Before Rosaline(Book 2 of the Control Series)

Chapter 12

Dylan 

When he opens his eyes, uncomfortable doesn't begin to describe how he feels. Turning his head to the side, he knows why. Laying, next to him is an unfamiliar woman as naked as the day she was born. Then again so is Dylan. He sits up and grimaces, when the stranger wraps her arms around one of his pillows. Why was she in his house? The question triggers memories of last night to slowly come back to him. Dylan groans and puts his head in his hands.

After, Dylan had ended the call with Jared he had to get laid. It wasn't like all the other times when he got a hard on. He would sometimes take a cold shower or even take care of it himself, but never had he fucked a random girl, or even brought a stranger to the place he lived. Well, actually he had, back in his high school days, but that was different. He was...in a bad place back then and got comfort from all the wrong places.

"What did you do, Dylan," he asks himself. The stranger could've killed him, stolen from him, even could've gotten pictures of him, all while he slept and he wouldn't have woken up, all because he sleeps like the dead all until 5 o'clock. She could leave and tell everyone she slept with him and lord knows he doesn't need that.

Dylan puts his hand on the girl's shoulder and violently shakes her. She thrashes away from his grip, gasping and snaps into a sitting position. She looks wildly around the room, before her eyes settle on Dylan. "Why would you do that Dylan," She demands and Dylan has to hold himself back from snapping her neck. He feels so dirty. "You scared me." He rolls his eyes and would've gotten out the bed, had he not have been naked. Like she hasn't seen you naked last night, his conscious argues. He shudders at that. She places a hand on his shoulder and he slaps it away in disgust.

"Get out," he demands. The girl blanches, before furrowing her brows. "Bu- GET OUT," Dylan roars. The stranger's face pales and she jumps out the bed and quickly collects her clothes scattered throughout the room, before booking it. "Agatha," Dylan calls. A second later a German woman with redish-orange hair and snowman like figure appears in the doorway. "Yes, sir." Dylan feels her eyes on his chest and his skin crawls. "Make sure the half-naked woman makes it out the front door." She nods and quickly leaves, not closing the door behind her. Dylan's tempted to call her back, but the thought of the stranger wondering around his home, makes him want to puke. 

Instead, of calling her back, Dylan gets up and the cold air of the air conditioning hits him, causing him to shiver, and he quickly walk over to his bedroom door and slam it shut, before going to his bathroom, closing the door behind him. He looks at himself in the mirror and his face twists in disgust. He has major bed hair and his eyes having this satisfied look on his face that tells everyone who sees it that he just had sex, his flushed cheeks adding onto the notion. He looks just like her. Angry at the thought, without thinking, Dylan punches the mirror, glass shards ripping into his skin. Letting out a hiss of pain, Dylan pulls back his hand and shakes it, a part of him hoping the pain would go away. He looks down at his hand, watching as slowly his blood oozes from the cuts in his hands, though mostly his knuckles. Sighing, he walks over to his shower and turns it on, waiting for the temperature to reach scolding hot. When it reaches the temperature of scolding hot Dylan steps in, ignoring the throbbing in his hand and grabs the luffa he keeps on a mini rack hanging from the show head. He puts his bodywash on his luffa and scrubs his body, until every single part of skin was raw. He doesn't care that his skin is red and majorly damaged, all he cares about is that her touch is off her body, but a small part of him knows that what they did last will forever stay under his skin. Just the thought makes Dylan want to get back in the shower and do another skin damaging scrub, but he knows that if he does that his skin tear in multiple places and blood will spill.

A knock on the door catches Dylan's attention and he ponders on whether or not he should answer it. Looking down at himself, making him remember that he only has a towel on makes his decision. "I'm busy," he calls at the person on the other side of the door. Probably a servant, Dylan thinks as he drops his towel, and goes to his mini cabinet. Once again, someone knocks on the door. He rolls his eyes in annoyance. He's tempted to tell them to go away, but a voice in the back of his head tells him the person on the other side of the door won't go away. Sighing, he tosses his towel onto the bed and walks to his closet and pulls out his silk robe and wraps it tightly around his body, making sure his knot is tight. Dylan walks over to the door and with his uninjured hand opens the door. Standing outside, with a first aid kit is Agatha with a blank expression on her face. She glances down at his injured hand, her expression not changing and holds up the first aid kit. "Sir?" Agatha says as in a question, silently asking to come in. Dylan nods and lets her in, closing the door behind her. "Sir." Dylan looks towards Agatha, who's by Dylan's mini dresser. She knows not to go to the bed, and for that Dylan is thankful. He walks the dresser and extends his injured hand out to Agatha. She doesn't ask questions, just gently examines his hand, before opening the first aid kit and getting to work. That's another thing that Dylan is grateful for. Agatha never asks questions.