Chapter 11
Natalia
I’m mumbling all the curse words I know in Korean as I punch my fists in the pounds of dough in front of me.
The images from last week continue to play in my mind, and so does the sound of his voice with every filthy word he said to me.
This pussy is mine now, Natalia.
Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do this for years.
You taste so good.
Come on my cock, sweetheart.
I was so wrapped up in him—thrown in the ocean without a life vest and drowning. I don’t even remember what the inside of his house or room looks like. And every time I try to think about it, I only see the images of our naked bodies, his head between my legs, and all I can hear are his words.
Fuck, sweetheart, no one else is fucking you ever again.
I am dangerously turned on at work, my skin tight around my bones, suffocating the muscles and veins, and my core clenches as more images flood my head, distracting me.
You and your perfect cunt are going to be the death of me.
It does not bode well for me that I’m considering finding a safe place to take care of this ache that has been pulsing within me ever since that night.
He’s brought something out of me that I can’t seem to push back beneath the surface.
Instead, it’s like a sexual awakening and I feel like the most sensual, sexy, wanted woman because of him.
A part of me wishes it was bad. That he was an egregious lay and that he didn’t know what the hell he was doing and that he didn’t know exactly where to touch me.
Instead, it was so good I built a wall almost immediately after it was over.
I couldn’t afford to let the feelings linger in places they didn’t belong.
I’d like to think love can be healing and beautiful and the furthest thing from heartbreak, and of course, I want that.
But how would it be fair to want it and not give it.
He needs the same things I do. He grieves and I break. Every day.
I used to think that, once I reached adulthood, it would go away and I’d be better. I used to think that by now, at twenty-seven going on twenty-eight, I’d be…cured. It doesn’t work like that, though; I’ve learned that the hard way.
My fist slams into the dough just as the kitchen door swings open. “Woah!” I turn and see Lana.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
I wipe my jaw with the back of my wrist and blow upward to move my shorter curl out of my face. “Nothing,” I grumble. Groaning, I go to wash my hands and readjust my hairnet. “I’m fine.”
“You were just shouting a bunch of, what I’m assuming are, expletives, in Korean at the dough you’re making cookies out of,” Lana says, crossing her arms and cocking her hips. “I’ve only seen you do that once. So, what’s wrong?”
I sigh, long and dramatically, just before the words spill out quickly. “Rowan pretended to be my boyfriend for my dads and then he made us dinner at his restaurant and then I find out he named his restaurant Beetlejuice. For me!” I scoff. “Can you believe that?”
Lana blinks at me, gaping. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“What?”
“Obviously he named it for you!” Lana chuckles. “I love you, Nat, but…are you dumb?”
“I—”
I’m on the brink of defending myself when the kitchen door swings open again and Isabelle comes in. “Hey, what did I miss?” Isabelle’s eyes observe me head to toe. “Lana called saying she heard you spewing angry Korean words so I came right over.”
“She just figured out Rowan named his restaurant for her,” Lana says quietly to Isabelle, who then laughs.
I hiss a few more Korean curses their way, most of which my cousins from Daddy’s side taught me when I was little. “Are you two kidding me right now?”
“Are you kidding us?” Isabelle asks and takes a seat on a stool at the clear workstation. “He opened that place like two years ago and you just realized? Even the color scheme is the same.”
Lana nods.
“What? No it isn’t.”
Is it?
There isn’t a lot of black but there is purple and green. Some black—the bathroom tiles are checkered. The tables are a very deep violet but the flowers and decor everywhere else are lighter, softer shades.
“Yes it is,” Lana says. “It’s just really subtle. Took me a minute to figure it out until we saw Beetlejuice that one Halloween.”
“I only figured it out when Lana told me,” Isa says. “Then I noticed the details.”
I’m gaping and blinking at my friends. “What?”
Rowan wouldn’t name his entire business—his livelihood—after one of my favorite movies. And then…Then he fucks me like that and ruins me.
Rowan Asher ruined me and it only took one time. If I hadn’t ran out of his house, he would have continued ruining me—shredding me and tearing me to tiny unrecognizable bits. I couldn’t let that happen. I’m doing well. I’m doing much better.
Even if I know that Rowan isn’t the man that would hurt me, I am the person that would hurt him.
“There’s one more thing,” I mutter and continue kneading the dough on the workstation opposite my friends. “RowanandIhadsex,” I mumble under my breath.
“What?” they both shriek.
“RowanandIhadsex,” I slur again as I keep kneading.
Lana laughs first. “I’m sorry.” She keeps laughing. “What? You—”
“You had sex with Rowan?” Isabelle gasps. “Rowan!”
“Yes. Shut up,” I mutter and flip the dough, adding flour.
My friends snicker amongst themselves, and I try to keep the memories at bay so I don’t feel that flip in my stomach caused by the images in my mind.
So I don’t inevitably turn myself on from the permanent memory of Rowan’s naked body on top of, and behind mine.
