Chapter 17 #3
Rowan goes into the bathroom, taking the clothes with him, and turns on the water.
I remain frozen with the blanket covering my naked body and tears still wet on my face.
He promptly returns, his muscles on his abdomen tensing and bicep flexing as he pushes his hair back.
Then he reaches me and I’m so unsure of what to do when his arms snake around me, one beneath my knees and the other around my back.
I’m lifted off the bed, my naked body curling against his chest, and being brought into the bathroom.
Carefully, he sets me down on my feet and hands me one of my claw hair clips.
I gently gather my long curls and clip them, the length hanging out like a ponytail.
Rowan begins to back away, giving me privacy.
I slide open the frosted glass and before I step in, I look over my shoulder. “Wait,” I mutter.
Rowan turns, his hand on the door handle.
“Stay?”
He dips his chin and I take a step into the spray of steaming water, sliding the door closed as he sits on the toilet lid.
We don’t speak as I scrub my skin and wash my face, the sound of the shower blocking out the sound of my continuous tears. Through the frosted glass, I see his slouching figure, patiently waiting for me. As soon as I turn off the water, he’s on his feet and grabbing my towel.
He slides open the door enough for only his arm to come through with the towel. “Thank you,” I mutter and dry myself off.
I hold onto the wall as I step out onto the warm, thick shower rug with the towel wrapped around me.
“Are you okay?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Rowan steps in close and kisses the top of my head. “I’m going to go order pizza now, okay?”
I nod.
“Regular, cheese pizza?”
“Yeah,” I rasp, fisting the towel to my chest. “Thank you.”
His hand brushes across my lower back as he walks out of the bathroom, leaving me to myself.
I typically suffer from clinomania—have suffered from it for a long time.
It’s what makes me what to say fuck it all and close my bakery too often.
It’s what makes me want to give up on almost everything.
And I think I’m suffering from it right now. Again. Amongst other things.
I drop my towel and stare at my naked body in the mirror, and I want to cry.
I want to lie in my bed, in the dark, indefinitely.
There’s no mistaking what the scars at the top of my left thigh are.
I trace them with the tips of my left fingers, feeling the difference between the untouched and healed skin.
My hand splays out on my thigh, covering the bundle of scars until I stare down at it and turn my hand over.
My wrist isn’t nearly as bad. There are at least eleven, crossed over or lined beneath each other—still less than what is on my leg.
I trace them with my right pointer finger, feeling the hills of my old sadness.
There’s something so nostalgic about the pain. Like it requires devotion. Like it needs to be remembered.
“Natalia?”
My heart drops at the sudden sound of my name from a deep, husky voice as Rowan pokes his head into the bathroom. I grab the shirt folded on the counter and hold it in front of my body in an effort to cover myself. “Yeah?”
“You okay?” Rowan asks. “You’ve been quiet in here for a while now. The pizza is almost here.”
“Yeah, sorry, I…I’ll be right out.”
When Rowan is gone, I finally pull on the shirt and shorts, leaving my hair in the clip.
Making my way to the kitchen, I spot Rowan opening a box of fresh pizza and sliding a steaming slice onto a plate, hissing as he does so.
Behind him, my sink, that was once filled with dishes from the past week, is now empty and my dishwasher is running.
He places a plate in front of me and we sit at the granite island together, eating mostly in silence—stealing quick glances at each other.
Rowan eats two slices before he washes his hands, and I’ve barely managed to finish my first and only slice.
I force myself to eat what I can until I get to the crust.
Dragging my lip back and forth between my teeth, I wash my hands too and Rowan immediately begins cleaning and even eats my uneaten crust. I wait it out, just to see if there is something I can do until finally I go to the couch and sit on the floor between it and the coffee table.
I lean back against the cushions and hug my legs to my chest, my chin on my knee.
Binx finds her way to me, slowly and obviously tired.
She curls up on my lap and her eyes close with a purr.
I pet her and begin to feel sleepy myself. Rowan is doing the dishes now and my eyes feel heavier than they usually do.
I should have known the sex wasn’t going to fix me, it never does—no matter how good Rowan makes me feel. No matter how much temporary pleasure it gives me, letting me dissociate from everything else. No matter how much relief and calmness he gives me.
