sun blasting through the window. My whole body ached, the painkillers not strong enough to dull the agony.
My mind was in a dark place, and memories of last night rushed back to me as soon as I was conscious. It was hot, my lungs and throat were burning, and I couldn’t see anything in front of me. The smoke was thick and acrid, overtaking every inch of oxygen, every inch of my apartment.
There was no time to think, no time to make any decisions. I barely made it to the window, grabbing onto the first thing I stumbled upon to smash it.
Fuck. I just hoped that something was left of my apartment. I barely had anything, and that apartment…I was so lucky to land it. So grateful to have a place in L.A.
It took me a good five minutes to get out of bed.
The acrobatics were probably hilarious as I struggled to rise without sitting up.
But what was more fun…was trying to pee.
I had to go so badly, but not only could I not sit, I could barely bend my legs without almost passing out from the pain.
It would have been amusing if it wasn't all so sad.
I caught my reflection in the immaculately clean bathroom mirror and gasped.
Holy shit! I was a fucking train wreck! The rat’s nest that was my hair wasn’t as jarring as my favorite white silk nightie, now all stained gray and black.
My eyes roamed my reflection, but then I noticed some clothes neatly folded beside the sink, a toothbrush, and a note.
Press the start button on the coffee machine to make yourself a cup. There’s food and water in the fridge, help yourself.
Where. The. Fuck. Was. I?
Before I headed in search of coffee and water, I inspected the back of my legs, and tears poured down in earnest this time when I realized I would forever have deep scars there.
I had such nice legs, but now it looked like Edward Scissorhands tried to fucking finger me.
It was an abomination. Blood crusted on my skin, and the stitched-up cuts were red and swollen.
Silently crying, I changed into the humongous t-shirt and followed the instructions to the kitchen.
This apartment was something else. Genuinely uneasy at the thought of who owned it and where I was, I walked out into a spacious and luxurious living room filled with expensive furniture and modern art.
There was a fireplace on one wall, and a huge L-shaped couch faced the other wall—all windows.
The view of the city quite literally took my breath away.
On the opposite end was a kitchen fully finished in white marble and a dining table big enough for, I don’t know, twenty people? Who lived here? He said his name was Roman, but that didn't tell me anything.
My fingers clutched at the smooth walls as I limped forward, wincing with every movement. God, it all hurt so much, but I was dying for water.
The kitchen looked brand new and extremely clean—not a speck of dust or a scratch on anything.
Did this person actually live here? The fridge too—pristine and organized.
I mentally compared it to mine back in New York, which definitely contained some expired condiments, a few beer bottles haphazardly thrown in the bottom drawer, and maybe an egg carton and leftovers.
No. This was a well-organized and spotless fridge that had drinks on one side, alcohol on the other, prepackaged meals perfectly stacked, and fruits and vegetables neatly laid out in their respective drawers.
No stinky cheese? Olives? Chili sauce? Clearly, this Roman guy didn't know how to enjoy his food.
I tried to stop judging and closed the fridge door, making my way to the swanky coffee maker.
Wow, okay, dude, a moka pot does the same thing as your pimped-out button barista.
I loved a good moka pot; everything else tasted like hot garbage.
Yep, this fancy-ass coffee tasted like shit. I looked for milk but didn't locate it in the fridge. Come on. No milk either?! Who was this weirdo?
And how the hell did he find me last night?
Ugh. I’d just moved in; I didn't even get to fully unpack. Oh God, what if I lost everything?! Moving across the country alone was hard enough, and now this? I didn't have any real friends here, just some acquaintances, and now I had nowhere to live. Fuck. This was very unlucky.
Even if I wanted to, I couldn't go anywhere. I had no one to go to in L.A.—
“Jesus!” The Roman guy startled the shit out of me! Why did he creep like that!
But he was kind of mesmerizing. He looked me over, clearly enjoying the sight of my naked legs, even if they were all scarred. I probably looked like one of his girls, wearing his shirt and making coffee in his kitchen.
Hah! He wishes.
Not in a million years would I go for a guy like him. He was the opposite of my type.
Dread and despair ran through me when he confirmed my worst fears; the whole apartment was destroyed. All my things, all my documents, clothes, books, all my meager possessions…were no more.
Fuck, what the fuck was I supposed to do now? I was literally homeless. He told me to stay, and even though I said I would leave, I had absolutely nowhere to go.
Yeah, I wasn't planning on crying in front of him, but I couldn't hold it back.
The last few years had already been absolute shit for me, and now this?
My parents and brother passing away, heartbreak, dropping out of university, moving across the country.
And now I was in a complete stranger's home, a man who looked dangerous and violent, and I was essentially trapped with him.
"Look, um, don't cry, okay? I know it probably sucks losing your entire apartment, but you really can stay here for as long as you need. You can have your own room and bathroom, and I'm mostly not home anyway, so just don't worry about it," Roman said calmly, as if I were an old friend.