And the permanent memory of him. I’m so fucking fucked.
The uncertainty inside of me somehow makes me feel hollow. Like I don’t know what to feel so I don’t want to feel it at all.
“When!” Isabelle squeals.
“Um…” I pause and the girls stare at me with wide eyes that say, We’re waiting. “Last week. On…On Halloween.”
“I knew it!” Lana chuckles, victorious. “I knew it. I told you.” She points to Isa. “And I told Christian. I knew it was your car still parked outside.
“Damn it.”
Isa laughs quietly then carefully asks, “Was it good?”
I nod, cutting the dough. “Yeah. Really, really good. Like...dangerously good.”
Their eyes go round.
“Then…what’s wrong?” Isa asks.
“I don’t know,” I mumble.
I’m not okay enough. I’m not in the space for it. Who wants someone who hates themself? Who wants someone with the scars I have, the sadness I carry, the weight breaking my spine, and darkness infiltrating my mind.
Some days, I think these thoughts are a pity party—something ignorant social media opinions have put into my head, until I went back to therapy.
But it isn’t a pity party, they are my thoughts.
Most people don’t get that. If I said all my thoughts out loud, they’d tell me to get over it—to just be happy, as if it were that easy.
If it were, trust me, I’d have done it a long time ago.
I’d have stopped my “pity party” and uninvited the mean things that live in my head. But it isn’t up to me. I’m not the host and it isn’t a party being thrown for me.
“Did he…” Lana pauses, casting a glance to Isabelle then back to me. “Did he do something?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like…did he force you—”
“What? No! Oh my god, no. It’s Rowan for fuck’s sake.”
“Okay, okay. I just wanted to make sure.” Lana holds up her hands.
“Did you have fun?” Isa asks. “Was he like…” She bounces her eyebrows twice.
Lana gapes and slaps Isabelle’s shoulder. “Are you seriously asking if he has a big dick?”
Isabelle gasps and rubs her shoulder. “What? I can’t ask?”
I roll my eyes and punch the dough. “I’m not talking about Rowan’s dick size right now. I just…I’m unwell.”
“Because of the sex?” Lana’s brows pinch with a tilt of a head.
“Yes,” I squeak. “What don’t you guys understand?”
“All of it?” Isabelle huffs. “I mean, you’ve both been bickering since teenagers, he’s always been by your side, and he’s obsessed with you. You basically walk him like a dog.”
I freeze, gaping before I turn to gape at her. “I don’t walk him like a dog!”
“Well…”
“Lana.”
“What?”
I sigh. “Do I? I treat him that badly?”
“I wouldn’t say terribly,” Isa says, sounding cautious of her words. “I just mean…it’s sometimes like you want him to hate you.”
“I do,” I admit quietly. “Sometimes.”
“Nat,” Lana says sadly. “Why?” She stands from the chair and comes to my side to rest her head on my shoulder, her arms wrapping around mine.
“It’s easier to keep him at arm’s length,” I murmur. “I don’t want him to get hurt.”
“You haven’t given him a chance, Natty.” Isabelle stands and come over to join our group hug, as my two best friends give me firm, comforting touches.
“You know,” Lana says softly, “Christian once apologized for bleeding on me when I wasn’t the one cutting him; I was the one stitching him and giving him the Band-Aids.”
There’s silence that follows her statement, allowing what she means to settle.
“I think you’re scared of bleeding on Rowan,” she continues. “But I think you know, better than anyone, that Rowan is the man who gives Band-Aids to everyone. He would stitch up everyone if he could.”
“He shouldn’t have to stitch me up,” I say.
“No, you’re right,” Lana says, her hands squeezing reassuringly. “But he will still try to.”
“And even if you don’t want him to,” Isa chimes in, “he will want to. No matter what. That’s who he is. I mean, he literally does so much community service I’m still in shock.”
I huff a laugh.
Rowan does a lot for this town. He donates meals to the shelter, he’s helped so many people with jobs in his restaurant or has worked his ass off to find them a job. Don’t get me started on the things he does for the children hospital in the city. And that isn’t even all of it.
“I’m not like him,” I rasp.
“You know that doesn’t matter,” Isa counters. “And so what?”
“Lana and Christian are alike.”
Lana cackles. “Only in a few ways, Nat. We aren’t perfect.”
But they look it.
“It’s taken a lot of work, trust, and communication,” Lana says. “Same as it will for you and Rowan. Relationships aren’t easy, but love is always simple. Love is one of the only things that is not meant to be painful or complicated.”
“I don’t love him,” I murmur. “And he doesn’t love me.”
Isabelle snorts beside. “Okay.”
“Isa,” Lana hisses.
“Sorry.”
The door to the back swings open and an employee sticks their head in. “Lana, Rowan’s here looking for you.”
“Thank you, Michelle.” Lana squeals. “We all know he’s really looking for you so I’ll go tell him where to find you.”