Chapter 12
Rowan
By the time I stepped into Marcus's flat, I was exhausted. I'd spent another long day in my classroom trying to organise lesson plans, and my brain was so fried that I just wanted to go home. But Marcus had been messaging me nonstop all day, checking in, asking when I’d be done, reminding me he’d “made plans for us.” By the end of it, I was too worn out to argue.
He was already at work in the kitchen when I walked in. He barely glanced up from whatever he was doing to say, "You're late."
It didn't sound like an accusation. But I still felt the need to explain.
"Sorry. Lost track of time." It wasn't a lie.
I did stay longer than I meant to. I'd caught myself sitting at my desk long after I'd stopped being productive, and my mind had drifted everywhere else even as I told myself I was still working.
Marcus finally turned to look at me. I couldn't quite read his expression, but instead of the scrutinising look I expected, he flashed an easy smile. "Figured as much."
His mood gave me pause. Usually, he had something to say about it when I was late. Some comment about how I was stretching myself too thin again, that I needed to stop letting work run my life, and so on. The same broken record I'd gotten used to over the past several weeks.
But tonight, he seemed ... nonchalant.
I hesitated at the door, watching him move about the kitchen with an ease that felt slightly off. I didn't know why. Maybe it was just because I was worn out. My tired brain must've been reading into things that weren't there.
I forced myself to shake it off as I set my bag down and made my way to the table where dinner was already set out. I could see the takeaway boxes in the bin, but Marcus had transferred it into proper dishes. I might've found that funny a few months ago. Tonight, it grated on my nerves.
He slid a glass of wine across the table to me before finally settling into his own chair and pouring a glass for himself. "Long day?"
I nodded and took a slow sip. "Yeah."
He didn't touch his glass. Instead, he watched me for a second before he leaned in slightly. "You've been working late a lot." Not a question. Just a statement.
I felt the weight of his gaze before I even looked up. Keeping my voice even, I said, "Yes, well. Term starts in four days."
He tilted his head slightly. "And here I thought we got things under control," he murmured, a hint of amusement laced through his words. The implication was subtle, but I caught it.
I set the glass down and chose my words carefully. "It's not like that. I have a lot to sort before classes start."
He smiled, but there was something I couldn't read beneath it. "Sure. I just don't want you to overdo it."
I didn't trust myself to say anything else, so I didn't.
The conversation stalled as we started eating, the quiet stretch of it more noticeable than usual. Marcus didn't seem to mind, though. If anything, he seemed to let it drag on purpose.
Then, casual as anything, he said, "You haven't mentioned Elias lately."
That sent a prickle up my spine. I kept my focus on my plate and forced a neutral expression. "Haven't had anything to mention."
"That's good." He took a sip of wine, watching me over the rim of his glass. "I just wondered if he'd reached out again."
"No. He's busy. He's headed back to London tomorrow."
"Mm." He set his glass down and tapped his fingers lightly on the stem. It was such an idle movement, and yet it felt calculated.
I kept my posture relaxed, did everything I could to make sure I didn't give him anything – even though there was nothing to give. I really hadn't seen Eli. Except for that phone call yesterday, I hadn't even talked to him. There was no reason for me to feel guilty.
But somehow, under Marcus's gaze, I did.
Before I could think too much about it, he reached for the wine bottle and topped up my glass without a word.
I glanced at it briefly. It wasn't unusual for him to refill my glass during dinner, but I hadn't even realised I was close to finishing this one. I didn't remember drinking that much that quickly. Still, I murmured a quick thanks and took another sip. God forbid I seem ungrateful.
The conversation moved on after that. Marcus steered it back toward my work, how much time I was spending at school, how I needed to make sure I wasn't taking on too much.
This time, though, he seemed to be more careful with how he said it.
He usually framed it like he was looking out for me.
Now it felt less like concern and more like observation.
As I nodded along, my fingers curled loosely around my glass, and I saw it was almost empty again. Had I really drunk that much already?
Marcus reached for the bottle and refilled it without missing a beat. He'd done that before, sure, but not so quickly. And not without asking.
I didn't want to make a thing of it, though. I didn't want to deal with him grumbling about how I was being difficult or that I didn't appreciate the effort he was putting in. So I just went with it and picked up the glass to take another slow sip.
