You wake up with a splitting headache and alone. You feel like a parade of construction machines used your whole body as tarmac. Yesterday’s fender-bender dulled after a night of restless sleep, and you’re lying and staring at the ceiling.
Nothing really happened, Wren. You got caught in the act by your boyfriends’ uncle. Embarrassing, yes; end of the world as we know it, not so much. You’re a reasonable person. You know that happenstances like that get forgotten or turn into hilarious stories told in a grown-up company after a few too many drinks.
As for you satori last night, you are just overtired. Obviously, you are attracted to Dr. John Thornton. Anybody with a pulse would be. He’s hot, smart, tormented. The last actually has to be verified. In the words of Admiral Ackbar, it still might be a “twap.” That would be actually a perfect page from a playbook.
Most important, it’s none of your business. You are spoken for. Your page with Dr. Grumpy has been turned when you decided to date his nephew. Remember that day, Wren? You said ‘no’ to Dr. Sexy, and then spent the night with Phil. Now get your sorry arse moving and fix it.
You throw yourself out of the bed and drag the aforementioned sorry arse to the shower. Then you venture to find painkillers and Phil. Phil, first.
He’s predictably in the kitchen. He’s sitting on a bar stool, chewing a toast, and reading newspaper. You come from behind, slide your hands around his torso, and bury your nose in the freshly washed, still slightly damp mane. It smells like shampoo and Phil.
“Good morning,” you are purr. He turns and smiles to you. He seems really chuffed. “Did I sleep in?” You peak into his cup.
“Just a bit.” He moves his cup to you, and you take a sip. Then you take his hand by the wrist and move his toast to your mouth. He’s watching you bite into it. You swallow, and he catches your mouth. He tastes like tea and bliss.
“Left for the market.”
Hm… “So the house’s empty…”
Understanding lights up in his eyes, and he throws the newspaper on the floor. He grabs your hand and runs up the stairs, jumping over two steps, dragging you behind. You’re laughing, and feel light and alive.
You’re lying on him, your bodies sweaty and cooling down, legs weirdly enough on the pillow. How did that happen? His eyes are closed, and he is drawing lazy patterns on your shoulder blades.
“I think Uncle has feelings for you.”
Really? Just like that? No drama, no brooding, no beating around the bush? You lift your eyes at him. He’s surprisingly unruffled. You really don’t know what to say here.
“I mean he’s always hard on me. He is grooming me to be a great surgeon like himself. I get it. That’s the only way to achieve it. He’s much softer with Killian, which I also understand.” He puts his hands behind his head. “But he’s obviously more cheesed off than usual. And I think, it’s because of you.”
You try to sit up, but he gently presses his palm on your back keeping you on him. “They won’t be back for another half an hour. We can stay here more.”
You place your cheek on his heart. It’s beating really evenly.
“Are you cheesed off?” Your voice sounds weird.
“Of course. I’m jealous like hell, but what am I going to do?”
You sit up and stare at him. His face is completely serene.
“You don’t look jealous.” He smirks. It’s a joyless smirk.
“What would you have me do? Start a pissing contest with him? Take off our pants and compare the tools?” He settles on the bed more comfortably and puts the hands behind his head again.
Then he looks into your eyes.
“Do you have feelings for my Uncle, Wren?” His expression is unreadable, and you feel suddenly cold. You recognize that it is the breed and the upbringing that you are looking at, the cold blue eyes and relaxed posture. That is not Phil, that’s armour.
Make you choice, Wren. Lie to him, keep him, build your relationships on a lie. Tell the truth, hurt him, lose him. The problem is that you are really not that into lying.
He’s smiling a cold smile. “Before you say anything, FYI, I’ll believe you. I know you, Wren, you don’t lie, and you don’t cheat. You don’t manipulate people.” His smile is somehow very frightening. “Unlike me or Uncle. You are a good person, Wren. So tell me now, do you fancy my Uncle?”
You’re pressing the covers to your chest, and you are shaking. You’ve never seen this cruel cold expression in his eyes.
“He offered me to be his mistress, and I said ‘no.’ But I can’t stop thinking about him.” Breathing is fucking painful. T time till vomiting thirty seconds.
Phil nods. “Why did you say ‘no?'”
“Because it’s just not me. He didn’t want to be with me, he just wanted to have me. Like an object he liked in a shop. And it was that day when we slept together for the first time.” He ponders this for a moment.
“After you got sick?”
“After you came and took care of me.” Why is he interrogating you?
“Are you in love with me, Wren?”
You feel like he is slapping you. Again and again. His cold unemotional questions are like short sharp blows.
“Because I’m in love with you. I felt it after the first time we shagged. Never felt it before, but just like that…” He opens his palm in a gesture mimicking an explosion. “Bam! I am in love with this girl.” He is looking at you like at some interesting sample in his petri dish. “What is it about you, Wren? You bent two men to your will, who really weren’t going there any time soon.”
You move away from him on the bed, suddenly feeling exposed, a thin cover not giving any protection. You feel violated, broken, he knew exactly what he was doing. Sleeping with you first and interrogating you after. You feel tears running down your cheeks.
“No.” Your voice is hardly audible.
“Pardon?” His eyes are dark, terrifying, and you shrink away.
“No, I’m not in love with you.”
“Then why did you do this to me?!” His scream makes you wince away. It is pure rage. He’s baring his teeth, and his fists’re clenched. He jumps up on his knees and towers over you. “Why did you hook up with me, Wren? For sex? I’ll give you that, you are a glorious shag! But I’ve had plenty of that. You knew it’s different for me this time!”
“No, I didn’t!” you yell back, through tears and shaking. “How was I supposed to know?! Your history doesn’t really hint at this!”
“Why did you go on then? Why not come out in the open, when you saw you didn’t feel the same way about me? You are a first class cold hearted cunt, Wren.”
He gets off the bed and pulls his jeans on. Then he grabs a shirt from the floor and leaves the room. You’re clutching the sheets to your chest and taking painful breaths in.