A fractured fairytale

58

༻ Rose's POV ༺

"I think we need to talk now."

I cringed at the words and pinched my eyes closed. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about last night. I needed more time. More time to come to terms with what had happened. More time to come up with a plausible story. More time to convince Matt and both his parents that I was perfectly fine and they didn't need to worry about me despite the fact I'd shown up bloody and bruised in the middle of the night.

I tilted my head to see Matt standing at the end of the bed, looming over me like some sort of protector. It caused a twinge in my chest. I could feel my eyes gloss over and had to swallow the lump in the back of my throat before responding. "I don't feel like talking," I told him honestly.

I'd exerted all my energy showering and now I had some food in my stomach, I wanted nothing more than to crawl back into Matt's bed and sleep for a few more hours. Especially after he'd dried my hair. It had felt so nice, the warm air mixed with the soft touch of his fingers raking along my scalp. I'd never blow-dried my hair before and certainly hadn't had someone do it for me. I wanted him to do it for me after every shower now.

A frown curled on his lips. "Rose," he said, tone heavy with exhaustion. His eyes had bags forming beneath them and, as if he could read my thoughts, he reached up to rub them. He hadn't slept. Guilt churned in my stomach. I'd woken him in the middle of the night, disturbed him and his family from a peaceful night, and caused them to worry unnecessarily. "We have to talk about this sooner or later."

Butterflies erupted in my stomach. I needed more time. "I choose later," I told him. "I'm tired, will you take a nap with me?"

He didn't move, just narrowed his eyes in annoyance. I hated that he was annoyed. "Do you remember what happened?" he asked, edge to his voice.

I sighed, feeling my stomach churn. He wasn't letting this go. I propped myself up on my elbows, wincing at the burning sensation that erupted from my ribs whenever I moved. "Matt," I said, my tone pleading, "I promise I'm okay. You don't need to worry."

He folded his arms across his chest. "You were drunk."

I didn't answer him. I couldn't deny it, but I also wasn't about to admit it. All I did was swallow the lump in my throat and hold his gaze with my own wide, begging one. I didn't want to talk about this. "You don't drink," he stated.

"Matt."

"This is the third time you've been hurt!"        

His eyes widened when I retreated, but I couldn't help it. The anger in his voice may not necessarily have been directed at me, but it still scared me. "I know," I whispered, a tear sliding over my lower lashes. I wanted nothing more than for him to hold me, tell me I was safe, and then end this conversation.

"That's not a coincidence, Rose, so don't bother feeding me some bullshit about this being a random attack again! This is deliberate and I wanna know who the fuck has been hurting you."

I swallowed. I couldn't look at him. "Please stop yelling."

"The third time," he continued as if I hadn't spoken. He started to pace; his fists curled at his sides. "That I know about," he suddenly spat, turning back to me, "who knows what you've covered up with makeup. Is that why you wear it some days? To hide things?"

My tears fell faster now and every emotion seemed to gather at the base of my throat, clogging up the airway until every breath was more of a choke. "Stop it, please," I begged him, my voice so quiet I didn't think he'd hear it.

But then he softened.

He took a tentative step forward. "Baby," he said. He'd called me that last night, I remembered that clear as day. It made me giddy. "Someone hurt you," he told me, as though I'd forgotten. As though I could ever forget. "Talk to me." he dropped onto the bed at my feet and pulled them onto his lap. "Tell me who did this to you, okay? I'll make sure you're safe."