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The room is painted a beige color. The bedding, curtains, and trimming—rich people call it trimming, right?—and furniture are all as it was when I moved in: mauves and grays, pretty and understated. I picture it as a hotel room rather than a bedroom.
My bedroom.
My mother would laugh at the frivolity of it all. The ridiculousness of having ten pillows for my bed when I only need a max of two. The insanity that someone comes in to clean my suite almost every day unless I keep them from entering. The preposterousness that someone will deliver food at every meal time without me even having to say a word. For example, someone knocks on the door right now—five o’clock on the dot.
The staff are always on time, and I’m grateful for the food they bring me, but it doesn’t change things. The only thing I want off that food tray is the bottle of wine they usually bring with dinner.
I roll off the edge of the bed, my legs protesting after lying in the same position for hours, and open the door. One of the kitchen staff sweeps in. I think it’s Heidi, but I'm trying not to get attached to any of them. I’m not staying.
This entire experience has taught me a valuable lesson—never get comfortable with things because you never know when someone will get tired of playing with you and toss you to the wolves. It’s only a matter of time till Sebastian does it. He says he won't, but in this new world, without her, I don't trust anyone or anything.
The woman, who can't be much older than me, wears black slacks and a button-down shirt. I barely blink at her as she leaves the tray on the end of the bed where I prefer it and scampers back out the door without a word.
Something hot scratches inside my chest—guilt maybe for not being nicer, kinder, or not at least saying thank you. My momma raised me better than that, but Drew and the loss of my mother killed off any remaining shred of kindness that I had left. Most days I’m numb to my surroundings, to my thoughts. Sometimes I allow myself to feel things, but it’s never good when I do.
“Thank you,” I whisper to the empty room.
I swipe the wine bottle off the tray, retreat to my spot nestled in the pillows, and bring the bottle to my lips.
I tip it back and take a long swallow of the bubbly wine.
Sometimes it helps, but most of the time, it doesn't. But what else can I do? There’s nothing worth holding on to anymore. Reality is far worse than my dreams. My phone pings, and I snatch it off the covers and stare down at the screen with a frown.
It’s Drew. Again.
I know I should block him. He deserves it. But honestly, I haven't had the heart to do it. I’ve barely responded to his texts, and the few times I have, it’s been with a snarky response that’s nothing more than to tell him to fuck off and leave me alone. There was also that time I'd told him I'd send Sebastian after him. He responded almost instantly with an eye roll emoji. I won’t lie, that made me smile. It didn’t take long for the smile to fade away when I remembered the pain he put me through.
He was very clear he wanted nothing to do with me that night. I reach back and prod at the still sensitive skin on my head. The stitches haven't even come out yet, and he thinks he can text me, and I'll come running to him?
Fuck him. White-hot anger replaces the empty numbness inside me, and I open my phone to reply. To tell him to fuck off in every way that I'm able. My fingers move over the keys as I type out a long response, telling him how I really feel. My heart thunders, beating against my rib cage like it’s trying to break free of my body.
I hover over the send button, but then a knock sounds against the door. Before I can open my mouth to respond, Sebastian enters.
Excuse you, sir.
I slap my phone flat on the bed so he won't see the screen and glare at him. "Typically, people wait for permission to enter a room if they knock before entering.”
He doesn't respond but sits on the end of the bed near my food, his gaze on the tray. "I'm going to tell the staff to stop sending wine up with your dinner if all you do is drink it and leave the food behind.”
I sink back into the pillows and cup the bottle of wine close again. "What do you want from me? I’m not hungry."
He grabs a piece of the chicken on the plate and pops it into his mouth, dragging his attention back to me. "I doubt I have to tell you this, but you’re a fucking mess. You've lost ten pounds this month, ten pounds I don't think you had to lose to begin with. I’m not sure when you last showered, and your hair could use a brushing."
I bring the wine bottle to my lips and tip it back. Taking a long swallow, I keep my gaze on his. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. "My weight, or lack thereof, is none of your business. Nor is my personal hygiene, or lack thereof. I think you could use some manners if we’re pointing out one another’s flaws."
His eyes sweep over me again as he picks at the food on my tray. Does he not have any food of his own? It’s absurd to be annoyed with him for eating food that I didn’t plan to eat anyway, but it’s still annoying how he sits here all casually, eating and acting like everything is good. He tilts his head at my phone, his eyes blazing. "Are you talking to him again?"
This entire situation is awkward. His desire to ask questions, to get to know me, to build a relationship. I don’t know why he’s even trying. We both know he doesn't really give a shit about me. He’s not doing this because he cares. Men like him don’t do anything for free, and they certainly don’t do anything because they care. He can deny it all he wants, but in my eyes, he will always have some hidden agenda.
I wave my phone, the screen thankfully dark. "Also none of your business."
His gaze sharpens, and I resist the urge to flinch. Show them your fear and they’ve already won. "Hate to burst your bubble, sis, but anything concerning you is my business. I’m not about to try to control you or tell you what to do. Just remember he doesn't give a shit about you. All he cared about was conquering you. Now that you’re unattainable, he’s angry and throwing a fit like a toddler."
"First of all, don’t call me sis ever again. Second of all, I don't want to talk about him. I’m aware that I meant nothing to him. I have a scar that I can see every time I look in the mirror as a damn reminder, so don’t lecture me with that bullshit.”
He smirks and pops a piece of broccoli into his mouth. "Good. I’m glad you haven’t forgotten. But be warned, if he shows up here, I'll kill him. So if you don't want to see his blood on the marble, don't invite him over."
I move to take another swig of the wine, and he swipes the bottle from my hands and brings it to his lips, taking a long chunk. My thoughts hover on his warning. Would he really kill his best friend to protect me?
