Chapter 52
When my eyes peel open the following morning, the first thing I see is Rook, his hair tousled, his face soft.
He lies on his back with one arm under me and a hand on his chest. My duvet hugs his hips, giving me an unobstructed view of his upper body, and I do my best not to linger. It works a little bit.
If anyone knew we’d slept in the same bed, they’d no doubt say the most awful things, but I’m having trouble caring.
I also slept better than I have in months.
Sunlight filters into the room, suggesting it’s a rare sunny day and that we must’ve slept late.
It’s warm and cozy, and I really don’t want to move, but my bladder has other ideas.
Carefully, I extricate myself from Rook’s hold, trying not to wake him.
When I come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees.
He looks up, his gaze lingering over me in my sleep shorts and top.
My cheeks heat at his perusal, but I have no desire to cover myself up.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice raw and husky. “How did you sleep?”
“Really well,” I say, and he smiles before he stands. He approaches, and I wonder if he’ll kiss me. Skies, his lips are all I’ll ever be able to think about again.
“Done in there?” he asks, pointing behind me.
“Yeah, of course,” I say, moving out of the way.
“How’s your arm feeling?” he asks as he brushes past, and I look down at the wrappings on my wrist. I circle it carefully.
“Better, I think.”
He nods and then closes the door, leaving me on the other side. The water turns on, and I realize I’m loitering outside the bathroom like a weirdo. So I retrieve my phone, almost dropping it when I see a notification from my mother. My hands shake as I click over to my messages.
mom: Poet, please tell me these rumors about you and that . . . person aren’t true.
mom: I didn’t think your father could be any angrier.
mom: But it’s like you’re trying to destroy him.
mom: You will cease all contact with this Solitude, or there will be consequences.
mom: You KNOW what that monster did to your aunt.
mom: What would Raine say?
And that’s it.
Nothing about what’s happened. Nothing about the fact that someone threw me down a flight of stairs. Nothing asking after my well-being at all. Just this.
A scolding. An order.
From someone who abandoned me weeks ago.
I squeeze the device in my hand, anger swirling in my chest. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m calling her.
It rings, and I will her face to appear on the screen.
Of course, she doesn’t answer. This wasn’t an offer of communication. This was damage control. Another attempt to dominate every aspect of my life, even knowing they’ve washed their hands of me. How dare she use Raine to guilt me into ceasing contact with Rook?
“Everything okay?” Rook asks, pulling me out of a spiral. My phone is still ringing, the tinny sound filling the quiet room. I hit disconnect and shake my head.
“Just my mom,” I say. “She finally contacted me.”
“Yeah?” he asks, something hopeful lifting in his voice. He doesn’t like my parents and thinks they’re terrible people, but he understands why my relationship with them is important.
“Not to reconcile,” I say, withholding the true contents of the message because I refuse to hurt Rook’s feelings any further. “Just reminding me how disappointed they are.”
His shoulders drop. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I don’t know why I keep expecting something different.”
Then I turn around and pretend to busy myself with my tablet because I can’t bear to find any sort of pity in his eyes. A drawer opens and closes, and a soft rustle signals him dressing.
“Poet?” he asks, somewhat tentatively.
“Yes,” I say, turning around.
“I’ve been thinking about last night. Remember in the tunnel, I thought I saw someone?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m just worried . . . What if someone was following us? They could find out where we’re going . . .”
“Right,” I say. “That would be bad. Do you really think you saw someone?”
“I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but I think we need to be careful. With what happened to Lacey . . .”
“It was terrifying,” I agree.
“To that end, we should probably avoid being seen together,” he says.
His tone is neutral, and his expression gives nothing away.
Is this really a precaution, or is he trying to distance himself?
We shared something in the heat of the moment last night, but here in the cold light of day, he is still a Solitude, and I’m still Society. We don’t fit. We don’t belong together.
“You think so?” I ask.
“I think we draw a lot of attention, especially when we’re together.”
“Yeah,” I say, realizing that I might be drawing the eyes of the Extinguishers straight to him. “It’s safer for you.”
“Right.” He nods. “For you, too, Poet.”
I don’t want to agree with him. But my mother’s texts sit in my thoughts, reminding me this is probably for the best.
“Right,” I echo. “Of course.”
He stands from the bed, and I realize he’s wearing a T-shirt and shorts.
“Where are you going?”
“To the gym.”
“But we have the day off.”
He sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, ruffling it to annoying perfection. “Yeah, I need to work off some . . . energy.”
“Oh, right. Well, I’ll see you later?” I can’t keep the hopeful tone out of my voice. If we’re distancing from each other, I should probably find somewhere else to sleep.
But I don’t know where, and more importantly, I don’t really want to.
His expression doesn’t convey pity, but it definitely closes down any invitation to further communication. Okay, hint taken. I’m a danger to him and myself if we keep drawing attention to ourselves.
“Have a good workout,” I say, and he nods before he leaves the room, closing the door behind him. I stare at it for a minute, mourning the brief bit of happiness I experienced last night.
I thought I’d made a new friend, but he, too, has walked away, leaving me on my own.