Counterfactual

31 | self-fulfilling prophecy

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

SELF-FULFILLING PROPHECY

( — prediction that directly or indirectly causes itself to become true, by the very terms of the prophecy itself, due to positive feedback between belief and behavior. )

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

          NO ONE CAN SAY THAT WAS UNEXPECTED.

          Rowan sincerely wants to punch his past self in the face, but ensuring he'd hit the healthy cheek just for them to match. He doesn't know why he thought the plan would run smoothly, why he thought they wouldn't get caught, or why they thought no one would want to enter the office, but he should have thought about it. After all, there's a reason why this office is as tidy as it is, and someone has been taking care of it.

          Including being on the lookout for any potential intruders.

          Rhiannon never drops the pen, her eyes darting between him and Natalia, and no one moves. Natalia eventually gets fed up and orders them to hide, as there wouldn't be enough time for them to run out of the door and climb up the stairs, and the door slams—loud enough for other people to hear it.

          The window is also a bad idea, as jumping out of a window isn't as simple as just doing it, regardless of how high up they are, and they don't have enough time to worry about everything that comes with pulling such a move. Thus, Rowan takes Rhiannon's hand and pulls her towards the desk, ducking and bringing her down with him.

          She nearly bangs her head against the side of one of the drawers, so he's not as smooth as he thought he would be, but it eventually does the trick. He slides until his shoulder blades hit the back wall of the desk, and, since it reaches the floor instead of having a small gap, it hides them from view, so they can enjoy a brief moment of peace to take a deep breath.

          They're not comfortable in such a small space, not even in the slightest, bodies awkwardly pressed against one another and all, but Rowan doesn't dare to complain. Rhiannon's breathing is erratic, as if she had just finished running a marathon—though Rowan doubts her lungs and muscles would survive one—and her frame is so wiry her bones jut out everywhere, especially on her shoulders, hips and elbows, so it feels like being stabbed whenever she moves.

          He doesn't drop her hand, set over her stomach as she slouches forward, legs bent so her knees almost touch her chest. He thought the pressure would help her relax, or, at least, help her calm her breathing, so his hand finds her arm to keep her anchored to reality, but that only worsens things. She turns her face to face him, looking up, and raises the pen.

          Rowan curses under his breath. Whoever enters the office might check out Frances' desk and notice the empty pen case, away from its original place, and they'll know someone's been in the room. Worse, they'll suspect the intruder might still be there.

          Rhiannon's head falls to his shoulder after an eternity, and she lets out a small sigh, like a baby slowly drifting off to sleep. He eases the hold on her ever so slightly, trying to ignore the sharp pain on his chest caused by her pointy shoulder, and allows himself to breathe . . . for now.

          She whimpers when the door opens, and he squeezes her arm tighter. The slightest of sounds can easily lead to them being discovered, and, if that happens, all their hard work would have been in vain. Rhiannon bites down on her bottom lip so hard it bleeds, and he feels every shudder of her body against his when someone coughs behind them, taking a few steps inside the room.