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“You can look now.” I say through a shiver that’s just caught up to me from being in this cold room, naked for a brief moment. This nightgown fits me perfectly, comfortable and loose, but certainly not made for winter. It’s a thin cotton, flowing and delicate.
“I’ll start a fire.” Adrik has been staring at me as I fidget with my sleeves, and I realize my teeth have been chattering. Definitely doesn’t help the headache I have. The last thing I remember is trying to pry Adrik off that man at the pub.
Horror was surging through me. This man that I loathe was seemingly defending me, and that felt good, until it didn’t. Because I realized he wasn’t stopping and what was once an impulse to protect, turned into a murder. Did he murder that man?
I shake again as he steps back to me, his silhouette lit from the light behind the growing fire in the biggest fireplace I’ve ever seen. The light also shows towering trees collected in every corner, like a forest collided with the room. And now I really think I hit my head too hard because everything is making less sense and that can’t be real. I shake harder, teeth chattering this time. He must notice because as he steps closer, concern contorts his perfect features.
“Are you okay?”
“My head hurts.” I stiffen, pull back a bit as he reaches for me with bloodstained hands. He sees me looking, even though I try to hide it, and then something strange happens… He looks remorseful.
“Did you kill him?” My eyes grow wet without my consent, my voice coming out weaker than I wanted it to.
He shakes his head solemnly. “No. Was about to, though.”
My eyes grow hotter with this, and I can’t understand why I care what he does, but I guess I care about lives. And we never kill for reasons like a glance or a stupid comment that I couldn’t even understand. Brutality must be chosen wisely and applied rarely– that’s what Pops always taught us and he ran things the old way before Vince came along and was even more adamant about the value of all lives, despite their connection or lack-thereof to us.
I swipe a tear away with the back of my hand, hoping he doesn’t notice. “Are you sorry?”
“What? That I defended you?”
“No.” I blink. “That you took it too far.”
“I think that’s for me to decide.” He offers a weak grin and a flash of him throwing me towards the fireplace, tears through the memories swirling around in my throbbing head.
“Are you joking?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “He was scum. I was keeping you safe.”
“How? By almost killing the man? Or maybe you mean about the part where you threw me off you.” His eyes grow wide, and then that look of pain returns to him, creasing his face and shifting his glance.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Espie.” I know he’s serious now because he isn’t calling me Esperanza. The guilt in his eyes forces my anger to dissipate, and I hate that I feel sorry for him when he doesn’t deserve it. He takes a step closer, and I look at the burnt fragments of my once gorgeous dress, laying on the floor in a heap.
“My dress is ruined.” I don’t know why I say this, it’s stupid really, but my chest is tightening expectantly at the feel of him nearing me in the dark and I’m nervous. The lingering heat from his skin, still on my lips from moments ago. I should have just let him kiss me, get this longing over with and blame the act on my head injury.
He looks down at the dress when he’s a foot away from me. “I’ll go into town tomorrow and buy you every dress I can find.”
“I don’t need every dress from that town, I just want this one.”
“I’ll contact the designer to make you a new one.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what’s the problem, Esperanza?” I look up at him again, and now I wish I hadn’t because his eyes are so blue and so sharp that I’m in a trance. I don’t even barely notice that he called me Esperanza because he’s so insanely hot it’s not fair.
“My name is—“
“Espie. I know.” He nods with a grin, and I instinctively reach for it, tracing the divets in his high cheekbones down to his defined jawline. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t object.
“How hard did you hit your head?” He’s smug now, and I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“Stop.” I wave a hand in the air dismissively and break myself away, turning towards the bed with that pit in my stomach telling me to just touch him for real already. Maybe he’s right. I did in fact, hit my head pretty hard. The moment of impact is replaying on a sickening loop as I curl up under the covers.
“You need another blanket?” He asks when I’m still shivering in the freezing cold sheets. They’re silk, and in the summer that's a lovely choice, but everyone knows flannel is the way to go in the winter if you live in the mountains. I know that, and I haven’t left the heat of LA my entire life.
“I-I’m freezing.” I shake, trying to pull myself deeper into the sheets.
“I’ll go look for more blankets,” he turns from me, but I catch his hand. It’s so much bigger than mine that I am gripping mostly his fingers. He tilts his head to me and I stiffen, unsure of the words already forming on my lips before I can stop them.
