Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EVERLY
I wake alone in the large, comfortable bed.
The heat, that radiated from Rowan’s chest, and his solid presence against my back has vanished. It’s not his absence that wakes me, though.
My eyes open slowly and Rowan’s room comes into focus.
I try not to move much. The pain radiating from my neck is unbelievable.
Agonizing . My stomach is beginning to twist. Nausea surges up like a wave, and for a second I think I might puke right here where I lay.
It subsides, fading away a few seconds later.
The sheets beneath me are soaked in sweat, making me feel gross, and there’s a faint tremor rushing through my body.
All symptoms of shock, I suppose.
Strangely enough, I expect pain from Rowan’s use of me last night.
But when I shift to get comfortable, I find that while I’m definitely sore, it’s not horrible.
Or maybe I just think that because the red-hot pain flaring up in my neck takes precedence.
Pressing my thighs together, I try not to think of Rowan’s fingers there or where he sunk into me.
I wait to feel violated or regret and definitely disgust. At the very least, I should feel resentment toward the so-called king.
I’d told him to stop—to not touch me. Yet the longer I lay there thinking about his hands between my legs and how full and all-consumed I’d felt when he entered my body, all that happens is an unexpected flare of pleasant warmth coursing through me.
Truth be told, it was hot. Terrifying, yes, but unexpectedly glorious too.
If I close my eyes and think too deeply about what transpired, I know I’ll be able to hear Rowan’s desperate sounds as he found pleasure in my body.
They’d be so full of need. Need for me and?—
“Alright,” I mutter, cutting off the train of thought. “That’s enough of that.”
I don’t need to explore how heady the knowledge that Rowan finds me attractive is, or that he wanted me so badly he marked my skin and filled me with his release.
“Because that would be fucking insane to find attractive,” I add grimly.
Sitting up is harder than it should be. I’m awfully tired and feel achy all over. The room spins when I try to look around. It takes several long deep breaths to get it to settle.
My wrists are still bound, but I fix that by grabbing the extra length between my teeth and giving it a few hard tugs.
The silky black rope falls onto the bed.
It’s immediately forgotten as I scoot toward the edge of the mattress.
Each slight movement jars the wound on the back of my neck.
If I thought I was sweaty before, by the time I get out of bed I’m drenched.
“Shit…” I reach up and gingerly touch the bandage. Wincing, I make my way to the bathroom, needing to clean myself up. I stop only to grab the white towel off the floor.
I don’t even bother looking at myself in the large mirror, knowing I probably look sickly given how awful I feel. Instead, I head straight for the shower. It’s smaller than Braum’s, probably because there’s a tub taking up half the space in here. But small is ok. It’s comfortable.
It takes a second to get the water the temperature I like but once it’s there, I step under the hard stream and let out a deep, relieved sigh.
I stand there, letting the water chase away remnants of last night’s encounter with Rowan.
I’m careful not to let the bandage get wet, tilting my head away from the stream of water.
Slowly, I start to feel better. The nausea isn’t as intense now that I’m up and moving, and the warmth of the water is easing the tenderness in my backside.
I don’t know how long I just stand there, but by the time I’m reaching for Rowan’s body wash, I’m starting to feel human again.
When I’m done, I climb out and dry myself.
Once I’ve thrown my hair into a wet bun on top of my head, I move toward Rowan’s sink to grab his toothpaste.
I end up using my finger as a toothbrush when I don’t find any extras in his drawers.
But what he lacks in extra toiletries, Rowan makes up in all sorts of products.
He has tons of stuff, all laid out in order of not only shape and size, but color too, making it easy to search for a face cleanser.
By the time I’m walking back into Rowan’s room, the towel wrapped around my body, I feel ready to face the day. I’m about to stop in front of one of Rowan’s dressers when the rest of the room catches my attention.
Last night, I was distracted and didn’t notice much.
