Chapter 12 One Fucked Up Man
One Fucked Up Man
Isla
Ah, yes, everything had an explanation. Roman finally showed his true colors—I wasn't in his home simply because he wanted to help me out.
No, he wanted more. But did he? Because our last interaction at the restaurant confused me through and through.
He outright said he didn't want to fuck me, but that evening was complete chaos.
He was playing some sort of game, clearly, but I couldn't figure it out.
Unlucky for me, I was desperate to be in his arms. Images of his body on mine infiltrated my mind with alarming frequency. He really was the opposite of my type, but dear Lord, everything about him shook my insides, overpowered my brain, and ignited my heart.
If he made a move, there was no way I would have refused it. I was so drawn to him; I wanted it. I wanted to eagerly participate in it. What if I made a move? Mm, great idea, and then watch the teeny tiny stability I had crumble into nothing.
That sushi dinner was hella awkward, and we barely said two words to each other the rest of the night. I slumped into bed that evening, forcing myself to think of anything but him. Instead, I ruminated on my life circumstances and hoped for a better outcome.
And miraculously, things were looking up for me, finally!
The interview was a success, and I landed the job—positively ecstatic about it!
My start date was in two weeks, and right after getting the call about the job, I checked out a small one-bedroom apartment for rent.
With my offer of employment, I signed the lease and paid the deposit—I would take possession in the next two days.
With a pep in my step, I made it back to Roman’s apartment, eager to tell him the great news.
But once inside, I looked around the place I’d been living in for the last little while, inhaled the smell, and immediately felt dejected.
I was so torn. Yes, of course, the job and the apartment made me happy, but it also meant that I would have to leave Roman’s house.
I didn't want to say goodbye to him.
As always, Roman greeted me with a small smile when he arrived home. That same boyish, charming, genuine smile that made me melt inside just like the first time I saw it.
After that weird evening when we talked about our sexual partners, he turned distant and cold, and I wondered what on earth was going through his head. Why was he so strange about it? Even if he did want to sleep with me, why was the fact that I slept with one person so upsetting to him?!
"I have great news!" I announced with a slight shake in my voice, and he stopped a few feet away, his expectant eyes on me.
"I got the job! And! I got an apartment!
" I squealed out my happy news, both over the moon at my luck and thoroughly devastated.
Ugh. The last few weeks of living with him were a dream I didn't want to wake up from.
He stayed silent and immobile, but then—
"Congratulations," he spat out with the most uninterested and uninvolved look I'd ever experienced in my life.
Wow. What the fuck was his problem? Shouldn't he have been happy for me?
I had my whole place burn down, for crying out loud!
He remained in one spot for a second longer and then, as if he was disappointed, shook his head and walked to his room.
The door shut rather forcefully, and I was left in the living room with my mouth hanging open at his reaction.
I'm sorry, had he been expecting me to stay with him forever?! And they say women are the emotional ones! Fine, maybe whatever happened at that dinner changed his attitude toward me, but damn, maybe a little acknowledgement was in order?
But I wasn’t going to dwell on it because fuck that. After a moment of perplexity, I shut down my own indignation and pushed all my thoughts aside. Ignore, ignore, ignore that reaction. I didn’t know him; I only stayed here because of his goodwill, and I was grateful, but it was time to move out.
Yes, it seemed I really had no idea who Roman was or what he did, although I had my guesses.
He didn’t care about anyone, that I knew for sure.
How could a person have sex with two hundred and fifty women?
That number was astounding! That meant he never kept anyone around long enough to even find out how they took their morning coffee.
He didn’t care about me either. He took pity on me—a poor, young girl who lost everything twice over. All his questions about my past sexual life were his entertainment over dinner.
All the thoughts swirled inside me but mixed with hope that I was dead wrong. I wanted him to care. I wanted him to care about me. Jesus fuck, how could I have caught feelings for a stranger like that?
Mindlessly and deeply entrenched in my own troubles, I prepared dinner and mixed the salad, texting Roman to come eat. One thing I did know about him, though: he wouldn’t say no to my cooking.
