Chapter 49
My dreams are plagued with a string of nightmares.
I see my parents with empty black eyes, looming over me.
Brick and Silla with claws and sharp teeth, lumbering on stiff legs as flesh rots off their faces.
I fall, tumbling through nothing until I land on hard stone, my body shattering into pieces.
Trinity turns away to reveal another face on the back of her head.
Lacey screams.
Domino is bent and broken.
Teddy ripped to shreds.
The static sounds of fabric tearing and the heavy thump of cotton.
I bolt awake, covered in cold sweat, wincing at the throb in my wrist.
It’s early, with only dusky morning light filtering through the small windows. The sky is quieter down here, less insistent on being noticed. Likely another reason Rook chose this spot.
It takes me a moment to realize the shower is running, and his bed is empty. I stare at the bathroom door, totally not imagining what he looks like with water running over the dips and grooves of his chest and abs. I don’t give a second thought to the thin wall separating us.
I catch myself, mortified at my behavior, and settle back, picking up my phone for a distraction. Every morning, I reach for it with the tiniest flicker of hope that my mother has decided to break our stalemate, and every morning, I find myself disappointed.
There’s still nothing from Trinity, so I swallow my frustration and fire off a message, asking if she wants to meet up later.
Then I type a note to my mother, telling her about my injury. My finger hovers over the send button, and I’m worried I won’t be able to handle the disappointment if she doesn’t respond.
Could she truly be so indifferent to everything I’m going through?
Does she care that I’m no longer safe in these walls?
Then I wonder if she’s even getting these at all. It would be just like my father to confiscate her device. He’s done it to control her before. I’m not sure if knowing that makes me more or less depressed.
There’s another message from Silver and Hazel’s group chat. Far more direct this time.
silver: everyone knows you kissed him and everyone is talking about it
It feels vaguely threatening rather than her usual playful tone, and I’m not sure what to make of it. What’s her point? I’ve broken every other rule, so what’s another?
I’m not embarrassed that I kissed him.
I liked it.
I kind of want to do it again.
Not kind of.
But I also don’t want everyone knowing about it and gossiping.
It was a private moment.
The shower stops, and my breath hitches as the door opens to a cloud of steam.
And Rook.
Wearing nothing but a towel slung over his hips.
Skies, he’s magnificent.
I can’t help but stare at his wet chest, the planes of his stomach, and a trail of dark hair that disappears under the towel.
My imagination is good, but reality is even better.
He uses another towel to rough up his wet hair, his forearm and biceps flexing, sending liquid heat dripping from my navel.
I touch my bottom lip, thinking of our kiss.
His gaze jumps to mine, and there’s no use pretending I wasn’t staring.
“Sorry,” I say, looking down. Eventually, I glance back up to find him watching me, the barest curve teasing the corner of his mouth.
“Nothing to be sorry for.”
That answer makes me smile in spite of everything, and I hold up my phone.
“Everyone knows,” I say. “About . . . the kiss.”
We haven’t given it voice, and it almost feels forbidden to say out loud.
He approaches, and I catch a whiff of his clean scent as he leans down to peer at my screen—a droplet slides off the tip of his hair and lands on my hand. I don’t wipe it away. I’m officially pathetic.
“That girl is something,” he says, straightening up and returning to his side of the room. As he turns around, I notice he has another tattoo on his lower back. Lines joined by tiny stars. I think they might be the constellations he told me about.
“Do you know her?”
“We’ve met,” he says dryly but doesn’t elaborate.
“I guess someone saw us that night.”
“Would Domino have said something?”
“No, she wouldn’t do that.” I chew my bottom lip. “You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”
“Why would I tell anyone?”
I frown. “Wait. Which syllable were you emphasizing?”
He blinks. “What?”
“Which syllable did you emphasize? The ‘why’ would suggest you wouldn’t tell, the ‘tell’ would suggest you want to keep it a secret, or the ‘anyone’ would suggest maybe you regret it.”
He offers me a bemused look. “I think you’re making my head hurt.”
I huff.
“That girl is your friend?” He gestures to my phone, talking about Silver.
“Yes. No. She was my friend . . .”