Why the hell was he so nice to me? He looked like he killed people with his bare hands. I wasn't sure what was more risky: staying here or living on the street.
He could clearly read my mind because he added in a most bored tone. "Don't worry, I won't touch you. You're not my type. Stay."
Oh good, asshole, that made me feel a million times better. Not having any idea how to respond to that, I focused on the marble countertop and breathed through the pain of my recent injuries.
I had no choice. Whether I wanted to stay here or not didn't matter, because I literally had nowhere to go.
"Okay. Thank you. I'll figure it out, ugh.
..as soon as I can." My voice was nonexistent, but his ocean blue eyes bore into me without shame, sending ice-cold shivers down my spine.
I felt extremely vulnerable, clearly half naked in front of him.
The ache was spreading through me, and I leaned back on the countertop, my dark thoughts overpowering me just like my physical affliction.
“Come on. The guest bedroom is this way.” The Roman guy beckoned me with an easy nod, and I followed.
Luxury abounded in this entire place. The guest bedroom had a soft king-size bed, a majestic view, and a whole private ensuite bathroom complete with floor-to-ceiling windows.
You know, so you could soak in the bathtub and take in the city views.
Wow. This guy was obviously rich as hell to afford a place like this.
"You should probably wash the dry blood off your legs. I'll help you, if you want." His deep voice sounded behind me, ripping me out of my thoughts.
Roman was throwing curveballs left, right, and center.
He didn't even know my name and wanted to help me shower?
At the same time, I realized that he was right.
I did need help. I couldn't really bend my legs and couldn’t fully turn my body around to wash off all the gore.
I was too tired and hurt to say no and stand up for myself.
Roman turned the shower on and stepped back, waiting for me to go inside, but I was planted to the ground, just watching the water run down the drain.
"Well? Or do you need help stepping in?" His voice woke me up again. I did as I was told and stepped in, the warm water washing over my feet, reminding me that the world was filled with joyous things, just not for me.
This guy was just...so commanding. If he told me to jump off the balcony, I felt like I would have done it without question.
Doing my best not to tremble, I faced away from him while he took the shower-head and, starting at my calves, slowly moved it up so the warm water caressed the backs of my thighs. The excruciating pain mixed in with heavenly pleasure, and I winced, my body jolting forward.
"Sorry. It's going to hurt, but there’s a lot of caked-on blood on you.
" He spoke from behind me, now getting down on his knees.
I peeked to see his eyebrows furrowed, intensely studying the horror that was now my legs.
Trying to be gentle, he ran a soft washcloth down my thighs and scraped off the blood, his face screwed up in concentration.
It was almost comical. Roman was a big guy; tattoos covered his arms and hands and fingers, and his facial expression was cold and almost brutal. And yet…he was standing on his knees and carefully washing blood off a girl he didn't even know.
“Oh my God.” A pained whisper left my lips as I clutched at my t-shirt that was actually his, and he turned the water off, ending the torture. Breathing through the pain, I turned just as he rose up off his knees, his huge body immediately towering over me and caging me in.
In total silence, he wiped his hands on a fluffy gray towel and passed it to me, never looking away.
This wasn’t the time. This was so not the time, but damn, was he hot.
The tattoos that covered his fair skin extended to his neck.
His large blue eyes and straight nose kind of made him look like he was from a painting or a movie.
Not a regular dude walking down the street.
For a man, he had such full, plump lips, and his jaw sported a small stubble, jet black, just like his hair, which was full and styled back.
The all-encompassing gaze of his blue eyes slightly unnerved me.
"What's your name?" He broke the silence confidently, never looking away. Somehow, I didn't have the strength to look at him for long and focused on the towel in my hands.
"Isla."
"Isla...that's a nice name." His voice low, he stared down at me, not moving and blocking the shower exit.
"Isla…like an island? In the middle of nowhere?
" He questioned, and those words really pierced my heart.
Yes. Like an island. Alone and in the middle of nowhere.
With nothing but treacherous waters around.
Hot tears rolled down my cheeks again at his words. Fuck him. Was it that obvious that life was shit for me right now?
"Exactly. Like an island,” I spat out with disdain. "Left with nothing now. Just by myself. In a stranger's home. No phone, no ID, no clothes. Just a nameless empty island." My eyes fixed on his inked crossed arms, and I clenched my teeth, furious at my own words.
"Not nameless.” His voice was so gentle that I honestly thought it was someone else speaking. I shot my gaze up into his, his eyes full of empathy, and his smile so kind. "Isla," he repeated my name softly. "ID, clothes, everything can be replaced. You have your life. And the cuts will heal."
Easy for him to say. I wish I didn't have my life right now. On top of all the shit that happened in the last few years, I now had absolutely nothing.
That was it. I couldn’t control it this time, and a pitiful sob ripped out of my chest, my tears blurring all vision. God, it felt great to drop my face into my hands and descend into pure agony.
My body was aching, and my soul was ripped apart.