Night had fallen, fog following close behind, by the time Roman had finished his story and I made my choice. This time the decision had been made for me. With my decision made, in a sense, I signed a contract allowing Roman to do anything he saw fit in the name of my protection. He insisted on me spending the night. He also said it in a way that could be confused with a question, but we both knew that I didn't have a say. If not him, who would take me back to my apartment? Anyhow, did I want to go back to my apartment where anyone can reach me?
Compared to his family's home, Roman's home is more on the simplistic side. There aren't several vacant rooms, waiting for family or close friends to fill them. Instead, there are four rooms; his room, the bathroom, Ezekiel's room, and another room he warns me not to fuck with. A padlock hangs from the door so, naturally, I'm instantly curious. This time he doesn't bother inventing some ridiculous story, but says it's a room full of his paperwork related paperwork. What does this paperwork entail with a business like his? Honestly, I'll enjoy my ignorant bliss as long as I can.
After such an intense conversation, Roman offers me a cup of tea. A strange way to end the night, but somehow it makes sense. Sitting at the marble counter, the memory of the last time I was here makes me flush. Things were much simpler then. The circumstances were definitely way different. Rather than waking up with a raging hungover, Roman saving me from making a further fool of myself, I'm staying with him for my safety. Chamomile eases my nerves, but doesn't erase the information he just shared with me. Too much information at once has me stuck in my head, rolling it over and over trying to make sense of everything. Every time I turn my attention to a stiff Roman, he won't even look at me. He seems a million miles away. I don't attempt to guess what he's thinking. This Roman is even more confusing than the old one. Both of us finish our glasses, a bit lost about the next step.
"Should we start heading to the bedroom?" I can't help flinching at the insinuation in my words. Roman smiles ever so slightly. Probably from the obvious heat rushing to my pale cheeks. Embarrassed, I followed him up the staircase. The last time I was in this room, I was helping him pick out a tie for a photo shoot. There was always a glint of danger in his eyes, but my imagination could never conjure up the full extent of that danger.
"You can lose that deer in the headlights look. I won't bite. Scouts honor." As dark as the situation is, a smile tugs at the corner of my lips, thinking back to the morning of my interview. Standing out the window, looking at the city below, he was the most intimidating human being I ever met. He was the ultimate alpha male. When he flashed me that devilish grin, he promised that he wouldn't bite me. Then, I believed him. Now? I'm not so sure. A white button up dress shirt flies at me, followed by a pair of black sweatpants.
"What is this?" I ask, looking at the clothing like it's an unknown species.
"Clothes." He deadpans, while removing his tie around his neck and shaking off his blazer. "I assumed you wouldn't want to wear that to bed."
I gulp, eyes jumping between the clothes and Roman's ink painted back, hidden beneath the thin layer of his button up dress shirt. In his presence, in such an intimate setting, nervousness fills within me. I can't differentiate between fear and attraction. Maybe a little bit of both. Holding the clothing close to my chest, I walk to his walk-in closet and close the doors behind me. However, I catch a glimpse of the curves of his back in the crack before closing it off completely.
The second those doors close, I slide down them until my knees are pressed to my chest and I'm hugging the clothes. There aren't tears, burning cheeks, or anger boiling in the deepest parts of my body. There's nothing really, or maybe it's everything, but I can't separate one feeling from the other. This sanctuary offers me privacy and silence, both of which I desperately need after the day I've had. Ever since Isabella picked out an outfit for me, I have been on a wild emotional rollercoaster with far too much information thrown at me.
What am I supposed to do now? Share a bed with a man that has killed before? Accept protection from a man who lives an extremely dangerous lifestyle? What is my life gonna look like now? Security. Control. Fear.
Dressed in Roman's clothes, it's hard to ignore the fact that they're two sizes too big. I tried my best to roll up the sleeves so they held at my wrist, but even there they were on the brink of swallowing my hands whole. The only thing keeping the sweatpants from falling was the string that I tied as tight as possible around my hips. From the quick glance I caught in the full body mirror, I can say with complete confidence that I look ridiculous. Imagine a child trying to dress as their father on a regular work day. That kind of ridiculous. The measurements weren't far off either.