“I don’t think she’s your friend now,” he says. “I only met her because she was asking about you and me . . . and the kiss. And, well, nothing she said was very nice.”
Something deflates in my chest. I knew it, but hearing it confirmed hurts.
“Everyone’s been really hard on you about this whole switching Houses thing,” he says.
“I hadn’t noticed,” I reply with an eye roll, earning me a small laugh.
“Why does this matter so much? Trinity—the other one who switched? Why don’t they care about her?”
I press my lips together, and he arches a brow.
“You’ll hate this answer,” I say.
“You don’t know what I’ll hate.”
“Because I am . . . important.” I wince, shamed by the sound of it. “Or rather, my position was important. I was supposed to marry Knox to help secure my father’s position and keep our House stable. When I switched to Aria, I threatened all that . . .”
I trail off.
“I can’t believe they wanted you to marry that dickhead.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“You’re right,” he says. “I do hate that answer.”
But there’s no real heat in his words, only a hint of defeat.
“That’s a lot to put on you,” he adds.
He rakes a hand through his wet hair, while I note the bunching and flexing of his arms and chest as he moves, and it’s very distracting.
“I guess,” I say.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I bet you don’t deserve any of that.”
I scoff. “Don’t I?”
He tips his head with a sympathetic look. I glance at the towel still around his waist and throw off my blanket before I say something about that drop of water meandering down his chest.
“I’ll take a shower,” I say. “You can finish dressing.”
He nods as I dig through my closet and pull out a few things, clutching them to my chest.
“Are we going to talk about it?” I ask as he arches a brow.
“Talk about what?”
“You know what.”
Gripping the towel at his hip, he approaches until he’s standing right in front of me. His free hand slips under my hair and cups the back of my neck.
“What do you want to say about it?” he asks as he tips my face up.
“I . . . liked it,” I say in a rush, earning me a warm chuckle.
“Did you?”
I nod as my cheeks heat, wondering what possessed me to say that.
“I liked it, too,” he says, easing the tangled emotions in my chest. “And for whatever it’s worth, I don’t regret it.”
“Oh,” I answer as warmth melts through my limbs. “Okay.”
He smiles slowly. “I think a storm is coming. Should we go out tonight?”
“Yes,” I say. “I need it.”
“Same.” He leans in closer, his soft breath dusting my lips. I want to kiss him again. I think he might be considering it, too.
“Go get yourself ready,” he says a moment later. “Or you’ll be late for class.”
He straightens up, but the look in his eyes tells me this isn’t a dismissal but rather a . . . let’s wait and see.
Almost reluctantly, his hand slips away, and I disappear into the bathroom with my heart beating hard and my limbs trembling, remembering every moment of his touch.
When I emerge twenty minutes later, Rook is gone. I cross over to my bed and spend a moment straightening up. Teddy lies tangled in the sheets, and as I reach for him, I notice a piece of paper tucked under his arm.
I’m so surprised that I stare at it before I slide it out. Rook left me a note. It’s clear he ripped a corner from one of his books, and I’m so shocked I’m having trouble comprehending it. He tore a page just to leave me a message?
Had to see Brooklyn about my training plan, but I’ll meet you at the tunnel exit after class. The room code is 3452. — R
His writing flows elegantly across the scrap in whirls and loops with a practiced hand.
Most of us have little use for handwriting. We use our screens for everything, and while we’re offered some lessons with a stylus when we’re young, signing anything beyond our names isn’t much of a priority.
But I cherish these words and how he delivered them, even if they don’t say much. Maybe they do. Maybe they’re revealing something between the lines. I fold it back up and slide the paper under my phone case to keep it close.
It feels silly, but also kind of right.
After I’ve made my bed, I consider hiding Teddy in a drawer but decide maybe it isn’t necessary.
Rook has now played witness to more of my secrets than anyone at Amery besides Trinity.
Instead, I tuck my bear against the pillow where he can sit and wait for me to return.
I stare about the quiet room, hovering on the verge of content.
It says something that after almost five months at Amery, the only place I’ve felt I could be myself is with the one person I wasn’t ever supposed to trust.
With a deep breath, I head out to my first class, unsure whether I’m more anxious about seeing everyone again . . . or meeting up with Rook tonight.