“Popcorn?” Rowan asks, already opening the cabinet in my kitchen for a box of my favorite, extra butter popcorn. Before I can say yes, the plastic is ripped open and the bag is in the microwave.
“Yes,” I say anyway.
I try not to think about how much popcorn I used to eat in…
In the hospital.
I had a roommate who was obsessed with popcorn and every time her parents came to visit, they’d bring her a box of extra butter popcorn.
I was mostly silent the three weeks I had been there, but then she shared her popcorn with me and when I finally said “yes” out loud, she was so surprised it made me laugh.
“You’re always so quiet,” she gasped. “I didn’t think you would ever talk. ”
Stephanie laughed and, strangely, so did I.
The medication was still fresh in my system, not fully taking effect at that time, but it helped to have Stephanie.
Some days I wish I knew where she was now—if she was still alive and safe.
She’d been there after a suicide attempt.
And I’d been there for “suicidal ideation.”
For your safety, we can’t let you go home.
“Nat?”
I jump, startled. “Huh?”
“Are you okay?”
I nod rapidly. “Yeah—Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I…I was just thinking.” Binx hops off my lap and I stand from my criss-cros-apple-sauce position, hiding my hands behind my back. “I’m gonna change really quick.”
I scurry away into my bedroom, Binx following after me, and I’m hyperaware of the scars on my wrist as I pull off his T-shirt. I tuck it away under my pillow for later and grab an oversized long-sleeved tee from the University of Maine.
The long sleeves reach my fingers and I relax. Binx curls up in her tiny bed in the corner of my room and settles there for the rest of the night. So I pet her fur until her eyes are closed and kiss her head.
I finally join Rowan in the living room again, sitting in my previous position. Rowan sits across from me, setting the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.
“Thank you,” I murmur and grab a handful of popcorn.
Rowan smiles, his tiny chin dimple making an appearance, and I throw a piece of popcorn at him. He catches it in his mouth so I toss another in the air, smiling, and he catches that one too.
“Yes!”
I laugh and toss another, he catches that one too. “Now I’m gonna do three.”
“Do it.” He cracks his neck stupidly, game face activated. “I’m ready.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, ready?”
He nods and I toss three up at the same time. He manages to catch one on his tongue, the other bounces off his eyelid, and the last one falls on his lap. “Damn it.”
I laugh again and stuff my face with a few pieces. I give the bowl a shake and look up to find him smiling. My own smile drops slowly, then his does too, his expression darkening to something serious.
His tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip, his ocean eyes dropping to my lips.
“Rowan,” I breathe.
His eyes flick to mine again, the waves of blue pulling me under the powerful current.
“What’s going on, sweetheart?” Rowan asks softly.
“Nothing,” I lie. “I’m fine.”
“Natalia—”
“We don’t do this, right?” I croak and clear out my throat. “We just…have sex. And we’re friends sometimes.”
“Friends talk to each other when something is wrong.”
I shrug. “Good thing nothing is wrong then, huh?” I reach for the remote and flick through the comedy movie options. “Want to watch Grown Ups?” I ask quietly.
Rowan looks at me with sad blue eyes that tell me he’s desperate for me to speak up. He wants to heal something, heal me, but he’s defeated because he can’t. Because I won’t let him. Instead, he sighs and says, “Only if we watch the second one right after.”
“Deal,” I rasp.
Rowan unfolds the purple throw blanket from the arm of the couch and covers our legs as the movie begins. His arm goes to the top of the cushions, and he gives me the choice. I sink back into the cushions, angling my body so I sink slightly against him too.
I tug at my sleeves. “What did you think…when you got here…?”
Rowan’s brows fall, his lips with them into a frown. He shifts just enough to bring us a few inches closer. “I don’t know. I just…I get scared sometimes. After my mom….”
I wasn’t going to do what he thought I was going to. I wasn’t thinking about it—at least, not tonight.
“You saw…your mom,” I croak. He watched her die.
Rowan nods. “Yeah. I don’t…The sounds, the crying, the nurses and doctors shouting at each other—it was too much. The nurses told me to get out of the way and I couldn’t move. And the DNR… I can’t—I couldn’t…”
I put my hand on his. “You know,” I murmur, “I don’t feel like talking after all.”
His lips twitch from the frown they’re in, showing barely a sliver of amusement. “That’s okay,” he says. “We’ll sit in silence.”