Inching towards the Queen sized bed, I realize that I'm alone. No Roman in sight. Carefully, as not to create any wrinkles in his black comforter, I attempt to make myself comfortable. His room isn't as full of life as mine is back at my loft. It's dark. Quiet. Restrained. Cold. His home almost felt like a shell. Not a single detail revealing the person living inside. The only bits of personality in his home were the piano, paintings, and books. At least at his family home there were CDs, paints, a mess that proved a living, breathing human being inhabited the space. The dark colors feel suffocating. Purple and blue are the colors that bring a little bit of life back into this room and only a corner is peaking out of his nightstand. Furrowing my brows in curiosity, I take a hold of those colors and carefully tug it out of the drawer. In my hands I hold the scarf that I gifted to Roman the day of his birthday party. The day when things first started to spiral.
A floor board squeaks behind me, tearing my attention away from the yarn in my hand to the shirtless man, wearing a pair of dark grey sweatpants standing beside the bed. Immediately I'm hit with the guilt of noticing his shirtless body and feeling flustered by it. Wide shoulders, strong chest, abs interrupt my line of sight. Those kinds of abs were seen in movies, not in real life! Fear should be devouring my insides, not attraction. "You kept this?" I ask, hoping this will distract from the tattoos that are glaring right at me. Tattoos that shone bright on his bronze skin.
"Why wouldn't I?" He asks with genuine curiosity.
"I don't know. It's not exactly up to par with your other stuff."
"Maybe that's why I like it so much." He's pulling back the comforter like this is any ordinary night. Noticing my questioning gaze, he shakes his head. "We're sticking together. Back at my parent's home, where there's security, you'll have your very own haven. Here, you're stuck with me." All of a sudden, he's on the bed, building a wall of pillows in the middle of the bed. "I'm not going to touch you." He meets my eyes, a reassuring look flashing behind them, then falls back on his pillow.
Seconds then minutes go by without moving a muscle. This isn't a situation that I ever imagined to find myself in. Sharing a bed with a man is something I imagined I'd do when I was married, as my papa always wanted, and with Jackson Barnette. Not with a man who, I can safely assume, has a long criminal record. Especially with a man I've known only a couple months. If my papa saw me now, he'd be ashamed. Who was he to judge, though? Compared to his adultery, this doesn't seem all that bad.
Timidly, I crawl beneath the covers, my body tensing beside the makeshift wall. The second I'm under the covers, Roman reaches over to the nightstand on his side and flips off the lamp. Following his lead, almost reluctantly, I switched off my own lamp.
"You can breathe, y'know? Actually, I'd prefer it if you did. Assures me that you're still alive over there." His voice tears through the room like a blade.
Before he said that, I hadn't realized that I was holding my breath and my knuckles turning white from how tight I held my hands together. By his instruction, I release a heavy breath, introducing air to my lungs. Slowly, my chest rises and falls. Maybe I'm breathing, but I'm concentrating on every breath. How loud. How fast.
"Are you concentrating on your breathing?" He shifts, pulling down the wall of blankets to look over.
"What? No." A shaky breath leaves me, embarrassing me further.
A teasing smirk threatens to tug at the corner of his lips. Even in the dark, I can make him out perfectly fine. Though, I hope he can't because the heat in my cheeks would be hard to miss.
"Sounded like it." He returns the wall to its original height, leaving me to my privacy.
"Well, you heard wrong."
"Right." I can hear the smile in his voice. Something about knowing he's smiling right beyond our way, brings a small smile to my lips. Hard to believe I'm smiling after learning this man I share a bed with steals priceless paintings, smuggles them illegally along with harmful substances, and has murdered at least one person. Are my own morals, once bathed in light, shifting to more of a gray?
