When they reached the pack house, Cruden carried Roselia to her room, but she resisted as he opened the doors. He placed her back onto her feet.
"I can have the maid run you a bath—"
Roselia slammed the door shut in his face. She could feel the air around them dip and grow cold at his fury. She didn't care. The last thing she wanted to see was him!
"Roselia."
"Leave me alone!" she screamed at him, the first time she ever dared to raise her voice.
Roselia stripped off all of her clothes and scrubbed her skin clean in the shower. Her body was raw and red when she climbed into bed, curled into a ball, and decided to sleep.
"It's a bad day, not a bad life," Roselia tried telling herself, but knew that was just a blatant lie.
Eventually, Roselia fell asleep, not realizing the extent of her demands.
Days passed in a blink.
Roselia had been in a daze.
Cruden disappeared.
Roselia didn't care.
"I was locked up and alone for three years. What is a little loneliness going to do to me?" Roselia told herself in the comfort of her bedroom.
Soon, Roselia fell into a mundane routine. She ate her meals by herself. She took walks in the garden to admire the flowers all alone. She'd draw on scrap paper found in the living room, until both sides were covered in her mess. She'd hold onto the vanity table and try to practice ballet. She'd put her feet together, bend her knees, but forced herself to stop.
"It's no use," Roselia reminded herself, for her ankles throbbed when she even tried to balance her weight on her tippy-toes.
Soon, another day passed. Then, another. Since the restaurant, Cruden never showed his face around her again. She fell into a mind-numbing life restricted within the Tiberias Pack House.
None of the staff dared to interact with her.
Roselia was bored out of her mind. A handful of people were always in the house, she suspected watching her, but they behaved like regular employees. When the brothers returned home, they were gone. When they were downstairs, she was upstairs by herself.
One time, she heard Noah say, "Damn, if this is married life, I don't want it."
To which Kallum snorted, "Don't worry, Noah, no sane woman will marry you anyways."
The days passed, but Roselia always knew Cruden was home. She could feel his powerful presence looming in the hallways. Creeping. Watching. She was as aware of him as he was of her. He was a frightening force who never showed his face around her again.
Until, the sixth day.
Roselia walked with a skip to her step after securing a scrap paper with an empty side! The perfect surface for her to doodle on. She was elated, until, she saw him. The paper slid from her fingertips, her happiness short lived. She couldn't focus on a single detail of the hallways. All she could see was him at the other end.
Roselia's stomach turned cold.
Cruden's arms were crossed. White lines. Red splatters. Grey. He had rolled up the sleeves of his soaked button-up, revealing tattoos that crawled up his entire arm. She hadn't noticed it until now. He was never this unkempt, his golden hair swept haphazardly across his brooding eyes. The chandelier above him cast a shadow upon his face. His jaws clenched. His fingers curled into fists.
"Well," Kallum was the first to break the silence. "Are we going to stand here all day or what?"
Roselia didn't even realize Kallum was present. She remained by her spot. The duo was standing near her bedroom door. She'd have to approach them first if she wanted to escape to the comforts of her bedroom. If she had to become a statue here for eternity, she was willing to let this be her pose.
Kallum exhaled, slicing through the tension with a roll of his eyes. "Stop giving each other the googly eyes and f*cking make out already."
Roselia cringed at his crude words.
"If not," Kallum growled. "Let's go to your office already, Cruden, we don't have all day to look into the database."
Database?
From Cruden's heavy and precise footsteps brushing past her bedroom everyday, Roselia had a keen awareness that he lived on the other end of the hallways. From the times that he spoke on his phone, cold and collected, she concluded his office was also on this floor.
This was the first time in six days that the two had been seeing each other. Either Cruden was avoiding her, or Roselia had pretended he didn't exist. Regardless, they had given each other the silent treatment.
A quiet battle neither wanted to lose.
"Well?" Kallum pressed impatiently, arms crossed. He wasn't covered in blood. His ironed shirt did have a wrinkle or two, which was a rare sight given his need for perfection—an OCD that Roselia observed in the past days.
Cruden did the dirty work then, Roselia concluded.
Cruden strolled towards her. She stopped breathing altogether. His shoulders squared, his footsteps heavy, he was a man out for blood on a battlefield he dominated. His eyes held her in place, like shackles on her ankles.
Kallum trailed behind him.
Thud.
Cruden was coming closer.
Thud.
Roselia was hyper aware of everything. Of every step. Of her erratic heart pounding and roaring in her eyes. Of every second he didn't look at her. She bit her bottom lips. She peered upon his perfect features, minus the two lines running across his left eyebrow. Black. His eyes were a never ending abyss. The only thing she saw was a fearful expression. Hers.
Cruden was silent. Cruden didn't care. Cruden walked past her. He didn't even spare her a glance. The air flickered with his silent fury.
Kallum knocked his shoulder against her and Roselia jolted to the side. The contact made no noise, and if it did, she wondered if Cruden would even care.
Roselia touched her shoulder, soothing the momentary pain away. She didn't know why Kallum hated her, but could probably predict a myriad of reasons. She was glued to her spot until she felt the wind swoosh before the loud—BANG!
Roselia jumped, spinning around to see him slam the door shut. Then, another THUD! She gasped, wondering what it was, for the doors rattled as if something had been slammed against it.
"Don't be stupid, Kallum."
Roselia fled, not sure if she wanted to be here if the brothers were going to fight. She debated asking Noah to intervene, but it was almost midnight and he had school tomorrow. She raced to her room, locking the doors behind her, and sliding down on it. She pressed her fingers to her mouth, blowing hot air upon her frozen skin. She was well aware of her erratic breathing as if she had been running for her life.
What were they fighting about?
In the silence of her bedroom, Roselia was forced to be left alone with her thoughts. Questions she didn't want to ask or think about raced through her mind one by one, refusing to pass until she finally acknowledge it.
Where did Cruden go? Why didn't he say anything? Did she mean nothing to him? Was it that easy for him to let her die?
When Roselia was held at gunpoint, Cruden didn't even blink. When she was a trigger away from death, he was bored. He was cold. He was amused. He was everything, but worried.
"He doesn't care about me," Roselia concluded, her hands sliding upon her paperclip necklace. He never did. He never will. No one in this world would care about her more than Bruce Kerpan's son ever would. And look at where that got him.
Roselia's mark burned and itched. She squeezed her eyes shut, clutching the charm tightly in her palms as she rested her forehead on her knuckles.
Go away.
Please.
Roselia drowned in her emotions. Guilt crept up her body quick as a serpent, poisonous as sharp fangs, digging into her conscience. Her heart. Her soul. Guilt ripped her apart, piece by piece. Bit by bit. Until, nothing was left of her, but a hollow in her chest that he used to fill.
Roselia wished she still loved him. Maybe then, guilt wouldn't hurt as much. Maybe then, she'd be able to forgive herself.
"It's all your fault!" Bruce Kerpan shouted at her from her memories. "Because of you, my son is dead! Because of you, that sweet, innocent boy will never walk again! It's your fault that he died! You b*tch. You wh*re. You—"
"Monster," Roselia finished for him. The words rang in her head. Again and again, until she slipped into a nightmare-induced sleep.
The last thing she thought of was herself—a monster.