Silently, he appeared in the kitchen without sparing me a glance and helped set the table, all his movements precise and careful. It dawned on me that we acted like some married couple who had an argument. That thought excited me to no end. Roman and I bound together by a marital union?
No. No, no, stop. Stop. It was time to move out.
The clinking of our cutlery was the only sound in the room, and both of us chewed, lost in our own worlds, something that hadn’t happened even once since I accidentally arrived in his home.
But then he put his fork down and raised his large blue eyes at me, his stare never failing to send my heart into marathon mode.
"Where are you moving to?" he asked coldly, sounding more annoyed than anything.
"I found a place today actually! It's a one-bedroom apartment, and I get the keys on the fifteenth of the month, so in two days," I responded with dampened enthusiasm, and he slowly nodded, sighing with unease.
"Why are you moving? You don't like it here?"
It took me a second to process his question. "Um, well, I can't live with you forever? What kind of a question is that? I had an apartment until it burned down, Roman. I don't actually live here." Was I trying to justify moving out of his place? How ridiculous!
"You don't like living here?" He repeated again! What had gotten into him? How did he not understand why I was moving?!
"I—I don't live here, Roman. I was staying here because I was literally homeless, you know that. I don't understand why you're reacting this wa—"
"Because!" He suddenly snapped and raised his voice but immediately realized his reaction was over the top. He took a breath in to calm down, and I sat frozen in front of him, both scared and incredibly curious to find out what was going on in his head.
"You just moved in here, and...you haven't even started your job. What if you get fired? And you don't know if this new place is safe. And also, I thought you liked living here!" Roman was unrecognizable—flustered, searching for words, and making absolutely no sense.
"I do! I do like living here! But Roman, I can't live, live here!
I can't live with you. You understand that, right?” I looked into his pure blue eyes, momentarily distracted and feeling extremely silly trying to justify my plans.
“Plus, I thought you'd be happy I'm moving out! You get your privacy back, finally!"
He scoffed and crossed his arms, and I suddenly remembered what he told me at that sushi dinner. With a bit of humor and an innocent shoulder shrug, I added, "You can finally bring a girl over!" Yes, bring his number up to two hundred and fifty-one! I hated her, whoever she would turn out to be.
Without sparing him another glance, I shot up off the chair and grabbed my plate, marching behind the kitchen island and to the sink. Within a few seconds, he was already behind me.
"Bring a girl over? Fuck, is that what you think, Isla?" I spun around to face him, his tall frame blocking out all light once more. If looks could kill, Roman was annihilating me. This felt fucking dangerous.
And I liked it.
“You want me to bring someone over?” He narrowed his eyes at me, as if daring me to respond.
I had no answer; I couldn’t even think! Our proximity was making me hyperventilate, and just like last time, he was in fucking control.
“If you think the reason I haven't brought a girl over was because I felt like I had no privacy, then fuck!
I'll call one right now—prove to you that's not the case. "
Angrily shoving his plate into the dishwasher, he whipped the hand towel on the countertop and turned and walked away, not sparing me another glance or even letting me understand what just happened.
This time, the door to his room slammed shut, and I flinched at the sound, abso-fucking-lutely stunned at his behavior. Roman was turning out to be a complete psycho, and I was clearly a total idiot to have developed some sort of feelings for him!
Determined to ignore and move past whatever the fuck that was, I spent the rest of the night on my bed, my face buried in my phone and earbuds in my ears.
Another YouTube video started that recapped some of the material I had learned in med school. If I ever wanted to go back, I had to at least try to maintain what I learned.
All my textbooks and notes from university had burned in the inferno, and I was lamenting that fact so much. Watching YouTube videos was my only hope to keep the information somewhat fresh in my mind.
At some point, the front door opened and closed, but I turned the volume up, forcing myself to not care. Video after video, the monotone voice was lulling me to sleep until a text from Roman appeared at the top of the screen, and I sat up as if electrocuted.
Roman: Come to the living room.