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CHAPTER FOUR
Ifall asleep sometime after I stop crying. When I wake, I’m so disorientated by my surroundings that panic seizes me for a moment. Until I remember that I’m in Milton’s house—my new bedroom.
Will that ever change? Jolting awake and expecting the worst? My body prepared for something terrible to happen.
My anxiety doesn’t leave as I swipe the sweat off my hairline. A blanket, which I don’t recall being over me before, is tangled around my body and the only thing aiding my nakedness. Did I do that? Or had Milton come back to cover me?
Milton.
With a gasp, I fling myself out of bed. Running to the door, I throw it open with the blanket wrapped around me. It’s daytime—morning—which means I slept into the next day, and Milton’s probably already left like he said he would.
I’ve no real idea where I’m going but follow the sound of a television coming from downstairs. Finding the stairs, which aren’t far from my room, I rush down them. What if the staff is already here waiting to greet me?
I’m not ready for him to be gone—
Coming to an abrupt halt, Milton’s large frame dominates the lounge. He glares at the flat screen mounted on the wall with folded arms. The muscles in his shoulders are taut as a weather forecaster braves the elements to report a vicious rainstorm passing through. It’s already caused multiple floods from overnight downpours.
Glancing out of the window, it’s just as bad here as it is on the screen, the rain beating down hard. The wind howls and swishes the trees crazily back and forth.
“The bridge nearby is flooded,” Milton says without turning to me. I shudder into the blanket. He’s dressed in his biker gear, helmet in hand, looking like he was about to head out. To leave me. “No one can get here.”
Which means he can’t leave.
I let out a shaky breath, which he hears. Facing me, his eyes are as stormy as outside, and he’s clearly pissed by the turn of events in his plan. “This doesn’t change anything. Once the roads are open again and the staff arrives, I’m gone. Do you hear me?”
My mood, which isn’t great anyway, darkens even more. Until all that crackles in the air between us is anger. Turning on my heel, I run back upstairs, slamming my bedroom door like the almost nineteen-year-old that I am.
Fuckthese feelings I have for him. Fuck me for wanting him when he wants to do the same as Blake. Imprison me. Keep me locked away. After being an insensitive asshole, I want him like he’s air to breathe.
I need fuckinghelp.
And then I laugh. Because I was put in Stonehill for precisely that, and I know it can only mean that I’m truly insane.
Only when I properly take in my surroundings does my anger deflate some. I hadn’t been able to take anything in last night. My bedroom is large, recently decorated, judging from the hint of fresh paint in the air. With gleaming wooden floors and pearly white walls, a massive luxurious bed dominates the middle with a chrome headboard and soft white linen. But I’m most drawn to the window seat with bookcases on either side. They’re filled with so many books that I’m choking up again.
The old me has no business being here, but here she is, pulling forth emotions that have my heartstrings knotting.
Going over to the seat, my hand grazes the soft, fluffy pillows as I take in every one of my favorite classics on the shelves. Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte, and many more stare back at me. Even ones I haven’t read. They beckon me to take one and get lost in tales of sad, lonely heroines and torturous heroes just like I used to.
After revealing my favorite thing in the world was reading when he asked, Milton occasionally snuck me books to read. They saved me. They were my only escape and a distraction. Now, they’re here probably for the same purpose.
Swallowing the ball in my throat, I peer out of the window. The view is incredible. Even stormy and misty, the country landscape has me imagining sitting right here waiting for Milton to return. Only for him not to.
With a shake of my head, I spy another door across the room. Going inside, my lips part at the walk-in closet and adjoining bathroom, filled with every assortment of clothing, bags, and shoes a girl could dream of owning. I’m speechless. Overwhelmed. My knees shake—all from this. Because it means Milton did this. Or, at least, he’d ordered someone to. But I know better. I know they’re merely comforts to placate me. To keep me quiet while he walks out of my life as if he thinks I’m as materialistic as my mother.
I take out an off-the-shoulder lounge set and underwear at random, deciding to try out the shower since I barely got to wash last night. The multiple jet streams make it easy to shower with my bandaged arm. After scrubbing my hair and body, I eventually tug myself from heaven.
Wrapping myself in a soft, fluffy towel, I go through the drawers next to the granite sink with curiosity, in more shock at what’s inside each of them. Expensive makeup, jewelry, and perfume. So many pretty things and nowhere to go. Whoever the person was who shopped for me went overboard for someone to be isolated indoors.
Locating a brush and hairdryer, my curls spring back to life after drying and running serum through the strands. Rubbing moisturizer into my face and applying a tiny bit of blusher to appear less pale, I’m surprised by the transformation after I get dressed. And it makes me want to laugh all over again.
God, I hate myself.
A thump on the door makes me jump. “I’ve cooked breakfast. Come downstairs.”
Milton doesn’t wait for a reply before stomping off, his bad mood obviously still present. Sighing, I know I should see to my grumbling stomach since I’ve not eaten in a while.
Slipping on a pair of new sneakers in my size, I head downstairs, eventually finding the kitchen at the back of the house. Sitting at the large island belonging to a massive kitchen with black matte cupboards and stone countertops, Milton’s eating eggs and bacon with a side serving of toast. Opposite, purposefully away from him, is the same for me, with an extra bowl of mixed fruit, a glass of apple juice, and a cup of tea.
