Moira

43.

Her attitude worried me, though for now, I'd wait to see how it played out.

"That doesn't mean he won't come here himself. I assume you've told him where here is—?" For the first time, his eyes landed on me, an inquisitive brow raised as he waited for my answer.

My head diverted in shame, brows twitching at the memory. Rightfully so, he took my reaction as a yes. And while words continued to leave his mouth, and sounds definitely lingered in the air, I was too caught up in my own mind to understand any of it.

I was drowning in guilt; felt like I was being crushed by the weight of my actions and their consequences, wondered whether anything that happened from here on out would be my fault.

After all, I was the one who told him everything. I was the one who couldn't stop herself from running her mouth to make Monroe proud. The thought made my forehead twitch, my brows furrowing at the pressure accumulating in my head.

"Amidelle?" Esmond's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, eyes darting up to meet his in an instance as they widened.

All on its own, my body stood up, gaze flickering through the room a little clueless as to what I wanted to do; all I knew is that I didn't want to be around any of them, knowing that I was the reason they were still in this predicament after everything they've been through for me.

"I'm sorry—" The words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them, head shaking vigorously afterwards. "I mean— I think I just need a... shower." I thought about the words, content with the way they sounded. "A shower, yeah—" I repeated once more.

Without waiting for any of their reactions, I turned to leave. It was only when I was almost through the archway connecting the room to the corridor that my gaze fell over my shoulder.

I halted in my steps. "If anyone could just wake my mother while I'm gone, that would be wonderful," I said before turning the corner and disappearing out of their field of vision.

I hoped for the warmth of the water to comfort me, somehow. I hoped it might take away the tension in my muscles and head and wash my guilt down the drain right with it.

It did none of those things.

Instead, it gave me time to think— overthink, and drown in self-pity and more guilt. My mind racing and my head thudding painfully so; almost worse than before.

With an exasperated sigh, I gave up on trying to find comfort in here, stepping out of the shower and wrapping the towel I had prepared beforehand around my body.

I realised I hadn't looked in the mirror for too long when I didn't recognise the person staring right back at me; Wet hair against dull skin, dark under eyes and eyes itself red from the constant bright lights down there.

My hand ran over my face, rubbing my eyes as my head fell back to look at the ceiling. Another sigh rattled through my chest, and I was out of the door just moments after, my clothes stuffed under my arms.

There was no way I could put a shirt and pants as uncomfortable as those back on.

It took less than a second before I ran into a solid body, my eyes previously on the floor snapping up to meet dark brown ones. Esmond's brows slightly furrowed, his lips twitched briefly, trying to suppress a smile that he let go of just seconds later.

"Sorry," I muttered, wanting to look away — wanting to divert my eyes from his intense gaze — but not being able to. I looked up at him as his eyes fell down my body once.

"Do you have anything to wear?" His tone was a mixture of mockery and sincerity— making it hard to truly grasp which one of the two he was opting for.

"I think the answer to that one is obvious."

With a singular, amused huff, his hand wandered to my back, gently applying pressure to nudge me down the corridor and into his room.

He disappeared behind the wall his closet was located at and reappeared mere moments later with a shirt and sweatpants in his hand. "These will do," He had said before hushing me behind the same wall to get dressed.

There wasn't much room for arguing either way, and the prospect of a fresh set of clothes was promising.

"Can I ask you something?" The towel sprawled across the floor, my underwear on and the sage green shirt of his already covering half of my body, my head snapped in his direction.

I couldn't see him, of course, but I shot back a "sure," right as I stepped into the left leg of the sweatpants. Whatever I wanted to say to him could wait— if I could, I'd probably never say it. So, a little more time seemed nice.

"What happened?" He wondered, his words lingering in the air before following up with a, "In there, I mean— Did they—" He cut himself off as I walked out of the closet, hands still fidgeting with the sweatpants as I tightened them around my waist.

I simply sighed at his question, sitting down on the small podium his bed was stood on top of, my bare feet resting on the single step as I held my head in my hands, elbows propped up on my thighs.

"I wasn't hurt," I shrugged at first, trying to remember what had happened while I was in there. Now that I wasn't anymore, it all just felt like one big blur— a very vivid dream, if you will.

I swallowed thickly. "But they— he asked—"

"Monroe?"

I nodded. "He asked about—" My eyes snapped up to meet his before the words left my mouth. "He asked about your father– where he is?"

Esmond's brows knitted together tightly, lips parting in disbelief as he shook his head to himself. "What?" was the only word that left his mouth, perplexed and confused as his breathing picked up. "What?" He repeated to himself, his gaze lowering and head turning in the opposite direction as he thought.

"I don't know what it means, I—I just thought you should know."

"Okay."

Okay? Was that all he had to say?

When he followed his words up with a stern, "Who did you tell about that?" he assured me that it wasn't the only thing he would say, though I wasn't sure if 'Who did you tell' was the kind of reaction I expected, either.

"No one." The words tumbled out of my mouth a little too fast, and I had to retract them as soon as they did. "Well—" His head snapped in my direction at the hesitation in my voice, a look of disbelief in his eyes as he went to protest.

I cut him off. "I didn't explicitly tell anyone— I mentioned it, is all," I quickly corrected his suspicion. Though, the words didn't seem to please him any more. "Just to one person, you and I both will probably never see her again, so it's not a problem."

His facial features relaxed, and relieved, he took a deep breath. Leaning back to prop his elbows up on the floor behind him, he wondered, "Who was she?"

"Her name is Rose."

"Rose?" His brows knitted together tightly as he let the name roll off his tongue, thinking for a moment.

"Yeah."

He nodded absentmindedly, thoughts probably racing at the newfound information. I didn't blame him, of course. Until now, he was under the impression his father was dead— that they had killed him.

It was a long silence spent just sitting by the edge of his bed, my head still resting in my hands while he still propped his upper body onto his elbows, gaze directed at the ceiling.