By the time the food was gone, my limbs felt a little heavier. A dull headache pressed behind my eyes. Not bad, but enough to make me want to close them for a minute. I took off my glasses and rested a hand over my eyes. It did help, but not much.
The room felt warmer than normal. A little hazy. I'd had too much wine too fast. I blinked a few times and tried to shake off the fog before I put my glasses back on.
Marcus flicked his gaze over to me. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said with a tired smile. "Just a ... bit of a headache."
I thought I caught the edge of a smile on his lips. He reached for my wrist and pressed his thumb against my pulse point. "You look exhausted. Why don't you go lie down for a bit?"
I hesitated and rubbed at my temple. I wasn't just tired. I felt heavy. Like my head was full of sand and my neck couldn't hold it up. It reminded me of that unsteady feeling after swimming for too long when you’re trying to get your land legs back.
I nodded vaguely and pushed my chair back to stand. The second I did, the movement triggered a fast wave of dizziness that knocked me off balance.
Marcus jumped to his feet to catch me with a firm arm around my waist. "Whoa, now," he murmured, amused but not quite laughing. "Looks like you had too much. Let's get you to bed."
I opened my mouth to tell him I was fine and could manage on my own – but I didn't. Because I wasn't entirely sure I could. My feet couldn't find the floor under me, and the more I tried to concentrate on walking straight, the less steady I felt.
He kept a firm grip as he guided me toward the spare bedroom. "Overdid it after all, eh?"
I muttered some attempt at a response that even I couldn't quite understand.
He steered me toward the bed and helped me sit.
Almost immediately, the softness made the exhaustion sink deeper into my bones.
I started to think that if I closed my eyes for too long, I wouldn't bother to open them again.
He crouched in front of me and studied me for a second, then reached up to gently slip my glasses from my face. "That better?"
I barely managed a nod.
He pressed a hand lightly to my chest to guide me back until I was lying down properly. The pillow was cool. Soft. Welcoming. I barely registered the feel of a blanket being draped over me or the warmth of Marcus's touch before he pulled away.
"Get some rest." His voice was already going distant.
I tried to say something. What, exactly, I wasn't sure. But before I could figure it out, sleep dragged me under.
* * *
I came to slowly. My head throbbed in a dull, relentless way that made it tough to open my eyes, let alone think. For a moment, I just lay still, breathing shallow and slow, waiting for the fog to lift.
But it didn't.
The haze clung to me, muddling my thoughts and turning every movement into an effort. My mouth was dry. My stomach turned with a slow roll of nausea that made me press my forehead deeper into the pillow.
I tried to find a position that didn't make me want to throw up, but something didn't feel right.
I frowned, still trying to blink the sleep from my eyes.
The more I woke up, the more off everything felt.
I was on my stomach, and my legs ached. My hips hurt, but it didn't line up with falling asleep so hard that you don't move at all.
I made a feeble attempt to ease the weight pressing into my chest. The movement pulled at something in my lower back, and I winced.
I rolled over slowly, but even that almost made me puke.
My shirt was bunched up awkwardly around my ribs.
The waistband of my trousers barely clung to me.
The blanket had slipped halfway down the bed, and the air hit cooler than I expected.
I reached to pull it back up – but then I froze.
It was pitch dark. Not the kind of dark that comes with a dim room or drawn curtains. Just full, complete black. I blinked a few times, disoriented, waiting for my eyes to adjust, but there wasn't much to adjust to. No light bleeding in from the hallway. No flicker from the clock. Nothing.
I swallowed around my dry throat as I tried to piece the evening together. We had wine. Dinner. Some conversation. Marcus topped off my glass. More than once.
I'd been drunk before. Tipsy, stupid, clumsy drunk. I remembered how that felt. This... This wasn't that.
I reached down and tried to tug my trousers back into place, but they didn't want to sit right.
The fabric bunched at the hips, and the effort made my stomach twist harder.
I smoothed my shirt down next, fumbling with the hem to pull it back over my stomach.
I must've tossed and turned more than usual.
I must've kicked the blanket off, managed to undo half my clothes without realising it.