Found Obsession

Chapter 112: Saint Haven's Orphanage

Rose composed herself after a few coughs, her breathing evening out.

This wasn't happening.

She stared at her drink, the liquid swirling under the dim light. Without a word, she grabbed the bottle, poured herself another glass, and chugged it down in one swift motion. The burn didn't even faze her this time.

"Well..." she hesitated, her voice shaky as she began. Rose told a simplified version of the story—omitting all details of how they slept together, she just simply said they slept together and that was all. She described the dinner they had shared, their conversation, and waking up the next morning with a ring on her finger, a note, and a single rose beside her.

As she spoke, she noticed Jonathan occasionally tightening his knuckles, his grip on his glass growing firmer with every revelation. He would glance at the whiskey bottle and silently pour himself another drink, the sound of the liquid filling the silence between her words.

Rose pushed through, despite the tension in the air. She needed her friend—her best friend—before the crushing weight of reality returned. Before he reminded her of the inevitable: that he had to leave.

After Rose finished sharing the gossip, they sat together in silence, the weight of her words lingering in the air. She stared down at her drink, her fingers tracing the edge of the glass.

"I'm not sure why Mark told him we had an agreement," Rose confessed, her voice tinged with confusion. "It still doesn't make sense to me."

She heard Jonathan chuckle softly before taking a long gulp of his drink. "The answer, Rose, is very, very obvious."

Their eyes met, Jonathan's gaze steady and knowing.

"If Mark found it important to let... what's his name again?" Jonathan prompted.

"Elijah," Rose whispered, her voice barely audible.

Jonathan nodded. "If Mark made sure Elijah knew that we didn't have anything going on, it was for a reason. To this man, Elijah, he has to keep believing you are only his. Like said before—he's obsessed. You've made him feel alive."

Rose shifted uncomfortably, shaking her head. "Yeah, I know, but—"

"Rose," Jonathan interrupted gently, leaning forward. "You're the only one outside of the bubble he has lived on who hasn't dumped their shit on him."

Rose froze, her breath hitching as his words sank in.

Jonathan leaned closer, his voice firm but calm. "The reason he's obsessed is because, despite hating you for probably being a Hansley, you haven't done anything to harm him. That's what's confusing him. You've treated him differently. You've asked him about himself, actually engaged with him— treated him like a human."

His words lingered in the silence, heavy and piercing. 

"At least, that's my speculation," Jonathan whispered, his tone soft but deliberate. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he added, "Probably your brilliant brain and striking looks also had something to do with it. You're the flame, Rose."

Rose blinked, her emotions twisting into a complicated knot. There he was—Jonathan, both the 17-year-old boy she remembered and the steadfast best friend she'd asked for tonight. He was trying to help her make sense of Elijah, trying to pull her thoughts into the open, no matter how messy they were.

She looked away. Thinking.

After a while, they remained sitting on the floor, sharing occasional drinks. The silence between them wasn't heavy, but each was lost in their own thoughts, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air.