Chapter 8 | I run to You

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"Bloody hell..."

He felt it the moment he opened his eyes and his head ache.
He felt it, when he woke up in a bed that wasn't his.

|oh damn satan strikes again|

"I'm just gonna take a bath. My parents are never up until midday on weekends so don't worry if you're hungry, you can go pick whatever you want in the kitchen." He saw a - indeed beautiful - face right in front of his, whispering to him.

And she disappeared before he could even ask anything.

When he heard the shower start, he finally managed to get himself up.
He had noticed that... He wasn't wearing anything at all.

His clothes were spread around her bedroom.

He had slept with her.

He damn slept with Olivia Maguire.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He muttered, rubbing his rough palms on his forehead and climbing part of his messy hair.

After putting on his clothes - he really didn't want to find her parents - he walked out the room.

He soon noticed one of the doors ajar, too much sunlight in it to have someone sleeping in there.

Was Emma there?

He walked inside, quietly and carefully, too afraid to find her parents in there.

Luckily, no one was in the room.
It was a bedroom, a really plain bedroom.

Maybe a guest room.

It didn't have any kind of characteristic left, like every owner gives to their bedroom.
The walls were white, transparent curtains.

A couple-sized unmade bed with black-dotted white blankets. A desk, not many notebooks, everything too organized. No glasses with different colorful pens, no. No pencils to-be-sharpened. Just essentials.

Everything was too simple.

He moved to the nightstand noticing a belonging. The only thing that usually not every bedroom would have.
It was a necklace.
A familiar necklace.

He picked it up to see it from close.
A swan. Swan.
This bedroom had to be Emma's.

It was just so like her, so what she showed to be. A simple ordinary person.
But he knew she wasn't. He knew she always hid her true self. And he didn't want that.

She kept this walls of hers, too afraid of opening up, of being herself, because she was afraid people wouldn't like her.
She was afraid people would pick her weakness and toy with it, hurt her with it.

She was awake.

He walked downstairs to find her probably cooking something in the kitchen stone, her back facing him.

"Emma."

She jumped. She literally jumped. "What the fuck?! Killian?!"

"I- sorry- I didn't want to startle you, love."

"What the hell? Are you- You came home with her?"

"I- did."

"You slept with her?"

"I... Did. Emma-"

"Okay you know what? That's great. You got drunk, right okay. Then you made out with my foster sister. Greater. I don't really care, you know? Keep the good work, Killian. Great."

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