From surviving an insane initiation test, to finding a door with the emblem matching the one at the bottom of Peter’s suicide note, to having Maverick chase me through the tunnels and woods, to him kissing me and confessing he doesn’t think he can leave Serenity Falls, to my time with Rowan afterward…
Yeah, a lot transpired. The set up of Rowan’s room was the least of my concerns.
But now that I have a second, I can’t help but feel like I’ve been thrown into a funhouse.
Much like Braum’s, Rowan’s room has tall ceilings and wood panel walls.
But while there’s a cozy feel to Braum’s, Rowan’s room is eerily militant.
It’s void of any dust, scents, or even scuff marks on the wooden floor.
In fact, the floors look almost new, which is weird given that everything else in here feels like it carries the weight of secrets gathered over time.
The large bedframe has been placed between two windows, then nailed to the floor with heavy-duty brackets.
There are two identical dressers placed on opposite sides of the room, with identical mirrors over each.
Three floating shelves sit to the right of the closest, and three more sit on the other side in the exact same position on the wall.
On all six shelves are books without titles on their spines, all the same color, height, and width.
One side of the room is an exact mirror of the other. Weird.
I rummage through the drawers of one of the dressers for something to wear.
I settle on a blue-and-white striped button up shirt and joggers.
The sleeves have to be rolled up to my elbow, and even there they remain loose and almost in my way.
The joggers are cuffed, making them easier to wear without tripping over each leg.
When I’m done dressing, I meander over to the second dresser and open it.
I blink rapidly at the articles of clothes inside it. They’re exactly the same as what’s in the other dresser.
“What in the world?—”
“I like things symmetrical.”
I whirl around to find Rowan strolling into the room looking absolutely…
well, hot . His compression shirt is drenched in sweat, and his hair is in disarray.
There’s a red tint to his skin from exertion, and his arms are swollen.
He lifts the plate he’s holding in one hand, which I hadn’t noticed until now.
“I brought breakfast,” he announces.
He places it on the bed and makes a show of yanking off his top.
I drink in the golden skin suddenly on display and the muscles that ripple as he moves.
My mouth waters. This skin was pressed against mine last night, hard and hot.
I could feel every ripple as his muscles constricted and contracted.
I suppress a shiver as I remember how good it felt with him so close.
The knowing smirk he shoots me when he catches me staring instantly heats my face. I jerk my gaze away from him to glance back at the dresser before me.
“I don’t understand,” I admit.
The frustrated sigh Rowan heaves tells me this conversation has been had before.
He strolls past me to the other dresser.
“There’s a scale in my head—like the kind that Lady Justice holds—and it has to be balanced.
When things aren’t symmetrical, it throws the scale off.
It gets to me and I can’t stop thinking about it. ”
He opens the drawers of the dresser on the far side of the room and, to my surprise, he pulls out the exact same outfit as the one I’m wearing. Is that a conscious thing? He throws the items over his shoulder and walks toward me.
“But apparently wanting everything in my life to be balanced warrants being locked up,” Rowan mutters grimly.
“I thought setting your place on fire was what brought you here?” I ask him curiously.
Rowan’s entire body stiffens as he turns around to face me.
“That fucking judge was going to throw me in jail for arson. My dad was able to pull some strings and get me sent here instead. Can you believe it? Fucking arson ? It was my place! If I wanted to set it on fire, I should be able to do so.” His face turns red as his fists curl.
“For weeks I couldn’t figure out why my paintings, furniture, and shit weren’t just right.
Everything kept fucking moving or tilting, and I couldn’t figure out why .
Do you know what it’s like to suffer for weeks on end?
No, probably not,” he answers just as quickly, not giving me time to respond.
“You don’t have a keen eye like I do. Most people don’t. ”
Letting that comment go, I ask softly. “So… You set things on fire because…?”
Rowan’s brows smash together. “I thought I was going mad. Every time I came home, everything had shifted! No one else seemed to notice, but I did ! It took me forever to realize that the floor wasn’t level.
It was unacceptable! I could never live in such piss-poor conditions! I did the neighborhood a favor.”
I bite the inside of my cheek as I watch Rowan take a long, deep breath in an attempt to settle himself down.