Page 31 of Fractured Heart

“Good night,” he grunts. Then, he spins around and storms away.

“Good night,” I whisper after him, my lips still tingling from our kiss.

I stay rooted in the middle of the living room long after he disappears into his room, thinking about what just happened. I know why Charles stopped. It was my fault, my lack of experience.

If I’d known what I was doing, I’d still be kissing him now.

Chapter 16

I stand next to the kitchen island and stare out at the empty living room. How is it that I am out here all alone while Tate and Charles are probably both already asleep? I bet if I wasn’t so inexperienced, the two of them wouldn’t have forgotten about me so easily. Or maybe then I’d be able to let everything that happened between us go as easily as they both clearly have.

I sigh. The apartment is quiet—too quiet. I feel abandoned, even though I have no reason to. I’m lucky to even have a place to stay. Still, when I start to hum, it’s a sad tune about a lonely princess.

I keep my voice down as I make my way to the couch and run my fingers along its back, feeling the soft, expensive leather. I spread out the blankets Tate left for me, fluff the pillow, and switch on the lamp on the end table. Even though it’s late on what feels like the longest day of my life, I’m not the least bit tired.

I ignore the makeshift bed and switch off the overhead lights. The living room is engulfed in partial darkness. It takes on an ethereal, magical quality. The tune I’m humming turns whimsical and I imagine that I’m a princess in a fairy tale.

I feel like I’ve been dropped smack dab in the middle of a billionaire’s mansion—two billionaires: Tate and Charles.

Scratch that, three.

Tate did say they have another roommate, JJ. I wonder what sort of guy would share this space with the Beast and Prince Charming and why he’s not around tonight. Maybe he went home for the weekend?

With a shrug, I walk a sweeping circle around the living room. I just reach the window when a door opens down the hall. I spin around. My heart races in anticipation as bare feet pad across the hardwood floor. It could be Tate, coming back for another soft kiss, or Charles, planning to resume what we started.

Suddenly, the padding stops. Another door opens down the hall, followed by the thrum of running water. Someone’s taking a shower. I picture Charles lathering his huge, naked chest, but by the time the soapy water runs down his hard abs, the image has changed to Tate. Why do I keep doing that?

I try to think of something else…like how wonderful it would be to actually live here. I don’t just mean in this palace of an apartment, but at this college. What I wouldn’t give to actually go here, but I know it would never happen, not in a million years. I submitted all of my best songs with my application, and I still got rejected. Not just by LUV Academy, but by every college I applied to. There is no way I’ll ever be a student here, or anywhere.

The best I can hope for is to stay on the couch until I find a job, but it’s only a matter of time before I screw that up.

I already kissed Tate in front of Charles and Charles in front of Tate. And I flooded their apartment. They may not hold that last part against me, but what happens next time I get distracted? I might set the place on fire or break something expensive, like a crystal lamp or Tate’s guitar. Even if I somehow manage not to, how can I stay here when my body longs for two different guys?

I guess I can always worry about that tomorrow. I should make the most of my time here now, in this real-life fairy tale.

I feel the soft curtains between my fingertips. They suit Tate, but I bet Charles would have picked something darker—more Gothic. I imagine his bed has black silk sheets to match his clothes, while Prince Charming’s sheets are lighter…happier.

Thinking of their sheets—and their beds—sends warmth flooding through me.

I need to open a window. It’ll help me cool down and air out the lingering scents of vanilla. I check each of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, but it’s just my luck that none of them actually open.

My only option seems to be the balcony door. I grip the slim, golden handle and tug. It doesn’t budge. All I succeed in doing is straining my bruised muscles. Pain flares up in my ribs and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.

Even in this beautiful fairy tale shared with two hot princes, I can’t escape the reminder of my old life. Carefully, I roll up the bottom of my sweater and inspect the bruises. They’re darker now. Ugly purple-blue splotches mar my skin, and I suddenly wonder if I might actually be the beast and not Charles.

I think back to our first meeting. He was the one reading a book while I was covered from head to toe in mud. I had twigs in my hair and holes in my clothes. Of the two of us, I was the monster. Charles can shave off his beard in minutes if he wanted to. Not that he should. The wild look he has going on is more hot than scary. While the dark bruises covering my skin will never be attractive.

A hopeful smile crosses my face. If I’m the beast, then it’s only fair that I should turn into a beautiful prince—or in my case, princess.

I’ve already taken a shower and Charles replaced my torn clothes with new, expensive ones. Soon, my hideous bruises will fade, and I’ll have beautiful, clear skin. There won’t be any new bruises, either, not as long as I stay away from Father. He’ll never lay a hand on me again. He’ll never strike me or shove me or kick me. He’ll never shout at me in a drunken rage. I won’t be that Roonie, ever again, not as long as I don’t go back.

Even though I’ve only been away from home for a few hours, I suddenly feel different. Stronger. More powerful. Like I can choose my own fate and my own future. It’s an inspiring thought, one that I’ve never had before.

I’ve always accepted my life with Father and saved all the fairy tales for songs and daydreams. Yet here I am, living in one. Even if it won’t last, it doesn’t mean I have to go back home. Maybe, I can make this my fresh start. Find a job. Make a new life for myself.

Feeling empowered, I start to reach for the balcony door when a loud knock echoes through the apartment. My heart nearly jumps out of my throat. Who could possibly be here at this time of night? My thoughts race, but there’s one at the forefront: a very drunk, very angry, Father.

There’s no way he could have tracked me down, or even wasted the energy trying, but what if he did?