Unable to miss this opportunity, I ask the question that angers me most. "Why did you follow me to Maywood?" That light atmosphere is replaced by a weighted blanket, instantly. There isn't a reply. "You practically threw me out the door at the hospital. It was clear as day that the moment we shared in your room was just a spur of the moment. Nothing serious enough to change our working relationship. I left. I needed space to collect myself and get my head back on track. Papa nearly convinced me to stay. I almost did." There's a bit of regret in my voice with a touch of sadness. What could have been. "Then, you came along and it changed everything. You traveled from Seattle to Georgia just to convince me to come back. Now it makes sense why you shut down. But why follow me? Why did you do that when you knew what your lifestyle could do to someone like me?"
A suffocating silence falls over the room like a weighted blanket. We are only separated by a thin blanket wall, but it feels like we're on either side of the planet. I gulp as I try to wait out this silence. He would answer eventually. Yet, five minutes passed and he still hasn't said a word. Did he fall asleep? Just as I'm about to look over, Roman cuts through the room.
"I wanted to be a good guy. The selfless guy that lets the girl go for her safety. Protecting her from the dangers his world offers. Sawyer, I need you to know that I really wanted to be that guy. The prince charming you talk about. But, they're right when they say that a tiger can't change its stripes. What I said to you in that elevator is the truth. I'm not your knight in shining armor." His voice hitches at the end of his sentence, inviting an unbearable quiet to lay between us. This time I don't think about looking over at him. I want to hear this no matter how long I have to wait. He clears his throat and continues as if he didn't suddenly stop. "I'm selfish, heartless, and an overall terrible person. People can easily blame nature versus nurture. I don't know, but I do know that when I decided to hop on a plane and follow you to Georgia, that I was taking a risk with your life. I excused it by saying that no one would hurt you. No one would expect my assistant. I knew the truth all along, but I didn't want to face it. For once in my life, I wanted to do something for myself, without worrying about the consequences. I wanted to believe that I was one of those men in those ridiculous romance movies, chasing the girl through the airport. When I seen you, I knew I would be taking you back to Seattle. One way or another, you would come back with me. All those warnings in my head were distant. You were close enough that I could smell that strawberry perfume you wear. So much so that I could see the way your hair shimmered under the beating sun. Even the smallest of giggles tickled my ears." Sighing heavily, I can feel him shifting on the side of his bed. "When I first arrived in Maywood,I thought I could look at the life you lived and how much happier you were there, but once I saw you at that car wash, everything changed. You looked happy, but there was something in your eyes that told me otherwise. Even if you were genuinely happy, it upset me, rather than made me feel better. You were happier because you were away from the company, from me. Those warnings meant nothing when in your presence. It was the most selfish decision I ever made. If I could go back, I would. I'd do things differently. I would focus on your safety over my desires. But, I don't have a time machine. So the least I can do is offer my protection."
By the end of his - Explanation? Excuse? Declaration? - something, my heart is pumping so hard, I wonder if it's shaking the room. What am I supposed to say? What do I feel? He was right. He isn't a good guy. The brave, selfless hero that we see in movies is a different man. Does that make him the villain, who does things that benefit him? He dragged me into a world he knew could kill me, but did it anyway for his own pleasure. I try not to zone in on the excuse of why he couldn't think straight. His words insinuate too much for me to handle right now. My own feelings, whatever they may be, are too messy to have a productive conversation. So instead of responding, I take a page out of his book and don't say anything at all. In the small room, without either of us saying anything, it feels like time has stopped and will only start again when one of us says something.
"I'm sorry, princess. I'm sorry I can't be the knight or the prince from your fairytales. I hope one day you can forgive me for my selfishness. But know that I will never let anything happen to you. Never."
Tears are slowly making their way to my eyes, threatening to spill any second. He's saying one thing, but the only way I see this ending is me laying on my back with a bullet in my head. Still, I don't know why they think killing a girl from a small town, who didn't know anything about this world until over a week ago, is gonna do anything to anyone? I want to ask him this, but now. I'm afraid if I try, I'll choke on my words. Turning on my side, away from the wall, I wipe my tears and squeeze my eyes shut, begging for sleep to take me. Behind me, I can feel Roman shift again. I'm not looking at him, but I can feel his eyes on the back of my head. That's the last thing I remember before falling into sleep's arms.
My apologies for my late chapters. Lately, my personal life has been extremely hectic.
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