Page 35 of Entangled
“You too.” He crosses the room and climbs the stairs without even a backward glance.
I blink back the tears threatening to fall. Anger, hurt, and humiliation battle for the upper hand. So much for the connection I thought I felt.
After hearing my studio door close, I trudge upstairs with heavy limbs and step into the shower. I let my emotions spill over once behind the safety of the glass. My tears fall freely as I lean against the cool tile, until I’m too exhausted to keep rehashing things in my mind.
I wash myself on autopilot, then dry off and put on jammies. After brushing my teeth, I check on Eugene in the laundry room. He’s sound asleep in a basket full of clean clothes. Great. Now I’ll have cat hair all over everything. Not that it matters—no one sees me, anyway. Sadness grips me again as I silently close the door and pad into my bedroom.
With a heavy sigh, I climb into bed and hug my spare pillow. It’s too bad pillows, like vibrators, don’t hug you back. Maybe then I could forget about how much nicer it would have been to curl up with Henry instead. Who am I kidding? He got what he wanted, now I’m dismissed.
After all the day’s insanity, sleep comes blissfully fast.
* * *
A loud crashjolts me awake. Shouts and more commotion follow. I bolt out of bed and snatch my baseball bat. The noise is coming from downstairs. Either someone broke in, or Eugene got out of the laundry room and attacked Henry again.
Taking the steps two at a time, I rush down to my studio and fling the door open. An anguished moan reaches my ears. Something hits the floor and shatters.
I feel around for the switch on the wall and flick on the light, then freeze. There’s no home invasion, and the cat is still safely locked up. Henry, on the other hand, looks like a cornered raccoon. He’s tangled in the sheets, on the floor between the bed and accent table I use as a nightstand. The table lies broken on its side, and the lamp and all the trinkets I keep on top are also in pieces. Little sharp bits litter the floor, making me wish I had my slippers.
I cautiously move deeper into the studio. “Henry, are you all right?”
He doesn’t answer. His eyes dart wildly around the room. The sheen of sweat glistens on his skin. His chest heaves with his breaths, and every muscle is tensed for battle, but it’s the desolate fear in his gaze that breaks my heart. I can’t begin to imagine what kind of nightmare triggered such a violent response. This must be why he sleeps alone. He wasn’t pushing me away to be a dick, he was protecting me.
“Henry,” I repeat, approaching him in what I hope is a non-threatening way. “What can I do to help you?”
“Get out.”
17
HENRY
Mood Music: “Need the Sun to Break” by James Bay
“Not happening.”Rowan stands at the foot of the bed with her hands on her hips. “I own the place. Now, tell me what you need. Water? Food? Different clothes?”
What do I need?
I need my past to stop torturing me. I need a peaceful night’s sleep. I need a shitload more therapy and probably some meds. A river of alcohol to drown in. Nothing that she can provide me. Right now, I’ll settle for her not seeing me this way.
“I need you to leave.”
“Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.” She sits on the edge of the bed. “Do you want a hug?”
“No.”
“Why not? Hugs always make me feel better. Probably because I never get them, so it feels like a treat when they happen.”
I fling my arm toward the broken table and glass shit. “A hug won’t fix this.”
“I’m not worried about any of that stuff. I can always order some wood glue and a different lamp, then annoy you when you deliver it.” She smiles and crawls up the bed toward the pillow. Scooting to the edge, she adds, “I’m making an executive decision.”
“Rowan, I’m not in the moo—”
My words die on my lips when she slides off the bed. Straddling my lap, she wraps her arms around me and pulls my head into her chest.
“I’m sorry your past haunts you.” She kisses my forehead and pulls me closer, gently running her fingers through my hair. “I’d take it away if I could. I have no idea what you went through, but I know how it feels to fall apart. You are not alone.”
Her words crack something deep inside me. The validation I didn’t know I needed makes my eyes blur. I blink back the welling emotion, but a tear escapes to spite me. I was never a crier until my wife filed for divorce and abandoned the fucked-up shell of a man I’d become. The way Rowan is holding me, like she truly cares about my pain, is something Chelsea never gave me.
