Chapter 4
She didn't say a word as she moved past them, her footsteps slow and dragging, carrying her to the grand staircase.
Her hand found the banister—the same one she had lovingly buffed with beeswax over the years.
She gripped it harder than she needed to, feeling the faint stickiness from the polish under her palm. She needed the support.
Her head was throbbing, but it felt far away, as though her body had decided to mute every physical discomfort except for the hollow ache in her chest. Later, she would understand that adrenaline did that—pushed pain to the corners until it had room to come rushing back in.
She climbed, each step heavier than the last, and turned towards the smaller guest bedroom at the far end of the hall. It was the one with the queen-sized bed and pale curtains; the one she'd always meant to redecorate but never had the time for.
Inside, she closed the door softly and leaned against it for a moment before locking it.
They had decided when David was small that every room needed a lock and privacy, especially with tiny curious ears and eyes roaming the house.
But David was all grown up now and no longer needed his mother, it seemed.
She was extra, surplus to needs, she thought as her mouth wobbled.
She then began stripping away the day, removing her slippers, then her trousers, and blouse.
She left her bra and panties on, her bare skin prickling with gooseflesh in the cooler air, and slid between the sheets.
She thought sleep wouldn't come. She thought the noise in her head—the chaotic reel of images, words, and meanings—would keep her rigid and restless.
Her mind looped over the same moments, dissecting them from every angle, each repetition cutting deeper than the sharpest blade.
Dark emotion filled every available space in her until there was no oxygen left.
That was what it felt like now—the memory of Amanda's hand over Ronin's, David's voice saying 'She's nice,' the taste of metal in her mouth as her body tried to keep up with her mind.
Her mind conjured up images of Ronin's darker familiar body entwined with Amanda's pale one.
Her shining hair on the pillow, his lips on hers.
His hand on her breast, his hips holding her down.
She didn't hear the knock at the door as she drifted off. Or maybe she pretended not to.
And yet, somehow, sleep came. Heavy, sudden, a retreat into darkness where she could postpone the pain digging its tentacles into her chest. She didn't fight it; she let it take her. A small mercy, an escape from reality.
When she woke, sunlight was streaming directly onto her face. She'd forgotten to close the curtains. Her pillow was still damp, though she didn't remember crying, and her hair was a tangled mess in yesterday's braid.
An urgent need to pee dragged her out of bed. Overcome with feeling dehydrated, she filled a glass at the sink and gulped it down, then another. The cold water she splashed on her face made her flinch. She grabbed the extra toothbrush she always kept for guests and brushed until her gums stung.
When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, her eyes were red-ringed and puffy.
She'd aged overnight, she thought. She could see fine lines around her mouth which she had never noticed before.
And then an inner voice whispered, in a flicker of cruel clarity, No wonder.
.. No wonder Ronin doesn't want you. She turned away before she could study her face further.
The clock in the mirror read 10:45 a.m. She'd overslept, but she didn't care.
In nothing but her bra and panties, she padded to the master bedroom. She stopped in the doorway and looked at the bed.
Did he bring her here?
Was she here when I was away on that football trip with David and his mates?
Did they make love here?
Did they laugh at me? At what a fat cow I am? What a fool I am?
She crossed to the closet, pulled out her oldest grey sweats and her favourite faded pink hoodie, and then stole back into the guest bedroom like a thief.
Then, she stepped into the shower. The migraine still hummed in the back of her skull like a Primadonna, but the hot water dulled it.
As long as she didn't think, as long as she was floating numb.
She didn't look at the bed on her way out, just kept moving, towel-drying her hair.
In the mirror, she caught a side view of herself—pale skin, soft love handles, a belly that refused to flatten, breasts slowly surrendering to gravity.
She looked away and quicky put her clothes on after carelessly dropping the towels on the floor.
Force of habit almost made her pick them up and put them in the basket.
Almost. She sat at the vanity and picked up her brush before thinking, why bother?
The pen and paper on the table beckoned like a lodestone and almost like she was hypnotised, she began to write.
An hour later, she made her way downstairs. She had to eat something, something that wouldn't come back up. And water. Definitely more water. She put the kettle on, the familiar sound a small comfort.
The kitchen had always been her favourite room.
But now another thought intruded: Did they have sex on the island?
She'd once wanted to, like in the novels, but Ronin never seemed interested, afraid David would catch them.
She tried to remember the last time he'd hugged her without it being a prelude to sex, and couldn't. Suddenly, tears filled her eyes. She wanted a hug.
When the kettle clicked off and the toaster dinged, she poured her tea and settled on the island to nibble her toast. But the invasive thought returned, and she eyed the smaller table in the corner.
Maybe I should sit there instead. The island might have.
.. She stopped herself, imagining the weight of two bodies, and stood to move.
She was halfway through her toast when Ronin walked in. His dark hair was wet and messy, his pale green sweater bringing out the depth of his green eyes. He looked so handsome.
And just like that, her appetite had vanished. Everything she'd stuffed into that box called denial tipped out in a single rush, spilling into every corner of her mind.